From the trees, we watched them. The children rolled in the long grass of the clearing, tossing handfuls of autumn leaves into the air and squealing with delight, totally unaware that, all around them, in the maples and aspens made brilliant by fall, we watched.
“If only we could freeze this moment for them,” said a voice by my ear, “make it so they were eternally fastened to this perfect instant.”
I turned and looked into the verdant eyes of our leader, Alaye. Her long, red-gold hair was scattered with scarlet leaves, her costume clinging to her in brownish-gold simulacrum of the glory surrounding us. Her body was small. None of our kind stood any taller than the children we watched, but Alaye’s was a woman’s body nevertheless, and she was beautiful. I leaned out towards her and caught one of her pointed ears in my teeth, nibbling affectionately at her butterfly earring.
She laughed softly and pushed me away. For a moment she smiled, her little white fangs gleaming in the light. Then she shifted on the branch beside me, purposefully changing our focus with her posture. “Which do you think, Kerro? Whom shall we name, and chose to carry the blessing-curse?”
I let my eyes rove over the small group. A slightly taller girl with ebony skin and hair escaping from tidy braids ran and chased her fellows expertly, with an energy and intent I found appealing. “That one could be a dancer.” I nodded to her. “In need of a little grace, a bit of patience, perhaps, but she has the potential.”
Alaye smiled her inscrutable smile, giving nothing away. “Perhaps.”
I crossed my eyes at her in mock annoyance and shook out my mane of bark-brown hair. I knew this game all-too-well; she had already selected the one she thought best, now I had to prove my own perception equal to the task. Grinning at her, baring my pointed teeth, I returned to my consideration of the humans. A little boy with mouse-fur hair sang as he plucked grass. His tone wasn’t particularly good, but what truly discouraged me was the fact that he seemed aware of this “problem” and was trying to fix it.
Two sisters wove crowns of flowers for each other, and their creations were beautiful, but they snatched too quickly, seeing only the largest and brightest prizes. They were entirely unaware of the smaller blooms that could have made their coronets truly elegant.
Few of the others showed even as much promise as these. They were too loud, too self-focused, never taking the time even to flop down onto the carpet of leaf litter and stare at the sky as they caught their breath. One of them dug a foil-wrapped candy bar from his pocket, and not only refused to share with his playmates, but deliberately tossed the empty wrapper over his shoulder when he was done. My hackles rose, and as I snarled quietly I felt Alaye stiffen also—that child would have nightmares tonight.
And yet I had still not discovered any with more promise than the possible dancer. I let my gaze rove over the scene one last time to be sure, then admitted my defeat to Alaye.
She nodded understandingly. “Yenna had no more luck than you, my love,” she said. “Nor Jyp, and you know how sharp his eyes are. Just as well, it means I have chosen wisely.”
“But which have you chosen?” I asked.
Again the impenetrable grin. “Patience, Kerro. Let us wait till the dross is burned away by time and human cares, then you shall see my golden choice.”
And so I waited, setting my ear to the trunk of the grand old tree we were perched in, listening to his slow growing song as one by one the children drifted away. Finally, when they were gone and the clearing seemed empty, I stirred myself. But just as I was about to ask Alaye where her gold had gone, I saw her.
The girl was half buried in a drift of fallen leaves, and lay as still as if she slept a dreamless sleep. But her eyes were open and seemed to reflect the perfect evening sky they gazed at, and her yellow hair lay over and among the leaves like sunlight. My breath caught in my throat; Alaye was right. The girl’s stare was not the empty, unengaged gaping of a simple child, rather she drank in the scene around her, her head moving slightly as if listening to an orchestra, her lips curving in a profound smile.
“A painter?” I whispered to my wife.
Alaye shook her head. “Would it were so simple. This one must be a writer, Kerro, look—you can almost see the words dancing behind her eyes, and those hands were meant for a pen, not a paintbrush.”
My brow creased. “A writer? Alaye, to confine the magnificence we will give her into mere human words…” I trailed off. Even a poet would have been better; they had more license to break the silly rules and chains into which humans forced their meaning.
“I know,” she said. “But that is who she is at her core, Kerro, surely you can see that?”
I could. But this would not be easy, for either us or the girl. “All her life she will search, Alaye, hunt for a way to convey what is within her through their paltry syllables. Can she truly succeed?”
At my words, Alaye smiled, the expression filling her face and lending light to her luminous eyes. She did not directly answer me, rather she slowly climbed down the tree who had been our gracious host, and made her way boldly across the clearing to where the girl sat. The human watched her come, blue eyes betraying neither surprise nor fear. At last my wife stood directly before her, fists on hips, still smiling. She spoke to the girl in her own language, and my heart nearly broke to hear Alaye’s sweet voice twisted in such a way. “Will you take beauty upon yourself, human child? Will you admit into your soul a wonder far beyond mortal understanding, and strive to your utmost and beyond to share this wonder with your people?”
The girl put her head to one side, considering. “Are you a faerie?” she asked.
“That is one of our names,” Alaye answered, her grin growing, if possible, even wider. “And what is yours?”
For a long moment the girl was silent. Then, “It means Beloved, Lady Faerie. If I must be known by a name to you, I would prefer it to be that one.”
Alaye put out a delicate hand and touched the girl’s forehead with a slender index finger. She whispered the name aloud in our language, and the power of such a naming filled my senses and I knew my wife had chosen true. “Beloved.”
I really did enjoy this...it's got that somewhat otherworldy feel that all the best faerie bits do. It doesn't even beg for continuation, although I would personally love to read more about these two. Brava.
As much as we writers protest this to the world, they just dont believe us. I gather there's a strike regarding this very thing happening right now! In any case, it was a touch cliche, but pretty, and nicely written.
Um, wow, yeah....thanks Sage and Jig! 