Feer

Summer - Dusk

The day passed by without a care and they find themselves to have exhausted the warm mid-day. He continues to explain how the people last saw one of her kin long, long ago... so the story was preserved as a bed-time story... a story about simplicity and purity... a story of how the time slowly changes things before they are unrecognizable.

"I suppose I should go home, did only half a day's work... there's always tomorrow, but still."

"And me?", she looks at him blankly

"And you? You can come with me if you wish, I rarely get company...", he explains with a defeated look, searching for something in her eyes yet being unable to grasp it.

"Will do", she whispers softly, keeping up with his slow strides.

They walk along the winding paths formed in the tall grass... she stops to ask, now noticing an obvious detail... "And wagon?"

He lets a hearty laugh, "Nobody is stealing a rotting box... it will be here next morning... don't worry"...

She feels at ease with this answer and lets a slight sigh, she catches up to walk alongside him again. With small steps and patience the village comes back in view between the supple branches of some young trees.

They pass by weathered fence posts, reclaimed by nature, as they loop around the border of the once busy village hearth. Some homes are old , some seem unusual, some are deserted whilst others are bustling of life as shadows dance and flicker in their windows.

"We are here...", he lets a long sigh and points to a modest house.

"I remember", she whispers softly to herself...

They enter the large yard, neatly kept. She looks around , but can't make out the subtle details. Her paws feel the winding stone path, it's cold yet smooth... weathered by many years of rain. 

The home feels lived in, small statues, pots, pans, large spoons and gentle tiny toys line wood shelves and walls. A weathered rug welcomes her weary paws as she makes her way inside. She is careful with her , now slightly wider than her head, antlers as she steps inside. A couple chairs, carved with care all over, a small yet sturdy table, a bed clothed in thick wool, a forgotten candle and a small firepit tucked in a corner modestly furnish the cramped room.

"Sleep here", she insists as she lays on top of the fireplace surrounded by towels and small figurines. Her antlers kick the dusty towels as she curls herself to sleep. 

The man sits at the end of his bed and looks at this almost alien creature softly move in his house, without a trace, a sound, a gust of wind following her. He drifts into thought as he snuff out the little beacon of warmth besides his bed. 

He touched it, it is real in body and flesh... but the thought of going insane still lingers, unanswered...