The old woman sits on a hill. Her face is plump and softly lined with the stories of her life. Her hair is pulled back neatly in a bun. A few strands of white hair fall forward around her small round wire glasses. She is intent upon what she is doing and never looks up. She is quilting a blanket that tumbles to the ground below, forming small peaks and valleys. Over time, the quilt gets longer and wider, covering more and more of the hill below the old woman.

At first glance, all we see is an old woman quilting pieces of fabric together with quiet concentration and great skill acquired over many years.

But look a little closer. What do you see?

Welby Wandernaught could hardly wait for the school bell to ring. Tomorrow was the day he had been waiting for all his life. He looked at the big red clock on the wall with anticipation. Only five minutes had passed since he had last checked the time. Welby sighed heavily as he glanced at his best friend Dargo, who was three seats in front of him. Dargo was whispering something to his twin brother, Dingo. The twins' roly-poly bodies looked exactly alike, and nobody could tell them apart. Since every Patchquilt family in the village had its own unique quilted designs, Dargo and Dingo's mother had to stitch their names onto capes, coats, shirts, and trousers in order to tell them apart.

Mrs. Pillow, sixth-grade teacher at Quality Patchwork Academy, was a small, round woman with large, dark-brown eyes that crinkled at the corners when she smiled. It was the custom for the women of the village not to leave their quilted hoods down and expose their hair. Usually, long braids or loose ringlets curling out from under their quilted hoods were all anyone could see. Mrs. Pillow however, was a modern woman and allowed her hood to flop down on her neck, exposing a long mane of wild brown hair. She was not young, but neither was she as old as Welby's mother. Welby was disappointed that today Mrs. Pillow had decided to put her hair up neatly under her hood in the traditional manner. She also spoke in an abrupt manner. Welby did not understand why adults were always so tense whenever there was an important event. Why couldn't they be as happy as the children on special days?

Mrs. Pillow was in the middle of discussing the upcoming events when she finally noticed Dargo was not paying attention to anything she was saying.

"Dargo!" Mrs. Pillow said sharply. "If you have something to say, we would all like to hear it."

The class fell silent, with only a few smirks and giggles drifting from the back of the room. Dargo immediately straightened up in his chair.

"I know you are all excited about tomorrow," Mrs. Pillow continued, "but remember what it means to have finally reached the age when you're able to travel to Storytelling Mountain. Can anybody tell me how they feel this new adventure will change them?"

Mary Stokes raised her hand and shook it with great enthusiasm. Mrs. Pillow regarded the rest of the class quietly. Mary seemed to be the only one willing to volunteer an answer.

"Go ahead, Mary."

Mary Stokes' quilts were perfectly pressed every day. Her nose was slightly upturned, and her bright amber eyes burned holes into anyone she decided she didn't like. She stood proudly beside her desk, and with a loud and confident voice, she addressed the class.

"I have waited all my life to see the Great Storyteller," Mary said, "and I feel that I can finally share some of my thoughts with her on how to make our land a little better. It seems to me, however, that there are people right here in this room that don't take it seriously. It is more than just a party for me, and-'' "Thank you, Mary," Mrs. Pillow interrupted. "I think I know what you mean."

Mrs. Pillow regarded the class seriously. "Does everybody understand the rules for tomorrow's journey?" She did not wait for the class to answer. "You must be twelve years of age. You must have proven you are responsible enough to make the journey and have both of your parents' permission. You understand, of course, the purpose of this yearly journey." Again, she did not wait for the class to respond. "The Storyteller will look upon you and decide your fate in life. If you are pure of heart, she will protect you and watch over you. Tonight, take time to reflect upon your future. I suggest you all do so at this evening's ceremony in the village square. And I expect you all to be on your best behavior. The Queen will be present, and we want the students of Quality Patchwork Academy to shine. Understand?" The class nodded somberly, and to Welby's great relief, the bell rang and he was finally free. He couldn't wait to get home to prepare for the evening ceremony. There was only one thought that made him sad about the upcoming event: his father wouldn't be there with him.

As he was leaving the classroom, Mrs. Pillow called out after him. "Welby?"

He stopped just inside the door and turned to look at her, waiting. "Has your mother heard from your father?"

"No," he said in a small voice. He knew he needed both of his parents' permission to go on tomorrow's journey. Please don't let this keep me from being able to go, he thought.

"Is your mother all right?" Mrs. Pillow pressed.

"I think she is." Welby was uncomfortable and twisted his sleeves nervously between his fingers. Of course his mother wasn't all right. Should he tell his teacher that she had been crying? No. His proud mother would not want that.

Mrs. Pillow stared at him thoughtfully, her finger tapping the side of her face. "I'll see you and your mother tonight then?"

"Yeah," he said, relieved, dashing out the door before she could ask more questions.

Welby raced away from school, his face hot with humiliation. He thought of his father and ran even faster, as though he could escape the burning in his eyes. Dargo intercepted Welby and raced along beside him.

"We're going to the river," Dargo stated, breathing hard. "Are you coming?"

Welby shook his head. "I need to get home."

"Oh, come on!" Dingo prodded.

Both boys stopped running and began to walk, Dingo trailing behind.

"Nah, I'd better go home," Welby said. "You go without me."

"Are you chicken or something?"

"No, I just don't want to mess up tomorrow. I mean, my mother wanted me to go straight home tonight."

Dargo laughed and elbowed his brother, who had finally caught up with them. "You don't really believe all that, do you? I mean, all that stuff about the Storyteller?" Dargo puffed up his face jokingly and twined his fingers together, pretending to be an old woman sewing a quilt.

