Ulu: The darkness is like a soft mattress. Sinking under me, folds enveloping me, drawing me ever deeper.
Ulu: In the darkness, I find myself accompanied by unceasing, rhythmic sounds, like the beating of drums and wild cheers, echoing a time when I blazed over red earth.
Ulu: And so I try to find it, that faint sound. It beats with a familiarity and intimacy that entices my flames to sway along with it.
Ulu: And then, a distant light flickers into view. There, I meet her once more.
Ulu: As I follow that light, I see all she experiences.
Ulu: She is only a spark, her glow faint, but burgeoning with curiosity.
Ulu: Day in, day out. She consumes more fuel—everything she sees, touches, and hears makes her burn brighter.
Ulu: How are you? Can you hear me? Shall we continue our unfinished conversation?
Ulu: No response... Still, I call out, I must call out... to my dearest friend.
Spathodea: ...Hmm? Is someone calling me?
The girl lowers hands that a moment ago fiddled with photos and clippings, lifting her head to scan the room.
Of course, she gains no insights from her efforts.
Spathodea: Hmm... My ears are playing tricks on me again. I thought ... I heard something, but maybe it was nothing...
Spathodea: sigh ...
She refocused her energy back to the meticulously collected items before her.
Spathodea: Let’s take a look at the picture again... Hmm, it's so different from records of the Uluru Games from other places, but...
Her fantasies of this grand event occupy most of her free time, and even much of the time she should use to finish her homework.
Like this very moment, for example.
???: Are you awake in there, Cookie? Can I come in?
Spathodea: What...? I'm here, I'm awake! I’m just—
Spathodea: So, it wasn’t my imagination... For crying out loud... Mummy, I'm coming—
Spathodea stuffed her scattered keepsakes from the desk into a waiting drawer and just as quickly opened her exercise book, in a practiced move.
Then in a brisk series of steps, the little girl runs to the door and turns the knob.
Spathodea: Wh-What is it, Mummy?
Spathodea’s Mother: You didn't come down for your milk today, so I guessed my little Cookie must be busy.
Her mother placed the milk at the side of the table, while simultaneously setting a beautiful album down with purposeful intent.
Spathodea’s Mother: I’ve brought a little something for you. I thought I’d give you it along with your milk. Here you go.
Spathodea: Oh my—! It’s... all the photos and notes I put together!
Spathodea: I thought Ms. Jones would wait until the last week of term to give it back to me... You beauty... Oh, this is wonderful...
Spathodea’s Mother: She knows how important these things are to you, so she packed them in a plastic bag and put them in the top drawer. Look at the cover—your little doodles are as clear as the day you drew them.
Spathodea’s Mother: Ms. Jones is a wonderful teacher... But she also told me about what’s been going on with you recently... That you've let your mind wander in class, Cookie.
Spathodea: Sorry... I... I didn't mean to...
Spathodea: I just... I just keep thinking about the photos, and...
The guilty child lowers her head and rubs her fists against her eyelids.
Spathodea’s Mother: It's okay, we’ve got all the time in the world.
Her mother placed her palms around the little girl's shoulders and took her into her arms, she sat on the edge of the bed resting her head gently against her daughter’s.
Spathodea: It was when... Ms. Jones was talking to us about after-school sports and asking what our favorite events were... I remembered the Uluru Games.
Spathodea: I took out my album to find some events, so I’d have a good answer.
Spathodea: I could’ve said the branch vault, the water beast steeplechase... They’re all so fun, but Ms. Jones said we could only choose our single most favorite event...
Spathodea’s Mother: That shouldn't have been a problem for you, my little love. You’re always talking about your favorite sport...
Spathodea: Yeah! That’s right, Mummy!
Spathodea: It's the one with the stone monster from the stories—Malingee's Harvest!
The girl nods her head twice, the two pigtails behind her dancing like small flames.
But these happy flames flicker for only an instant before she lowers her head again.
Spathodea: My head got so filled with thoughts of playing with Malingee. It was like... like it was all real... Like... the things I see in my dreams...
