Frozen Flowers
Kore Yamazaki
✦ ✦ ✦
Hazel left the two young women mulling over gifts for their loved ones and realized he would be done with work before sunset.
The bag fashioned from his ancestor’s leather was empty, no longer weighing him down. The town gleamed with Christmas decorations, and Hazel felt light of foot.
He felt almost human. He couldn’t help but smile.
He snorted, breaking into a trot. To Hazel, the rhythm of his four hooves was like a song, but only other centaurs would understand. Anyone else would just call it a racket.
Hazel broke into a gallop but halted a moment later.
Some shadowy, messy thing had just crossed the path ahead of him.
“Oh. Mm. Yeah…”
It was muttering to itself, bumping into the half-seen humans on the other side of the veil as it dragged itself along. Those it bumped did not appear to notice, but watching it writhe through the streets was deeply unpleasant. Just the thought of touching it unsettled Hazel.
Yet Hazel raised his cap as it passed. Even this thing might one day become a customer.
Many creatures such as this existed in big cities. Hazel wasn’t sure if they were ghosts or living beings. Cities messed with the winds. Now, as in the past, wherever people gathered, so too did these apparitions.
London was crowded with buildings, cars, and people. Parts of it smelled genuinely terrible. There were large parks and little gardens, but it wasn’t exactly easy for someone of Hazel’s size to run around. While he was wearing horseshoes, the asphalt was still bad for his hooves. He had to maintain constant vigilance as he ran in order to avoid hitting something. If he tripped, or tripped up someone else, he would bring shame to his species.
That said, unlike the “surface” roads the humans used, creatures such as Hazel used the “back” roads that lay reflected in pools of rainwater. This allowed them some freedom of movement.
The writhing shadow became lost in the crowd, out of sight.
Hazel put his hat back on. He made certain the string was secured under his chin and broke into a gentle trot.
The silent winter wind felt amazing, and Hazel breathed deeply. The wind carried the smell of winter, subtly distinct from that of the city itself. Inhaling it, he left London behind, following a hidden path. Making good use of a shortcut, his pace grew steadily faster.
As he ran farther and farther north, the sights before his eyes gradually began to change. The rowan fruit appeared to slumber, while the fields of grass maintained a frosty silence. Even the ancient stones that lined these country roads spoke not a word.
Hazel ran until the sun sank below the horizon and at last arrived at a house.
It appeared to be a normal home, no different from any other found this deep in the country. Its dark walls were made of gray stone. Firelight flickered through the windows. The thorny leaves of the holly growing over it were full of life, but the garden’s roses, trimmed for winter, lay slumbering in anticipation of far-off spring. Only the green apple tree growing by the door greeted Hazel warmly.
Somehow, this tree bore fruit year-round. Hazel took one.
The tree released the apple into his palm without resistance.
These were tart apples, well suited to baking. As he was about to take a bite, the door suddenly opened.
“Hazel! I told you to call out the moment you arrive!”
It was a woman with hair so black it was almost blue. A quilt covered her shoulders in place of a shawl.
With the warm light of home at her back, she shook with anger, as if she were scolding a wayward child.
“It’s been a while, Aunt Marie.”
Hazel put the unbitten green apple in his pocket and tapped his hooves in greeting.
✦ ✦ ✦
Hazel’s two-legged aunt Marie lived far from northern Britain, where the centaur herd roamed. While most centaurs had four legs, every so often one would be born with two, like a homo sapiens. Born without a horse’s body, they were weak compared to an ordinary four-legged centaur. While centaur children could stand moments after birth, two-legged children took months before they could eat and move about on their own.
But two-legged centaurs could do more with their hands and were far more sensitive to problems of the heart.
Life with the centaur herd was difficult for them as they were better suited to living among the homo sapiens—among humans.
For this reason, two-legged children were sent to live with humans who knew about these things or with two-legged centaurs already dwelling in human society. This was considered beneficial for all involved.
Marie, too, had been sent to live with two-legged friends and raised as a human.
And now she lived alone in the country, far from any town.
✦ ✦ ✦
“You don’t need to come see me just because it’s Christmas,” Marie said.
“Did you have plans with someone else?”
“You know I don’t.”
Marie held open the mint green door, letting Hazel in.
The floor of Marie’s place had no carpets or hardwood floors, just old stones. Hazel liked this floor. He could tread on it with his hooves without fear of harm. He’d never ventured upstairs and so was unsure what the floors up there were like.
“If I don’t eat your cooking and apple pie today, Aunt Marie, I’ll feel like the year just hasn’t ended properly,” Hazel said.
“That sounds awfully nice, but I bet you’re just tired.”
“If I was tired, I’d hardly come all the way out here.”
Hazel meant it. If he was worn out, he’d never go anywhere but his usual resting place.
“Ah, come on. Wipe off those feet. You were running around all day, right?”
Marie took a large cloth from the shelf by the door. She started to give it to Hazel but then thought better of it and knelt at his feet. She held out her hand, and Hazel lifted his front leg for her.
“Sorry.”
He’d have preferred to wipe them down himself, but the way his body was put together meant his forelimbs—which resembled human arms—could not reach either pair of feet.
“You’ve always just stomped right in! You should take more care.”
“I always clean up anything I get dirty!”
“Quickly sweeping pebbles into the corners does not count as cleaning.” Marie sighed dramatically, but she wasn’t angry with him. Hazel had been visiting his aunt since he was very young, and they were always like this. He used to run around the house like a wild thing, and he remembered her taking a whip to his hindquarters.
Once all his hooves were wiped down, she allowed Hazel into the living room at last.
The television in the corner was switched off, and an antique radio purchased God-knows-when stubbornly refused to play a single Christmas song. This was a Christmas living room without the voices of newscasters, the phony acting of some third-rate TV special, or the singing of carolers. Just the snap of wood burning in the fireplace and the sound of the wind racing over the winter pasture. But to Hazel, this quiet was far more comforting.
The furniture included a couch that seated three and an easy chair for one. A bookmarked novel lay on the easy chair. Marie must have been reading when Hazel arrived.
He glanced around and realized Marie had not followed him into the living room.
He smelled ash in the fireplace and the fragrance of flowers. Alongside these, a sweet scent drifted in from the kitchen.
Hazel sniffed and followed the scent, discovering Marie boiling water to make tea.
“Any requests?” she asked, mulling over a selection of tea bags.
“Anything is fine.”
“Right.” Marie plucked two tea bags out of the box—judging by how few remained, they must have been her favorite. She dropped them into a pair of mugs just as the water came to a boil. She poured it and watched the tea steep. Hazel looked over the surprising amount of food spread out around the mugs on the oak dining table. The plates were all wrapped in aluminum foil to keep the food warm.
He peeled back foil to find potatoes roasted in rosemary and a large chicken.
“And here I was, about to starting eating alone,” Marie said, making a show of dismay.
Hazel laughed.
“There you go again. You knew I was coming, didn’t you? I’ve been here every year for a decade.”
He took the foil off another dish, eyes sparkling. He’d found the pie, bursting with thick-cut apple slices. There was a small piece missing—had she sampled it earlier? Hazel plucked an apple slice and popped it into his mouth.
“Mmm! Your pies are the absolute best.”
“No spoiling your dinner!” Marie ordered.
“Okay,” Hazel said, like a chagrined child.