Work Text:
The field was a blur of color, spreading out to touch the sunset as far as the eye could see. A single dirt path wove its way through the field, a dark muddy thread weaving its way through the meadow, vanishing into the horizon, and on that path sat a broken-down carriage.
Directly outside the carriage, a young man with a black coat and hat and grumpy countenance was attempting to haul the carriage wheel out of the mud. Inside the carriage, his two companions heckled him—a young girl in a long red coat and white blouse, who was claiming that she could pull the carriage out better than the dark-clothed man, and a teenage boy who punctuated the girl’s taunts with laughter and the occasional whoop or wolf-whistle.
“If you could do this so much better,” the young man groused, “why don’t you?”
“I will!” said the girl.
“You won’t, Gil can do it—Gil, take off your coat, it’ll cool you down.” The teenage boy’s voice was self-assured and almost gloating, and he held his hand out, and, after a moment, the young man—Gil—shrugged off his coat and handed it to the teenager, who slung it around his shoulders and swung his legs cheerily.
Gil mopped his forehead with the sleeve of his blouse and resumed tugging at the carriage. The boy let out a long whistle, and Gil flushed red all the way down his shirt, before suddenly looking up and saying, “Hey!”
“What is it?” the boy asked innocently, swinging his legs back and forth from his tilted seat.
“This would be a lot easier if the two of you got out of the carriage,” Gil said.
The teenage boy giggled. “You noticed!” he said delightedly. “Do you want us to get out?”
Gil gave another futile tug; the carriage didn’t budge.
“Yes,” he gritted out.
“Though so,” sang out the boy. “—C’mon, Alice, I want to make you a flower crown.”
“Can I eat it?” the girl—Alice—asked, following the boy out and into the field of flowers.
“No, you wear it—look,” said the boy, and he began plucking and weaving together flowers as Gil resumed tugging at the carriage.
It was hot, thankless work—especially since the teenagers behind him were far more occupied with making flower crowns than helping move the carriage—but eventually, another idea occurred to him, and he furrowed his brow as a massive, chained bird appeared behind him and bodily picked the carriage up and replaced it upright on the dirt path.
Behind Gil, the teenage boy whooped.
“Great job, Gil!” he called, hurrying over, the girl named Alice hot on his heels, a flower petal sticking to the corner of her mouth and a flower crown on her head. The boy wore a flower crown as well, and as he bounded into the now-unstuck carriage, he dropped another flower crown onto Gil’s head.
Gil adjusted it, looking pleased as punch, before making sure both Alice and the teenage boy were safely inside.
“I’ll drive us until we catch up with the driver,” he said. “We don’t want to lose any more time today.”
“Ooh, fun!” said the boy. “Go fast.”
“I will not.”
“Go so fast Oz feels sick,” added the girl.
“Absolutely not.”
Both the girl and the boy made puppy-dog eyes at Gil, who scowled, frustrated, and then closed the door and got up onto the driver’s seat, snapping the reins so that the horses, who had not been as spooked as the really ought to have been by the massive bird, started trotting again.
The carriage moved on down the muddy path. Its driver touched his pink flower crown again, pleased, and continued on with his duty.