Miley Sindle and the fool's riddle

His stomach ached with hunger again as he hauled a heavy wooden bucket through the forest. Small flurries of snow trickled as the sun began to set between the avenue of tall, charcoal-grey trees; sometimes the gnarled, wrought trunks of the trees made it look like they had faces. If he took a bucket of water to Tabitha at her bakery, he could have one of her cakes as p*****t. The thought spurred him on, although his stomach and hands were competing to see which part of his body hurt the most. Images of the cinnamon buns at Tabitha's cake shop danced through his mind, and it only made his hunger fiercer as his stomach gurgled questioningly and let out a long groan, as if it were complaining at the mere thought of food. The well wasn't far now; he didn't go to this one often; the woods frightened him, but the other one was dry, so he had no choice. He just had to duck through these trees and make his way into the clearing, and there would be the Whispering Well. Leaving his bucket to one side, he untied the rope from the side of the tree and began to lower the bucket into the well. Still dreaming of dancing cakes, now joined by a chorus of roast dinners, he was jolted back to reality when the pulley stopped feeding the rope. The rope was caught on a branch just above the pulley. Last month, he had to climb onto the well with a stick and push it back off the branch, and luckily, he found last month's long, thin stick still at the side of the well. He climbed up the side of the well and began to poke at the rope with the stick, trying to get it off the branch. It was stuck tight, though, so he leaned on the bucket to get a better angle. Eventually, the rope was almost free. In the moment, without warning, as the rope came off the branch, he felt himself falling. He felt a sharp thump on his left arm as he hit the bucket and desperately tried to grab onto something to stop himself from falling any further, but soon he hit the sharp, icy water in the well below. It hit him like a blanket of cold needles, piercing his skin all over and taking his breath away. It was so icy that he struggled to breathe the musty air, gasping hungrily for each breath as an invisible snake squeezed his ribs. In the distance above him, the sunlight teased freedom, shimmering and dancing on the emerald water in the small area around him, taunting him with every move. Faintly, but with as much volume as he could muster, he cried out, "Help, please someone help me", which echoed eerily through the well, echoing the cries for help. Silence greeted him in response, only a faint 'whoosh' of sympathy from the wind blowing through the trees in the forest. He swam to the side of the well and tried to climb up, but the silky green moss that covered the walls between the patches of grey stone soon prevented any attempts, and he scratched his fingers and knees raw, trying to make it even a little way up before falling back into the icy water. He could see the bucket dangling tauntingly above him, bathed in the fading spotlight. He tried to call out for help again, but there was no response, just a faint, ghostly whisper of branches swaying in the cold wind. He strained to hear, thinking he could make out the faint sound of horses neighing above him. But it couldn't be. His mind must be playing tricks on him, he thought. With all his dwindling strength, he called out for help, but again, there was no answer. Though, he thought, far above him in the distance, he could make out a figure slightly blocking the light. He called to the shadowy figure for help, unsure if there was anyone there or if it was a trick of the light, for the trees in these woods created shadows that looked like men. He kept trying to stay awake, his mind beginning to cloud and darken like the water that surrounded and enveloped him. Eventually, his arms and legs could no longer tread the cold, emerald waters, and he slowly began to succumb to the well. Barely able to keep his nose above the surface, he made one last desperate attempt to find a way out. If he couldn't get out from above, he thought, maybe he could get out from below. He swam down to the bottom of the stone well; the water was pitch-black in front of his face, but he kept swimming as the last thread of hope began to unravel. His thoughts were now more frantic than ever. He grabbed at the stones, trying to free them and himself. Suddenly, his eyes caught a small patch of daylight in front of him, glittering with promise. "Maybe there is a way out", he thought with desperate hope. Reaching out to touch the glow, he realised it was stuck to something on the wall—something hard and cold. He tugged hard at the object, and it finally broke free from whatever was holding it with a small ‘pop’. He held it up to his face; it looked like a gold coin, but with a small, raised part on one side and thick edges that glowed intensely in the darkness, like a small star glowing white gold in the night. He pressed it firmly into the palm of his hand, it was warm to the touch, clinging to the coin as if he could somehow buy his way out of the well. His last thought, though mixed with cold, burning grief, was that he wished he had lived. The boy didn't know two things that day that would change him forever. Firstly, that there was indeed a man standing at the top of the well, that the man had only gotten part of what he had come for, and that he would be back. Secondly, even when something is lost, something is always gained. His world jerked back into focus. Where had he been? He felt his wet clothes clinging to him and looked through blurred vision to his left and right. He saw a thin layer of snow covering the ground, but he didn't feel very cold—in fact, he felt warm despite the snow. Everything slowly came into focus, just with a blurred edge. He could see a girl above him; she was talking to him, and both her hands were on his chest. He felt completely numb. The numbness spread through his body with a tingling sensation. He felt himself lying in the wet snow. He brought his hands close to his face, which were now a hazy pale blue, slowly fading to a very pale white. He could see out of the corner of his eye, he was lying close to the well, and the sky was beginning to darken. He heard a rustling from the trees to his left, and through his blurred eyes, he saw a tall, dark figure coming towards him. Then he heard a woman's shrill voice cry out, "Ten frogs dancing in a cauldron! What have you done?!". Then, quickly, there was a red-hot burning sensation in the middle of his chest, as if his chest were on fire. He felt the coin press into his hand as everything went dark again.