The tree was perfect. It stood tall in the corner of the living room, exactly between the open hearth fire and the wide bay windows. Wreathed in tinsel of gold and red, hung with baubles from Mummy's special box of decorations and a few that Lyneth had made herself from gifts given to her by their new garden, it sparkled slowly with each turn of the fairylights hidden deep within its boughs. For the first time since Mummy had moved them out of the loft and away from the places where the Visitor had known them to be, Lyneth felt at home in the new house, and the little Fae knew it was because of the new friend she had made for the season.
She could just see her now, peeping through the pine needles and glittering decorations, shy of creeping into view when Mummy was around. Mummy couldn't see the fairies in the garden, or the dryad who now lived in this special corner of their living room, but she'd promised that when the twelve days were over after Christmas, they would plant the special tree in the garden. That made Lyneth very happy. She didn't like the idea of all those spirits simply cut loose when the season was over, when people who didn't know or didn't care just had their trees destroyed one way or another. But their tree, their very special tree, would live on through the year, and she would look after it.
The tiny Fae-child crept closer to the tree, ducking under the lowest hanging branches to crawl into the warm, rich, pine-scented cave created by the weight of those branches hanging down, and looked up through the needles to where the dryad was watching her. She offered up a gap-toothed smile, crooking one finger to invite the spirit down.
"Mummy'ths in the kitchen," she explained as the willowy being slowly unwound herself from the upper branches, pouring along the roughened bark of the trunk until she stood before Lyneth, her size shrunk to fit in the little space with the child. "I'm Lyneth. What'ths your name?"
The delicate dryad swayed a little with the movement of her tree, big dark eyes centered on the child who had asked her if she minded having her tree cut so long as they promised to look after them both when they came home. She was slender, fragile to look upon, her skin as dark as the bark of her tree, her hair the color of the richly scented needles that hung from the branches. In deference to the decoration that had been wrapped about her tree, she wore a sprig of red tinsel in her hair, and another of gold wound about her waist.
"Pinea, little one," she said softly, reaching out with a tentative hand to touch the silky fall of Lyneth's hair in something akin to wonder. "I am Pinea, like all my sisters before me were and all who will come after will be."
Lyneth's turquoise eyes lit up happily in the richly-scented gloom that surrounded them, delighted with her new friend already. "Doeths your tree have a name?" she asked curiously, echoing the gently tentative touch of the dryad with one small hand against the bark of the pine they sat beneath.
"He is Pinus, as are all his brothers," Pinea explained. Dryads, as a rule, weren't the most imaginative when it came to names. They took their names from the words humanity had attached to them, yet they did not really understand the reason behind having a singular moniker that was theirs and theirs alone. Pinea's head tilted curiously as she leaned forward, studying Lyneth's face. "Why do your words sound so strange, little one?"
Lyneth giggled, opening up her mouth in a wide grin to show off the gap where her front teeth were just beginning to show through. "When my teeths grow back, I'll thsound better," she promised the dryad, who stared at the gaps in amazement. "Human children do it when they're a bit older, but I'm thsaving time."
"Human children drop their teeth like leaves in autumn?" Pinea seemed fascinated by this, one small hand looped about the branch above her head as she swayed to lean forward.
Lyneth nodded, closing her mouth again with an impish smile. "Mummy thsaysth thshe did it when thshe wasth thsix," she explained, offering up this bit of information with a good deal of pride. While it often seemed as though there was nothing Lyneth needed to be taught, she gathered together everything her mummy told her and held it close.
"Mummy is the big human with the sad eyes?" Pinea asked curiously, tipping her head to one side as she peered through the branches to where Mummy was just visible in the kitchen.
Lyneth nodded, the glow in her unnaturally hued eyes dampening a little. "I wasthn't very good to her thisth thsummer," she said mournfully. "Ollie made her thsad, and then I made her thsad, and then the Vithsitor made her thsadder, and then she wasth all alone. I'm trying to be better."
The dryad fixed Lyneth with a stern glance, insofar as the spirit of a tree can be stern. "You should cherish your mother, little one," she told the Fae-child firmly. "The Fae, as you are, have many centuries upon the land they were born on to live and breathe and learn. But she is human, and her time, like mine, is finite. She will be gone long before you are ready to let go. Do not mar those seasons with sadness."
Big turquoise eyes blinked slowly, feeling keenly the reprimand as much as taking on the advice. Lyneth nodded obediently, her little face tight for a moment with the same mournful regret before she made an effort to smile. "I'll be better," she promised her new friend, and was rewarded with the sweet breath of pine as Pinea reached out to touch her cheek once again. "And when the thseathson is over, we will plant your tree in the garden and I will look after him and you until he hasth rootsth again and you can look after each other."
As Pinea smiled, Mummy's voice interrupted, calling out as the raven-haired human entered the living room. "Lynnie" Dinner's ready!"
In a flash of movement, the dryad whisked herself away, up into the high branches of her beloved pine, melting into the shadows until only the knowledge that she was there at all could betray her. Lyneth smiled happily up into the darkness of the tree. "I'll come back," she promised, and turned to crawl out from beneath the heavy branches.
"There you are!"
