Fayre Tales Excerpt #3

Fayre would often sit among the berries of a certain Rowan tree, were she could watch the young Faery children playing and flying about without being seen for her hair was near the color of the berries. She was daydreaming, working on another scenario where she was somehow reunited with her parents, if she had any. Maybe her parents were searching for her, for eighteen years. Anything's possible right?

The branch swayed a little when Jolly landed on it, Gery was his given name but it had since been changed to Jolly on account of his circumference. Fayre was too intent on a group of Faeries playing with some dandelion seeds in the breeze to notice. Had she turned at that moment her eyes would have fallen on a comical sight. One would think his excess width would be beneficial in balancing like the pole that tight-rope walkers carry, but this width was not as stationary as a tight-rope walkers pole, it tended to squish and shift at the most inopportune moments and throw the good Faery into a terrible wiggle.

It was a such wiggle that finally got Fayre's attention, “Oh, Jolly are you alright? How did you find me?” she asked as she grabbed his hand and helped him to a less precarious position. She had to hold tightly to a nearby twig while he settled his substantial weight and waited for him to catch his breath.

“Gran Melia told me where to find you,” he said, "She wanted me to bring you this, said you might be cold." He handed her the bright green shawl Gran had made for her. It was a pretty shawl but she hated wearing it, Faeries don't get cold. It was just another reminder that she didn't belong. "She told me to make sure you wear it, she doesn't want you getting sick again," Faeries don't get sick either.