"I...I don't know," Welby said hesitantly. "Maybe I do. If you don't believe in it, then why are you going tomorrow?"

"For the fun of it," Dargo replied. "It'll be a blast. And besides, the Princess will be there."

"I'd better not," replied Welby, rolling his eyes at Dargo's mention of the Princess.

"You need a little fun," said Dingo. "You're too serious. Come to the river with us."

"Okay. I'll go, but only for a little while. My mom will kill me if I don't do my chores or if I'm late for the ceremony tonight. You guys are going, right?"

"Yeah," said Dargo, scrunching his face into a frown. The expression on his brother's face was identical. The only real difference between the twins was that Dargo did all the talking and Dingo nodded eagerly in agreement to almost everything his twin said. Welby was excited to be going to the evening ceremony and couldn't understand why his friends didn't see how important it was. He loved the stories Thed, the wise man, told the villagers. More than anything, he wanted the Great Storyteller to bring his father home.

As the three friends walked towards the river, the village around them bustled with activity. Patcher and his men were finishing up minor repairs on the quilted path up the mountainside. The three boys stopped to watch them work. Late afternoon sun glistened off the long, shiny sewing needles Patcher carried in a belt around his waist. The tops of the needles were capped with bright blue leather to keep them from sticking Patcher or one of his men as they moved to and fro, expertly stitching together worn or torn patches on the path. The Patchquilt village would look perfect for tomorrow's journey.

Welby, Dargo, and Dingo reached the river that flowed quietly along the edge of the village. The river came from a natural spring at the top of Storytelling Mountain. The Great Storyteller had given the water to the Patchquilt people long before Welby was born. On the other side of the river rose Queen Athena's great palace. The castle was an incredible sight to see. Five points of glass rose into the sky and sparkled with the colors of the rainbow. Large balloons held the glass in place. The lower sections of the castle sprawled across a great portion of the village and were quilted with the most beautiful fabrics in the land.

Welby did not feel like ruining his freshly cleaned quilts and, like all Patchquilt people, his skin was extremely sensitive to the sun. Patchquilt people were never allowed to remove their quilts except in the privacy of their homes. The few who foolishly decided to go ahead and remove their quilts in direct sunlight were usually hospitalized soon after with horrible red burns on their delicate skin. Their howls could be heard for weeks until their wounds healed. So, Welby did exactly as he was told and only removed his quilts for cleaning.

Patchquilt people were also very proud of their quilts. To take them off was considered to be disrespectful to the Great Storyteller, who had created them. Each quilt's design defined a family and its heritage. Welby was very proud of his background, for he came from a long line of Wandernaughts, the greatest explorers in the land. They had brought back from their travels some of the finest silks and threads the villagers had ever seen.

Welby's face was splashed with water as Dargo dove into the river, head first, with Dingo following shortly after. Welby backed away from the riverbank and watched.

"Come on in!" shouted Dargo, his cape ballooning on top of the water and gently rolling on the current.

Just as Welby was getting ready to dive in and join his friends, Dargo stood still in the water. "Quiet!" he said, holding a hand to his ear. "Do you hear that?" Dingo stopped splashing and listened, as did Welby. Off in the distance, a voice could be heard singing.

Dargo crawled slowly out of the water. His quilts were sopping wet, and it took a great deal of effort for him to pull himself onto the bank.

"What is that horrible noise?" Welby cried, covering his ears.

"Shh!" Dargo urged sharply as Dingo crawled out of the water next to them. The twins were swollen to twice their normal size. Puddles formed around them as water seeped from their quilting.

The voice grew louder and seemed to be coming from the Royal Gardens, which were close to the river.

"Let's see who it is," said Dargo, and the three of them made their way to the edge of some rocks overlooking the Royal Gardens. Dargo and Dingo's thick, quilted boots were filled with water and squished as the twins walked. The three peeked over the edge and saw Princess Amelia walking the grounds below them. She strolled through the rose bushes, leaning over to smell this one or that one as she sang.

"I should have known," Dingo groaned, thinking of his brother.

Dargo was deeply infatuated with Princess Amelia, and would do anything just to gaze upon her. The three of them watched her quietly for a while. Although the Princess was the boys' age, she didn't attend their school and was rarely seen outside the palace walls. She moved gracefully in quilted robes made of the finest fabrics and glistening, golden threads. Welby recognized them as being some that his father had brought to Queen Athena. He was immediately saddened once again. He grew angry at the thought that the spoiled little princess probably didn't even realize that it was a Wandernaught who had made it possible for her to be dressed in such finery.

"I'm going home," said Welby. He didn't want to waste his afternoon watching a spoiled little Princess walk around her gardens. "I can't take her singing a minute longer. She's going to wilt the Queen's roses if she doesn't stop that noise." Dingo nudged his brother. "Let's go," he said.

But Dargo's gaze was transfixed on the Princess.

"We're leaving, Dargo," said Welby. "Come on, Dingo."

The next events happened so fast that all Dingo and Welby could do was watch in horror. Dargo's garments, still heavy with water, had begun to weaken the embankment he was lying on. The ground beneath him suddenly gave way and he tumbled down, landing directly in front of the small bench where the Princess sat. His quilting burst like a great water balloon, drenching her from head to toe.

The Princess was stunned for a moment, but once she regained her composure, she screamed at the top of her lungs. Four guardsmen appeared instantly and apprehended a confused Dargo. As they did so, the Princess hurled insults at her admirer. "You beast! You've ruined my robes for the ceremony tonight!"

Dingo and Welby stood in shock for a moment, and then did the only thing they could think of at the moment. They ran away as fast as they could, leaving Dargo to be hauled off by the Royal Guards to face his fate alone.