AT LAST!!!! MUSE HAS RETURNED WITH FULL FORCE AND HAS SUDDENLY ENABLED ME TO COMPLETE THIS LITTLE TALE OF MINE, STARTED SO LONG AGO! It came as a wee surprise to me that, rather than three sections as previously promised, this story has FOUR! Wonders! So without further ado, here is the next installment!

The entry way was wondrous. If the bowl had had eyes they’d have bugged out in pleased surprise. A long hall passed through the depths of the house, with high arched ceilings that boggled the mind with their intricately carved flowers, birds, and fruit.

“Let’s see let’s see…” the wizard mumbled, taking his slow time traversing the hall so the dish ware in his hands could appreciate the glory of the art on his walls, the magnificence of the shiny golden wood floor beneath his booted feet. “What type of tea will it be for thee?”

“Eh? What was that?” Spoon chirped, hearing the wizards words. “You’re not casting a spell are you? Because…”

“Oh no oh no, my dear spoon, nothing of the sort. I’m simply telling myself a little rhyme I made up to pass the time as I mix herbs and ingredients.”

“What for?” Asked the bowl.

“Mmmm potions, spells, food, the like. Life is so much more interesting when one seeks the small magics in it. Ah, here we are. Behold…” Featherwright pushed open a dark wood door on well oiled hinges, revealing a comfortably messy room. “My study.”

Had the bowl and spoon had mouths they surely would have fallen open in awe. The study was filled to brimming with bookcases, the shelves stuffed with all manner of books, scrolls, papers, and other various and sundry things of interest and arcane use. Three great French windows overlooked the gardens, the midday sun bright and warm through the glass. There was a little whirligig thingy spinning idly in the right window; gently chiming music seemed to come from the air itself. 

In the middle of the room stood a massive desk of oak. One half was covered in wizardy things such as beakers and potion bottles and little tins of ingredients, and the other half was covered in parchments and books; a deep, well-used leather armchair sat amid it all, facing the central window. A big ball of fuzzy grey fur lay curled in the sunbeam of the left window. It lifted its head, resolving into a cat with tufted ears and golden eyes. 

Everything in the room, in the house, felt huge. Then again, the soup was only a little soup bowl, and everything felt big to her. 

With exaggerated care Featherwright set the bowl and spoon on his desk, shuffling a sheaf of parchment out of the way with much crackling and crinkling. 

“Well then. Now that I have you here, what shall I do with you?” He said, half to himself. 

The bowl and spoon glanced at each other. 

“What… what d’you mean?” The spoon asked with no little affront. 

“Eh? Oh. Dear me, I’m sorry my boy, thinking aloud. I was referring to the parchment sea you’re in.” With a decisive nod he twirled his finger in the air. A small whirlwind came and swooped the parchment up, rolling it into nice little tubes before wafting it to a shelf behind the desk. In seconds half of the desk’s scarred surface was clear. 

The wizard settled himself into his chair with a self-satisfied sigh. His cat rose, stretched, dropped to the floor with a thud, and made its way to his lap. It curled up on his robbed knees, blinking its great eyes at the bowl and spoon. It began to purr, a great rumbling that seemed to shake the world.

“Now.” Featherwright steepled his fingers before his beakish nose, a kind twinkle in his eye. “Tell me all about yourselves.”

The bowl suddenly felt very shy. What did she have to tell that would interest a man as a wizard? Unsurprisingly the spoon had no such hesitation and burst into a rattling tirade about anything and everything, but mostly himself. This went on for a fair few minutes, the wizard never losing interest, until the spoon ground to a halt. 

“And that’s that, I guess.” His scoop seemed to droop a little. 

“Fascinating,” Featherwright murmured. “I’ve never… it’s genius, really.”

The bowl and spoon shared a look, both realizing at the same time that the wizard had a habit of talking to himself. It made sense, really, being the master of the arcane arts that he appeared to be. Still. It was a little disconcerting. 

“And how about you, my dear?” He asked, turning his attention to the bowl. 

“Well…” the bowl thought about it. “More or less the same as Spoon, I guess.”

“Really!” The wizard laughed. “Are you sure about that?”

“No, not really. I guess I zoned out.”

