Hushed Willows your arms full of lullabies, orchids and wine

he is mid-step when vrána flutters down, her weight familiar on his shoulder; he turns his head to meet her. “tá neart fola anseo do na fithich,” he says. “buailfimid leis an té atá ag leigheas go luath! agus ansin níor chóir go mbeadh ach cúpla rud fágtha.”

scraping the squirrel closer to him with one paw, caw sniffles curiously at the air. there is blood, the smell of the animal at his paws, vrána on his shoulder… but the woods also smell very strongly of faeries. and this could be him now! he is a faerie, a little. but it does not seem that it is entirely him, and he is not that close to the borders.

he turns.

and it is not. the woman moving towards him does not look happy with him, her head lifted in his direction and her tone very stern. he feels briefly like he is being told off, as though he has never left the glen. but he is supposed to be here! surely the faerie queen would not have invited him only for him to be chased away!

caw wags his tail, hoping that she will understand he is not a threat. he is not sure he could be if he tried. she is not that much bigger than he is, but she does look kind of mean. usually people who are angry are much better than he is at using their teeth.

“am caw!” he chirps. “was invited to willows by faerie queen. lumiya!”