Chapter 9
A Misunderstanding
The sprites, flitting and curious, explain (in their own way) that they found Pip wandering and thought he was lost. They meant no harm, simply wanting a new friend to play with.
The air in the sprites' hidden glade hummed with a peculiar energy, a symphony of tinkling laughter and rustling leaves that seemed to vibrate right through Sam's bones. He stood, a solid oak against the ephemeral flutter of the sprites, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs. Pip, his Pip, was here, safe, but the sight of him surrounded by these tiny, winged beings sent a fresh wave of bewildered fear through him. They were so quick, so bright, like living jewels, darting and weaving around his youngest son, their voices a cascade of high-pitched, musical chirps.
"He’s so soft!" one sprite squeaked, its wings shimmering with iridescent blues and greens as it flitted near Pip's ear.
"And his hair is like spun moonlight!" another chimed in, its voice like the chime of tiny bells.
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