“Hey! I tell a good story, I do!” The spoon blurted. 

“You do,” the bowl said placatingly. The spoon wiggled in self-satisfaction. “But… well.. is there… You see… I was wondering…”

“Go ahead my dear, you can ask.” Featherwright’s eyes were a cornflower blue, and spoke to depths of knowledge and caring.

The cat purred and blinked slowly at her.

“Well I was wondering, what’s it like being a human?”

A slow smile crept over the wizard’s kindly face. 

“Now that… that is a question.” He glanced from bowl to spoon and from spoon to bowl. “I could tell you, and let me inform you now that would be quite a feat. There is much to tell and describe about being human, so much of it nuanced and… necessary to experience for one to fully understand.”

“Oh… well. I suppose…”

Or I could show you.”

“Show us?” The bowl felt herself begin to shake in excitement and anticipation. 

“What do you mean?” Asked the spoon, excitement tinging his voice. 

“I mean, I could try to turn you into humans.”

“Really!?” The bowl squeaked. 

“Aye. I am a wizard, am I not?”

“What do you mean try?” The spoon was suspicious. 

“Mm. It’s been done before, but I myself haven’t done so. Though I can’t imagine the process or spell would be that difficult. Certainly not as difficult as turning a human safety into a bowl or spoon.”

The spoon and bowl looked at each other. 

“It is an adventure,” they said at the same time. The bowl giggled. 

“Ah, what the crock, why not?” The spoon said, nonchalantly. “Let’s try it! Besides, what’s the worse that could happen?” 

The wizard considered that, and decided that really there wasn’t anything too horrible that could happen. And if something did go cattywampus… well then. He would just put things back the way they were with a simple little time reversal spell. 

“At the least, nothing…” He finally said. “At the worst? Who knows! But I doubt either of you will suffer any loss of sentience or discomfort. Perhaps a pinching sensation, but it’ll end soon enough. Or so the spell books say…”

The cat meowed. 

“A good point, Madrigal,” the wizard said to the cat. “One can’t be too cautious.”

Without further ado the wizard stood, depositing the cat on the floor and clapping his hands as he did. The cat – Madrigal – gave him an imperiously affronted glare before skulking back to the windowsill. Featherwright lost no time in setting up for a spell casting, and before long he had a lovely little nest of blankets and pillows set in the clear spot of his den, a book and crystal-tipped wand in his hands. 

“To protect you, should anything go astray,” he said, gently setting the bowl down in the pillow nest. 

Oh dear, well I hope nothing goes astray, she thought, nervous. She wasn’t sure what she would do if she ended up an ugly slate platter or some other horrid thing like that. She liked being a yellow soup bowl with pretty vines along her rim and a blue circle in her middle. A moment later Featherwright set the spoon next to her, a safe distance away on the other side of a soft, velvety pillow. Suddenly, the bowl’s trepidation at the entire prospect vanished. She wanted to feel the softness of the pillows beneath her, wanted to smell the wood of the desk and the flowers in the garden. 

“Alright then, m’dears. Are you ready?”

“Yes!” The bowl and spoon answered in unison. 

“In that case… we’re off!”

With much muttering and uttering of strange words in a strange language, and with much waving of his crystal-tipped stick, the wizard cast his spell. A pale gold glow emanated from his wand, coalescing into a glimmering mist that settled upon the bowl and spoon. It felt like nothing to either of them, and then suddenly…

It tickled! 

Well that’s an odd feeling, the spoon thought. The bowl just giggled, her laughter growing louder as the mist settled around them like a blanket. 

Voice raised in authority, Featherwright waved his wand in a complicated loop, barked a command in the strange language, and in a flash of light, the spell was complete. 

“By my eyebrows and luxurious beard! It worked!” The wizard cried.

And lo, it had. 

Where a chipped soup bowl and a barely used wooden spoon had been now sat two youthful – if not completely human – looking humans.

The bowl had been turned into a pretty, round girl, with curly yellow hair that flowed in ringlets to the middle of her back; leaves and ivy intertwined with the tresses. Her eyes were the same color as the blue circle, and she had a dusting of light blue and green freckles over her plump cheeks. There was even a scar down her left arm in the exact shape of the crack on her left side, her pinkie of that hand ending just above the second knuckle. 

