what makes monsters

I.

He walked to the faraway meadows with the old oak tree, the scent of bristling grass and the pungent wool of his sheep wafting to him. He was glad to get away from the house where it felt like there was no end to the hurricane arguments. For a few hours, he could be anything he wanted, underneath the endless sky and dancing fields.

He ran with his sheep, feeling laughter escape from his lungs, as he climbed up the old worn tree. His village became small brown dots beneath the hill, with sprinkles of colour between them. A strong gust of wind shook the crackly branches and made the dried leaves sing, as he took in a deep inhale of the old oak's dusty fragrance.

"The view is lovely, isn't it?"

He couldn't call it a voice because it came from inside his head, and it sounded like honey at the height of summer. The branch underneath him seemed to slip away from his shock. Everything was a blur as he fell through the leaves, and a sudden large branch entered his vision and broke his fall. He grunted from the impact as he scooted near the trunk to catch his breath, rubbing at the ache at his side.

"I seemed to have scared you; I am sorry." It came again, like velvet near his ears. It was more of a sound than a voice. More than anything human.

The boy felt as if he was going mad looking for the source of it. It sounded as if the wind spoke human words, but it didn't sound anything human. And he didn't dare find out what it was. He quickly slid down the trunk, grabbed his shepherd stick, and brought the sheep back home as quickly as he could.

He approached the tree again warily the next day, half-convinced that what happened prior was a figment of his imagination, half-curious of what magic the strange sound offered.

He left his sheep to graze the meadows as he cautiously climbed back to the same branch from yesterday. He felt the wind rustle the leaves restlessly to his right, and a crawling feeling on his spine told him there was a familiar presence beside him.

"I know you're there." He felt stupid talking to the wind. But somehow, he knew the being heard him.

"Are you not afraid?" A picture of the small trickling stream engulfed his mind as the sound asked in his head. 

"A little," He admitted as he looked around again. "What are you, anyway?"

"..."

"I am a god."

The boy's eyes widened. "Then can you make my sheep fly?"

"I cannot. I am not the god of air, nor gravity, nor levitation."

The boy pouted and leaned against the trunk. "Then what kinda god are you?"

"I do not know..."

"...all I know is that I am not powerful."

The boy and the god sat in silence.

"Then we are alike," The boy beamed, his eyes creasing. "I am not powerful either."

"..."

The being did not say anything, but the boy knew it was there. The stewed silence continued until magenta started to stain the sky, and the boy said goodbye to the wind before leaving.

"Goodbye." It whispered back.