Spathodea: The red earth of the sports field felt so solid and spongy when I stepped on it... and I could smell the wood burning in the air...
Spathodea: The crowd gathered around the fire—burning wildly and beautifully, like a wild animal... I wanted to reach out to touch its fur...
Spathodea: ...
Spathodea: ...Then Ms. Jones took my hand.
Spathodea opens her eyes, returning from her memories with a pang of regret, her voice timid as a whimpering puppy.
Spathodea: But, I know... I really shouldn't have dozed off in her class...
Spathodea: But the thing is... They say I'm always just daydreaming. They say... I’ve turned into some kind of drongo all because I love the Uluru Games so much...
Spathodea’s Mother: You’re a good girl, Cookie.
Her mother sighs softly and adds a gentle rocking to her embrace.
Spathodea’s Mother: There’s nothing wrong with the things you like and love. Whether it's green crocodiles or even a long gone sports event, they’re all your precious treasures.
Spathodea’s Mother: Don't ever waver just because someone says things about what you love—and you certainly shouldn’t ever feel bad about yourself over such a thing.
Spathodea’s Mother: All the things you’ve collected are proof the Uluru Games happened. It used to be such a grand event, and no one knows what the future holds—
The mother lifts the child's soft round face, wipes away her tears, and kissed her cheek with tender affection.
Spathodea’s Mother: Maybe someday in the future, your Uluru Games will return. the same way they disappeared, maybe they’ll... suddenly reappear.
Spathodea: Do you... really think so, Mummy?
She’s not wrong. No one knows what the future will bring.
More than that, it can feel impossible to crush the dreams of a child.
Spathodea’s Mother: Of course, we always need something to look forward to in life, Cookie.
Spathodea’s Mother: But... before that happens, you have to promise me something.
A tone of uncertainty lingers in the air as the topic turns, and the mother smiles ever so slightly.
Spathodea’s Mother: When you’re in school, try to focus on your classes, okay?
Spathodea: Of course, Mummy! I’ll pay attention to class in future! I swear on... a whole week’s worth of fairy cakes!
The embarrassed child rubs her face as she ardently swore to prove herself.
Then, immediately after, as though only just remembering something, she lifts her head again.
Spathodea: Oh... by the way, Mummy, I want to try the after-school sports club! It’s the one Ms. Jones mentioned. Can I go?
Spathodea’s Mother: Ms. Jones had a word with me about that, too. Of course, you can go—a bit of exercise would do you a world of good.
Spathodea’s Mother: But... your school doesn’t have a Malingee's Harvest course, Cookie. They need to consider the differences between arcanists and mankind, and hold activities that are safe for everyone.
Spathodea: Yes... I know. It's okay, Mummy.
Spathodea breaks free from her mother's embrace, stands up straight, and shakes out her arms.
Spathodea: I’ve made up my mind—I want to sign up for boxing!
She remembers reaching out to catch those sparks—clenching her fists, then loosening her palms, again and again.
Sweat runs through the gaps between her fingers, soaking her palms in scalding heat. Her rising temperature is no illusion.
Spathodea’s Mother: Of course, darling.
Her mother's palm gently caresses the little girl's head, coaxing a few raised strands of hair to lie back down.
What follows then is a kiss on her forehead that fuels the warm flames within her arms.
Spathodea’s Mother: How about we go pick out some boxing gloves together this weekend? Your dad can drive us... and we can see what kind of protective gear they’ve got there, too...
Spathodea’s Mother: But, starting today, you’re not allowed to leave a single vegetable on your plate.
Spathodea: Oh... I thought athletes were allowed to eat triple chocolate-covered caramels and meat pies every day...
Spathodea: But if vegetables are what I need to do to become a real athlete, I’ll eat salad every day like a good little kangaroo munching on grass!
The little kangaroo bounces up with gusto and stands proudly on the bedroom floor to declare her intention.
Spathodea: I will be—I must be an excellent boxer!
