I was the owner of that fairy tale. I sat in the tent all night, telling the kids, what I remembered of the old stories and tales. They sat here with eyes wide open, blinking from time to time, then more often when they became tired.
Finally they fell all asleep. But not before the end of the story. Sometimes, I saw they rolling around, the lids flattering, but they still tried to stay awake, unless the prince was safe or the princess found her horse and returned to the prairie.
Sure, the prince was maybe no prince in the sense of European fairy tales. But he was a dreamy young man, with long hair and eyes, deep brown, shining like dark wood.
Everyone, who heard about him, fell in love with this figure. He was beautiful, vulnerable and strong at the same time. He had to cross the prairie by foot. That was his mission. There were only the animals talking to him. Except them, he had no friends.
In the morning there sometimes was the crow, landing close to his sleeping place. Crowing, as if it was her duty to wake him.
One evening he sat by the fire. The only company the crickets singing along to the sound of the sparkles cracking. Suddenly he felt, that he was not alone. A pair of eyes glowed through the darkness. He looked the other way. He was already too tired to bother about it, to become fearful. Maybe he was making it up, already dreaming, his head sinking to his chest.
The eyes seemed to move closer, the next time, he took a look. Again, he didn’t want to bother, they didn’t seem hostile to him.
When he woke up, it was cold. The fire was nothing more than a glimpse. On the horizon the first light blue coming up, promising a new morning. He was laying on the side, the blanket drawn around him. Around his belly he felt something warm, fury. When he took a look, he found a curled up little fur ball, all reddish in the upcoming morning light. There was a tiny fox curled up to his belly.
There was a warmth, circling through him, that made him feel sleepy again. His heart feeling warm and safe, he laid down again, slipping back to his dream.
He dreamed of the princess. Always. Nearly every night. It was always the same dream: She was running towards him, screaming words in an unknown language. When she nearly reached him, she stopped, fell silent. She looked him in the eyes, very intense.
Then a tear seem to come up to her eyes, but before he could say for sure, that it was there, she turned away, looked the other way. The next thing he remembered, was, that she was far away, just a little figure close to the horizon. She walked slowly and looked proud and lost at the same time.
But – I see your eyes. You are already tired. Like the kids, curled into the blankets, here in the fairy tale tent. Just lay down beside them. Maybe you´ll wake up with a little fox curled up by your side.