“T’was the easiest way to transfer it, my dear.” Featherwright sounded apologetic as she looked at the pale line trailing down her arm. “I hope you aren’t too put out by it.”

“Not at all! I don’t mind it.” The bowl – excuse me, girl – wiggled her the stub of her pinkie. “In fact I like it! It makes me feel like me, and how I should be!”

Were others so accepting of themselves, the wizard thought ruefully. 

The girl sat up, a white dress trimmed in yellow, green, and blue flowers fanning out around her legs. She felt the pillows beneath her and shivered as a breeze filtered in through the open windows. She glanced over the pillow at the spoon/boy. He was currently staring up at the ceiling with a dazed expression of awe in his chocolate brown eyes. Sensing her gaze he sat up and stared at her, and her at him. He was skinny, like his handle had been. His skin was the same warm tone the wood of the spoon was. Caramel brown hair stuck up from his head in all directions, and was slightly reminiscent of the shape of his scoop. Instead of a dress he wore a cream tunic over a pair of brown trousers. The boy wiggled his bare toes, and the girl looked down to see that she was also barefoot. She wiggled her toes too, and began to giggle. 

Surprised she clapped a hand over her mouth, the noise sudden and unexpectedly pleasant to hear. 

“Why did you stop?” The boy asked. 

“It was a weird noise!” The girl said.

“But I liked it.”

Her blue eyes widened, and then her face split into a grin. He grinned at her too.

“That’s… what we sound like?” She asked. 

The boy shrugged, and looked at the wizard. 

“Yes yes, that’s what you sounded like to me! And it’s a wonder, truth be told! Though…” he sighed and rubbed his brow. “The auditory properties of dish ware really should be studied.” He noticed their feet then. “Oh dear me, it seems I forewent giving you shoes.” He uttered a dry cough. “Unfortunately that seems to be all the magic I have in me today, so you’re on your own there, dearies.”

The girl and the boy didn’t seem to hear him, so entranced were they with their new appearances and figuring out how to stand and walk. 

The girl, standing with aid of the desk was swaying her full hips from side to side, feeling the way her skirt swung around her new legs and ankles. The boy, having reached his feet, was already tottering around the room. He found a mirror and was staring in awe at his hair, trying in vain to get it to do anything besides stick straight up and out.

“I look ridiculous!” He whinged, as once again a tuft of hair sprang back into place. 

“No you don’t, silly.” She glanced up from her swaying skirts and peered at him. “You look just as you did as a spoon!”

He gave her a look that somehow managed to convey at least twenty sentences.

“I find THAT hard to believe. I was sleek and polished as a… as a… oh I don’t know. Besides, it’s hardly fair standing next to when you look so pretty.”

The girl blushed.. 

This is new, she thought, feeling her cheeks warm. 

“Well at least you’re the same basic shape. I didn’t think I’d be so…” 

“Perfectly shaped?” The boy supplied. 

The girl blushed again, walked over (she had surprisingly good balance for having just received legs) smacked him on the arm. Having limbs was proving to be rather useful in expressing these unfamiliar emotions.

“Oh hush, you.”

“I’m just telling it as it is.”

“Yes, and with far more words than I thought you knew.”

The boy laughed, and the girl thought it sounded nice. 

“I could say as many words and more before!”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t feel the need to. Now, though, it’s just so easy to talk about anything.”

So saying, the boy launched into another tirade about the unjust division of work amongst kitchen spoons. 

The wizard and girl shared a look and sighed before settling into the comfy chairs and pillows to wait for him to talk himself out. 

Which didn’t happen for another forty three minutes and twenty-nine seconds, to be exact.

By then the wizard was dozing, and the girl was about to join him when all of a sudden… 

“What was that?!” The boy asked, staring in confusion at the girl’s middle. It gurgled again, louder this time. 

“I don’t know! But I feel… empty. Like when I was on the shelf not being useful.”

The boy looked thoughtful, and then his stomach made a similar noise. 

“I do too. I wonder what it means.”

“You don’t think… you don’t think the spell…”

“Eh wha the general need the corn…” the wizard spluttered, waking from his snooze. 

