Under an overhang, in the rain, it slept.

This was its fourth year of life, and it was summer. The air was thick and humid from a thunderstorm; the misting rain wetted the moss around it.

It had a troubling, restless dream.

Perhaps this was what woke it?

A woman, long mane of red hair loose, body painted with flowers, stood across from it.

It had not seen people in so long that it immediately arched its back and hissed.

" Hush, little thing," the woman entreated softly. " I come not to harm you."

The little thing remained tense, ready to flee.

" You have been touched by true magic," she said. " For what purpose, I do not know. But my power wanes, and my land grows weak. Accompany me, assuage my loneliness, and I will reward you in equal measure."

She held out a hand.

It had been so long since the little thing had known kindness. It stared her down, the both of them unmoving.

But the little thing thought of how its strange thing had slept with her hair down, and how warm and comfortable the bed was.

It at last stepped forward, hesitant, and rubbed against the woman's hand.

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