Tea. Warm. Relaxing. Ancient.

It starts with the tea plant, Camellia sinensis. An evergreen shrub, whose leaves survive the year. Blend the leaves with boiling water - such a simple thing.

The Chinese Emperor is thought to have accidentally brewed that first fateful pot of tea on Earth, in 2737 BC. A royal drink right from the start. Formal and casual rituals were built around this most popular beverage. Cures were derived from it. To some, the future was thought to be seen in the lay of the tea leaves after a cup was drained. To many, the drink itself came to symbolize relaxation, respect, harmony, patience, and purity.

Other plants - mint, chamomile, licorice - joined the tea family, diversifying the flavors as the idea continued to spread. It’s popularity grew strong, and has never failed significantly.

I twitch my whiskers, waiting for the pot to whistle.

I don’t care what the others say, it’s just more…right…to make tea in a teapot. I mean it was nice that they bought me the microwave and microwave-proof mug, but I really don’t care to use them. I mean, to zap the water, then bury the tea bag in sugar and cream, just seems to defeat the whole point.

Tea should not be rushed. It’s not about ‘new-age-instant-caffeine’. It’s about tradition.

The pot shrieks in rising octaves from it’s place on the stove, steam pouring from it’s spout. I attend to it, going through the motions with exaggerated grace and care. Sniffing the steam as if to determine the quality of the brew. Turn the heat off. Put the oven mitts on. Lift the pot. Fill the cup, two thirds of the way, mustn’t spill any! Place the pot back on the oven, on a burner that’s cooled. Leave the oven mitts on the counter. Dunk the tea bag into the water, slowly. Watch the tea diffuse. Stir a bit. Rescue the tea bag from the cup and set it in it’s own little holder. Take a sip, savor the taste.

I wander into the garden, sipping my tea and admiring the flowers.

I suppose everyone has a fetish. Tea seems to be mine. And trouble is everyone else’s. At least it certainly seems that way sometimes.

"DORA! WATCH OUT!!!!!!!!!"

I don’t know who yelled it. I don’t know what’s going on. All I know is that for a split second I’m airborne, surrounded by others who are all talking at once in urgent or panicked tones, and flailing their various limbs in a number of directions. By the time I meet ground, they’ve moved on.

Most of them. Two remain.

One is the White Rabbit. He is in his formal attire, the robes of a royal herald, and looking rather distressed. He helps me to my feet before he leaves towards the kitchen, promising to return with a fresh pot of tea.

The other is Cheshire Cat. He pads over to me slowly. His age is beginning to show. Not physically, but, after one has been alive for over a hundred years - they begin to behave older. Mentally it just seems the natural thing to do.

Cheshire Cat glances at me and asks "Dora, are you okay?"

I dust myself off, observing the spilled tea and general disarray. " I suppose I am. What was that?"

"Truth or Dare game." Rabbit calls from the kitchen.

"Duchess was playing again?" I asked.

Cheshire nods. That explains everything. I sigh and hear my sigh echoed by Cheshire. I reach down to lift the teacup from it’s place on the ground to find myself at eye level with my feline friend. The air is suddenly full of hesitant tension. "What troubles you Cat?"

"It is time for you to know." said the Cat, looking at the ground.

"Know what?" I sat on the ground cross-legged, with the teacup in my lap.

"Why the raven is like the writing desk."

I raised an eyebrow. That particular riddle had never struck me as having a logical answer, and so I had never paid much attention to it. But here was the Cheshire Cat, speaking in grave tones of the nonsense riddle.

It occurred to me just then that one reason the Cat looked older, was that he lacked his grin. Usually, he was always grinning - it was hard to picture him without the grin. In fact, I was so used to seeing the grin on his face, I’d imagined one there for a while.

A most profound, uncomfortable sort of concern for my friend came with this realization. "Are you well Cat?"