The girl and boy’s stomachs gurgled again, and the old man laughed to himself. 

“Heavens, I forgot myself! Apologies, my young friends. It appears I forgot to feed you before dozed off. Terribly rude of me, I’m sure.”

Madrigal meowed agreement from her spot in the sunbeam.

The boy and girl exchanged a confused look. 

“Feed us?”

“Ah! Of course of course. Explanations are necessary. But come come. Follow me, and old man Featherwright will set you right.” 

The wizard chuckled at his rhyme, and led the two of them from his study. 

“You see, my young friends. There are certain things that humans need to, such as eat, drink, and… other less enjoyable things that I won’t bore you with until it becomes relevant.”

As he talked they passed through a narrow, dimly lit hallway. 

And into the kitchen. 

The girl instantly felt at home, gazing at the space. 

It was big, bigger than the wizard’s study had been, with low, black-beamed ceilings and white washed walls. A long island split the room down the middle, and at the far end she saw another table situated in a little roundish room. This one was covered with the paraphernalia of cooking: potatoes, onions, squash, eggs, bread, and so many other homey looking things that the girl caught herself sighing in contentment. 

As they walked in a set of kitchen knives, moving of their own accord, stopped cutting various things and turned to face the wizard. 

“Yes yes, you’re doing well,” he said, tapping the handle of the closest one with affection. “But I fear we’ll need food for two more bellies, now won’t we?” He glanced back at the two recently turned humans. 

With a dip of the blade, the knife zipped back to the chopping board, and clacked against the wood. A moment of silent negotiation with its fellows, and soon the air was filled with whizzing and whirling kitchen apparatuses. A fork retrieved a roast from an ice box, some spoons began adding seasoning to a pot that had situated itself under a sink and was filling with water, and a peeler began peeling potatoes and carrots with quick, effective swipes of its blade.

There was so much going on that before either the girl or boy knew what was happening, a pot of stew was boiling on the stove. 

“Are… are they like us?” The boy asked as Featherwright led them passed another station where a bread knife cut thick slices of hearty wheat bread from a loaf. 

“No. At least not that I’m aware of. I enchanted them myself, you see.”

“Were we enchanted too?” The girl asked. 

The wizard looked at them quizzically. 

“I would presume so, but I couldn’t detect any sort of mark as to who had done the enchanting. But it’s not unheard of for objects to self animate. Why, I remember the time a cleaver came aware at the butcher, and had a field day with the roasts before the man arrived.”

Too confused to ask for clarity, the girl and boy followed the wizard through the kitchen and into the little nook where the table stood, more light shining in through windows on four walls. As the soup continued to cook the wizard drew out a pipe from his voluminous robes, stuffed it with aromatic, dried leaves, and lit it with a flick of his thumb. 

“Sit, make yourselves comfortable.”

The girl did this with ease, mirroring the wizard’s pose on the chair. Her skirt fell in satisfying folds over her knees. The spoon had a little more trouble, and eventually settled in, sitting with his legs crossed, his knobby knees sticking over the edge of the table. 

Featherwright gave them wryly amused looks and settled back in his chair with a creak. 

“Now… before we proceed further in your adventure, I think you’re going to need names.”

“Names!” The two of them gasped. 

“Of course! How else do you think people call each other? You can’t very well go around calling each other spoon and bowl. Well… I mean you can, but there’d be many a confused look if you did.”

“If you think it’s a good idea, then it must be.” The girl said frankly. 

“Quite.” The wizard puffed up just a bit at the praise. “Now… let me think.” He stroked his chin, and fixed his eyes on the girl, barely blinking. She tried not to fidget under his intense blue gaze, but failed twelve seconds in, twisting her dress in her fingers. 

This feels so strange, but I love it! She thought, in regards to everything.

He peered at her for a good minute or two before speaking. 

“Felicity, methinks. Yes yes. Good good. That suits you, don’t you think?” 

The girl formed the word with her mouth, feeling the shape of the name and how it made her feel as she said it. He was right. 

“I think it does! Does it mean anything?”

The old man chuckled, little puffs of smoke curling from the corners of his mouth.

“Aye. It means happiness. Or good mirth or something to that extent.” 

