Page 38 of Chased By the Fairy

Yeah, an adult who bloomed from a fucking flower last summer!

There had been a small blizzard recently, and knowing Sorrel might have been outside during that time sent fear through him. He looked at the snowy horizon.

Where should he go? Where should he look now? He doubted the sprites of Hollow Haven would tell him even if they had seen Sorrel.

They left the platform to meet their mounts.

Another storm was coming, and they needed to retreat to safety if they themselves didn’t want to die.

Please be okay.

Throwing some pieces of cut-up edible root into the stew pot, Sorrel glanced over at the forest mice sprites who were each using a makeshift wooden ladle to stir.

It’d been over two months since he’d found himself in the underground city belonging to all the burrowing sprites, but he’d rather be here than outside in the snow.

After leaving Jeffers’ horrible menagerie to face the unforgiving world by himself, Sorrel had nearly frozen to death. He’d eaten what he could along the way as he walked with no idea which direction he should be going. There hadn’t been much to eat, but he’d found some winter berries which seemed to have been safe.

It hadn’t mattered at the time if they were.

He’d been starving and had been trying to eat anything to stave off the hunger. Random nuts, roots, and even leaves.

He couldn’t remember the number of times he’d tripped, unused to traversing the unfamiliar, slippery terrain.

He wanted to go home, but he didn’t see that happening when he realised he didn’t know the way. The snow was colder than he could ever imagine. More dangerous than he’d ever realised. And he knew, understood, that it was going to get worse as winter deepened.

Afraid of what his future was like, or rather, if he even had one, he’d taken shelter within a hole – not realising in the foreboding dark that it was actually an entrance tunnel to a network of burrows belonging to sprites. But there had been no food and the only heat he had was within himself, and it weakened with every hour he shivered uncontrollably.

The week following his escape from Jeffers’ creepy zoo had been horrible. Sorrel had eventually passed out from either hunger or the cold after days of suffering.

He hadn’t expected the next time he woke up to be surrounded by blissful warmth. He’d thought he’d perhaps died and gone to some summer paradise, but when he opened his eyes, he found himself surrounded by dirt walls.

He was underground, a dim fire lighting the hole he was in, while a mouse sprite had been dabbing a wet cloth to his forehead. Sick with a terrible fever, he barely remembered asking her where he was, why he was still alive, who she was. He was half-delirious, and Cindy, his new friend, had nursed him back to health over the course of a week.

She’d tended to him by bathing him since he was too weak to move. She’d hand fed him spoonful after spoonful of soup until he could do it himself. His withered body eventually held its normal strength once more.

Since then, for the past two months, he’d been living with her and her sisters. The adjustment to living underground hadn’t been easy.

Cindy gave him new clothing made from hide and leather and it kept him much warmer. He was just thankful that he was able to stop trembling from the cold, and he no longer felt as though ice was clutching his bones and freezing the very blood in his veins.

She spoke with him often to keep him company, explaining how he was lucky he’d crawled into their city’s tunnels, ratherthan an animal’s who likely would have eaten him. Or that he’d been discovered by someone who brought him deeper within the bowels of the network and offered to help him.

He’d needed someone like Cindy to rescue him, to remind the world and the people within it weren’t as cruel as he’d come to discover. He needed someone to not leer at him, to not try to touch his body, to not compliment or insult him.

He needed someone to treat him like the outside of him wasn’t important. That all that mattered was his kind heart and to have that kindness be returned.

Once he’d become well enough, she allowed him to venture throughout her home freely. The ground was covered in torn-up human clothing. It was scattered, making it colourful and soft as he walked over it.

The walls were made of dirt, but she hung random items on them or displayed things on little cupboards made from sticks and thread. A fancy button here. A marble there. She even had a barbie doll hand cupping a pearl – he didn’t know where the rest of the doll was.

Before he knew it, the first month of winter had ended.

During the second month and into the last, she showed him the city network in which she lived. Her burrow connected with hundreds of others in what was called ‘Burrow City.’

Moles, mice, groundhog sprites. They lived with each other in harmony beneath the ground. Sometimes they lived together in huddled groups, like Cindy and her sisters.

Each burrow connected to a large, spacious area in the middle which opened up to a town. The ceiling was dirt with gnarly tree roots hanging down or netting across it. Buildings were made of clay, dirt, sticks, and fluff, but they were large enough to house many if they wanted to drink, dance, gamble, or just have dinner together.

There were restaurants, cafés, and even playgrounds for children sprites to play in.

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