Ralf ran through the field cutting the tops off wheat stocks that challenged him. He parried and sliced like a warrior intent on defeating his enemy. His weapon of choice was a wooden sword his father personally made for him. Well sized for his hands, it was sturdy and was cut of the best wood. The sword had a white knight carved into the maple handle.

When he was in the field, he wasn’t Ralf the boy. He was Ralf the White Knight. His imagination would transform the vastness of the wheat field into a kingdom in peril, in need of a savior, and praying for a warrior of great ability. The field was Ralf’s kingdom. He played and ran until the sun slipped low on the horizon, and the ground began to become heavy with the dew of nighttime. Ralf knew he needed to be home soon.

Off in the distance was a stone monument he had never seen before. Curious like boys are, Ralf ran to it, fearless and ready for a new adventure. As he closed the distance, he saw it was an old farmer’s well made with old logs and heavy, weathered stones. Around the edges of the well was a hue of white glimmering color.

As Ralf neared the opening of the well, he saw it was ringed with white silk moths alighted silently in a circle surrounding the mouth. Slowly they began vibrating their wings. Their vibration came on gradually, first, a humming could be heard, then louder and louder the buzzing became a haunting song that slightly shook the evening dew from the blades of grass surrounding the well. Spiders began to let down their gossamer threads and scurry away from the thatched wooden roof as mice, owls, and other critters took heed and followed.

Ralf slowly looked over the mouth of the well, being careful with his weight for one must be careful when staring down into a well. Then it happened, a sleepiness encircled him as he stared at his reflection in the water and watched the orange sky slowly disappear behind him. The boy felt himself upended. Ralf was falling through the air but still standing in place, it felt like the time that he was on the Ferris wheel at the amusement park, and then it stopped. He hadn’t moved, or so it had seemed. But for some reason, he had the realization that he was now the reflection in the water. Looking back at him was now the ghost of what had been. The moths were no longer singing with their wings and were now only visible in the reflection. All at once, they began to fly away, one by one. Ralf slumped exhaustedly by the stony wall of the well in complete darkness, and in his aloneness, gave way to impending sleep…