The girl Felicity beamed.

“What about me?” The boy asked. He was trying not to be distracted by the cute little gap in Felicity’s front teeth. 

Turning his eyes on him, the wizard pursed his lips, puffed on his mustache.

“You… hmm… what do you think about Lelo?”

The boy raised an eyebrow, an impressive feat considering he’d been a spoon minutes ago. Felicity giggled again at his expression, and he felt a warm tingly feeling in his fingertips.

“Lelo? Uh-huh. No. I don’t think so.”

“Sael?”

“How do… no.”

“Cullen?”

“No?”

The wizard tapped his beak-like nose. 

“Ah! How about Bernard?”

The boy opened his mouth to argue, but paused, considering. 

“Actually,” he said, thinking about the name. “I think I like it! What does that mean?”

“Hardy like a bear, if I’m correct. Though… well… you seem like a hardy soul, don’t you think?” 

The boy – Bernard – grinned and nodded his head.

“Spice. I like it.”

“I could call you Bernie!” Felicity crowed, clapping her hands. She’d never had a name before and couldn’t contain her excitement. 

Bernard looked amused, and stood to perform a little hop-skip, rather like how he’d done as a spoon. 

“And I will call you Fel!”

“Oh I like that! Isn’t this all just toothsome?” 

“Eh what?” The wizard asked, perplexed. 

“What, did I say something wrong?” Felicity asked. Her big blue eyes widened. “Oh dear, human only a few minutes and I already…”

“Nothing of the sort, my dear,” the wizard hastily said, patting her on shoulder. “I’ve just never heard that word used that way before.”

“What? Toothsome? It’s how our lady used to describe good delicious things.”

The wizard considered a moment, then barked out a laugh that startled Felicity and Bernard. 

“I suppose that is what it means! I shall have to start using toothsome more often. Thank you, my dear for bringing such a wonderful word to my attention. And AH! Look here!” He gestured with his pipe at the small procession of wooden bowls and cutlery that was coming their way. A plate of warmed toast followed, butter soaking the bread. A small jar of honey and strawberry jam came next, and finally their stew arrived, steaming and smelling most toothsome indeed. 

“That was fast!” Bernard chirped, eyeing the pot. “I thought it took longer to make stew.”

The wizard wiggled his eyebrows, and tapped his nose. He did it a lot, and Felicity was beginning to wonder what it meant. 

“It’s all in the casting, lad, all in the casting.”

Without further ado the three of them tucked into the meal. One bite of the stew had Felicity sighing in delight, and Bernard had wolfed his down before Featherwright had time to grab a piece of toast. 

“Well I say, laddy, you have quite a stomach in you!” He laughed as a second bowl drifted over, slightly more full than the last. 

Felicity joined in his laughter as Bernard’s eyes bulged with his first taste of toast.

“This is the toast everyone talks about?! It’s amazing!” 

“Now try it with some jam. Made it myself, I did.”

“With magic?” Felicity asked, adding a dollop of honey to her bread. The sweet sticky stuff coated the top of her mouth and back of her teeth, melding wonderfully with the savory flavor of the wheat bread. 

“Nay, not this time. There are some things that call for magic, and others that call for a loving hand and its due course.”

“You keep on saying all these things and I don’t know what they mean,” Bernard said, stuffing another piece of bread in his mouth. He was nearly done with his second bowl, and Felicity’s second was just replacing her first. Still, neither felt full in the slightest. 

“I do, don’t I?” The wizard seemed pleased at the prospect of being able to educate two new souls such as those that sat at his table. “Well… if you choose to stay, I’m sure I can explain anything you want to know.”

“Anything?!” Felicity gasped. 

“Aye. Well. Anything that I know about, and I know about a lot of things, don’t I?”

“I should hope so, you’re a wizard. And wizards seem to know a lot.” 

“Indeed we do.”

“What did those other names mean?” Bernard asked. Finally his appetite seemed sated, and he’d worked out how to use his knees. He was slouched low in his chair, his long fingered hands clasped over a very full tummy. 

A twinkle came into the wizard’s eye. 

“Talkative.”

To be continued… I promise it will come sooner than this latest update, as I actually have the thing written.

Cheerio until then!