Sparklewing's Secret Hope

Sparklewing flitted closer, her wings shimmering like captured moonlight. The forest floor, usually a riot of glowing moss and singing flowers, seemed muted today, as if even nature held its breath. I had found her near a stream that whispered secrets instead of gurgling happily, her delicate antennae drooping. She was a Pixie, one of the many creatures I’d only seen in hurried glimpses before, always darting away, their laughter like tiny bells. But Sparklewing stayed. She watched me with wide, luminous eyes, the colour of twilight.

"You are Jan, aren't you?" she asked, her voice soft, like the rustle of silken leaves. "The new soldier."

I puffed out my chest, remembering the shiny uniform and the polished boots. "Yes! I am. And you are…?"