Gentle, familiar hands snatched her up from the ground and swung her about, tickling as she curled into Mummy's arms with a raucous giggle. Hugging her small arms around her mother's neck, she looked back at the special tree as Mummy carried her toward the kitchen, and just for a moment, she saw huge dark eyes smiling out at her from the branches. Pinea was the first dryad Lyneth had ever met, and she was glad, in her young, naive way, that Pinea would be her friend, for this season and many more beyond.
She could just see her now, peeping through the pine needles and glittering decorations, shy of creeping into view when Mummy was around. Mummy couldn't see the fairies in the garden, or the dryad who now lived in this special corner of their living room, but she'd promised that when the twelve days were over after Christmas, they would plant the special tree in the garden. That made Lyneth very happy. She didn't like the idea of all those spirits simply cut loose when the season was over, when people who didn't know or didn't care just had their trees destroyed one way or another. But their tree, their very special tree, would live on through the year, and she would look after it.
The tiny Fae-child crept closer to the tree, ducking under the lowest hanging branches to crawl into the warm, rich, pine-scented cave created by the weight of those branches hanging down, and looked up through the needles to where the dryad was watching her. She offered up a gap-toothed smile, crooking one finger to invite the spirit down.
"Mummy'ths in the kitchen," she explained as the willowy being slowly unwound herself from the upper branches, pouring along the roughened bark of the trunk until she stood before Lyneth, her size shrunk to fit in the little space with the child. "I'm Lyneth. What'ths your name?"
The delicate dryad swayed a little with the movement of her tree, big dark eyes centered on the child who had asked her if she minded having her tree cut so long as they promised to look after them both when they came home. She was slender, fragile to look upon, her skin as dark as the bark of her tree, her hair the color of the richly scented needles that hung from the branches. In deference to the decoration that had been wrapped about her tree, she wore a sprig of red tinsel in her hair, and another of gold wound about her waist.
"Pinea, little one," she said softly, reaching out with a tentative hand to touch the silky fall of Lyneth's hair in something akin to wonder. "I am Pinea, like all my sisters before me were and all who will come after will be."
Lyneth's turquoise eyes lit up happily in the richly-scented gloom that surrounded them, delighted with her new friend already. "Doeths your tree have a name?" she asked curiously, echoing the gently tentative touch of the dryad with one small hand against the bark of the pine they sat beneath.
"He is Pinus, as are all his brothers," Pinea explained. Dryads, as a rule, weren't the most imaginative when it came to names. They took their names from the words humanity had attached to them, yet they did not really understand the reason behind having a singular moniker that was theirs and theirs alone. Pinea's head tilted curiously as she leaned forward, studying Lyneth's face. "Why do your words sound so strange, little one?"
Lyneth giggled, opening up her mouth in a wide grin to show off the gap where her front teeth were just beginning to show through. "When my teeths grow back, I'll thsound better," she promised the dryad, who stared at the gaps in amazement. "Human children do it when they're a bit older, but I'm thsaving time."
"Human children drop their teeth like leaves in autumn?" Pinea seemed fascinated by this, one small hand looped about the branch above her head as she swayed to lean forward.
Lyneth nodded, closing her mouth again with an impish smile. "Mummy thsaysth thshe did it when thshe wasth thsix," she explained, offering up this bit of information with a good deal of pride. While it often seemed as though there was nothing Lyneth needed to be taught, she gathered together everything her mummy told her and held it close.
"Mummy is the big human with the sad eyes?" Pinea asked curiously, tipping her head to one side as she peered through the branches to where Mummy was just visible in the kitchen.
Lyneth nodded, the glow in her unnaturally hued eyes dampening a little. "I wasthn't very good to her thisth thsummer," she said mournfully. "Ollie made her thsad, and then I made her thsad, and then the Vithsitor made her thsadder, and then she wasth all alone. I'm trying to be better."
The dryad fixed Lyneth with a stern glance, insofar as the spirit of a tree can be stern. "You should cherish your mother, little one," she told the Fae-child firmly. "The Fae, as you are, have many centuries upon the land they were born on to live and breathe and learn. But she is human, and her time, like mine, is finite. She will be gone long before you are ready to let go. Do not mar those seasons with sadness."
Big turquoise eyes blinked slowly, feeling keenly the reprimand as much as taking on the advice. Lyneth nodded obediently, her little face tight for a moment with the same mournful regret before she made an effort to smile. "I'll be better," she promised her new friend, and was rewarded with the sweet breath of pine as Pinea reached out to touch her cheek once again. "And when the thseathson is over, we will plant your tree in the garden and I will look after him and you until he hasth rootsth again and you can look after each other."
As Pinea smiled, Mummy's voice interrupted, calling out as the raven-haired human entered the living room. "Lynnie" Dinner's ready!"
In a flash of movement, the dryad whisked herself away, up into the high branches of her beloved pine, melting into the shadows until only the knowledge that she was there at all could betray her. Lyneth smiled happily up into the darkness of the tree. "I'll come back," she promised, and turned to crawl out from beneath the heavy branches.
"There you are!"
Gentle, familiar hands snatched her up from the ground and swung her about, tickling as she curled into Mummy's arms with a raucous giggle. Hugging her small arms around her mother's neck, she looked back at the special tree as Mummy carried her toward the kitchen, and just for a moment, she saw huge dark eyes smiling out at her from the branches. Pinea was the first dryad Lyneth had ever met, and she was glad, in her young, naive way, that Pinea would be her friend, for this season and many more beyond.