He did not answer my question, but continued. "Every dream is a commentary on the dreamer, Dora. The fiction often reflects the facts. We," he gestured to include everything, "we at least, of WonderLand are aware of this, and remain open. We do not claim to be either the dream or the dreamer, the fact or the fiction. The raven or the writing desk. We treat each with equal importance, for they need each other."

He paused to meet my gaze and in solemn tones stated - "You will not truly understand this for many years to come. But as a WonderLander, you must preserve this tradition. This philosophy." He pauses significantly, waiting for me to say something.

"I understand Cat, I will preserve the tradition."

I heard the teapot whistle and saw movement in the corner of my vision. I didn’t need to turn my head to know that the White Rabbit had been standing in the door-frame of the kitchen, listening to the conversation.

Cheshire nodded his approval of my words. "Dora, do recall what Rabbit has taught you of your beginnings?"

"Of course."

Who could forget such a speech? My creation had started with the DorMouse, who had wanted to retire. After the traditional vote from the WonderLand Parliament, three representatives - picked by the DorMouse himself - had come together and chosen everything from my duties to my fur color. They had set the mold I would fill.

The very act of them agreeing on all that I would be, created me. The three finalized the agreement by placing their own seals upon a document, vowing to be my guardians and teachers until such time as their own retirement.

At least, so I had been told. I don’t exactly have clear recall of the event.

Cheshire Cat was one of the three who’d created me. In my youth he’d taught me all about his own duties in WonderLand - the importance of maintaining contact with other places, how to vanish, and the fine art of word puns.

He could see that I remembered and cleared his throat loudly to regain my attention. "DoraMouse, I am proud of you, you are no longer a child in this society. You have sworn to preserve the traditions of WonderLand, and it is time to put action to the words. To prove you are ready. For the dream must reflect the dreamer."

Cheshire sounded wistful as he reclined on his haunches to conclude. "I know not if I am part of a dream, or a dreamer. Or even both. It matters not. What is significant, is that time changes things, and a great deal of time has passed since my creation. My own creators have been long departed from us. I am out of place here. I am to retire."

I felt my jaw slack a little. Cheshire? Retire? I couldn’t imagine WonderLand without him. "Where will you go Cat? Will I still see you?"

Cheshire shrugged and gazed off into the distance, where the Mirrorwall shimmered. "My grin has gone without me Dora, I’d like to find it again. The Parliament has granted me permission to."

I suddenly realized how I tied into all this. Cheshire was the one who made the Mirrorwall able to be traveled. Yet he could not go through Mirrorwall and hold it open at the same time. He wanted me to keep the path open for him. He would need me to take over his duties. WonderLand would need me to take over his duties.

For a moment I considered not doing it. I needed that Cat around, there was still a lot I didn’t know. I wasn’t ready for all the responsibilities. But that was only for a moment. I knew I couldn’t make him stay.

Nevertheless, I heard myself saying "You don’t know all that is out there Cat. And I am to fill the duties of DorMouse, not you..."

White Rabbit, another of my creators, stood behind me, placed a comforting paw on my shoulder. "No one knows of all that is beyond here Dora. We can not learn and stay hidden. It is what is best."

Cheshire hugged me, then he took each of my paws into one of his and looked into my eyes. "It will be okay. You learned well. And you will not need to fill my duties forever, because I choose you. I choose you to help create the new Cat, teach it all I have taught you."

I nodded, it was an honor to be chosen. Even if I wasn't sure I was up to this. Cheshire, Rabbit - they believed in me. I trusted their judgments. "I accept. I will help you Cat."

"Thank you. You will always have a friend on the other side."

White Rabbit handed me a handkerchief, and I wiped some tears from my dampened fur. I hadn't noticed the tears, but was not ashamed of them now. I knew I would miss the Cat, I already did.

Then Rabbit refilled my teacup, handed a full one to Cheshire, and sat beside me, holding his own filled teacup in both paws. "I propose a toast…"

Cheshire and I looked at him, and raised our cups a little. He turned from us and glanced towards the Mirrorwall, then back at us. "Here is to ravens and writing desks."

We clinked the teacups together and drained them.