Not Brigit, of course. Brigit did not laugh at people. And she had once confessed to him shyly that she liked to believe in one impossible thing every morning before breakfast. So, he pushed the button anyway. Nothing happened, of course. He stood there thirsty and embarrassed. He felt the rumbling acceleration of a truck coming down the street. He turned to see where it was, but to his puzzlement there was nothing there to see. The noise grew louder and louder. The rumbling felt nearly under his feet. He looked back at the fountain again and, with a loud gurgle and hissing shssssh, a jet of water shot out of the mouth of the frog and into the air. Well. He leaned over and drank deeply. It was just the way he remembered it, but colder and even fresher. When he stood back up, his thirst was quenched. And not just that. It seemed to him that his vision had grown suddenly clearer and his hearing extra sharp. He noticed several things he hadn’t noticed before. He could see details in the peeling bark of bare trees, mossy cracks in the stone wall that he never noticed before. Far away things seemed to come very close. He noticed, too, that one of the bronze leaves from the edge of the fountain had snapped off and fallen onto the sidewalk. He bent and examined it, feeling how sharp the broken edge was. He dropped it into his pocket and stood up. He was just about to turn and head down the hill towards school when a faint noise caught his ear. It came from inside the park. Not too far away. A whimpering cry, followed by a rustling, scratching sound. He was going to be late to school, but the whimpering came again. Someone or something was in trouble up there. His father said that to live a good life, the second most important thing was bravery. The first was kindness.
Deleted Scene - An Alternate Beginning to The Tiltersmith by Amy Herrick Page 4 Page 6