~~~
There was no question that Skoll Haskel had an appetence for stories. He had been an energetic and lively puppy from the start, quick to learn to walk then run then sprint all over the place. However, even the simplest of tales would tame the little sun chaser immediately, holding him rooted to the spot and staring wide-eyed at the narrator until the story reached its conclusion. And he always took something away from the stories—a new knowledge for his young and expanding mind, an idea that he would either accept as truth or go to investigate.
When one of the pack members had told him the story of the Fairy Lights, the blonde cub did not hesitate to venture into that part of the territory. He was getting big enough to travel farther now, although most of his little adventures were not sanctioned by his caregivers. Even now, he was supposed to be playing with Hati and Lottie, but he hoped they understood that he had to see the magical phenomenon for himself. He could play little kid games later—the Prince wanted to see the fairies dancing over the wildflowers.
His soft puppy body wriggled underneath a root then sped past the other trees in the expanse of forest. This trail was well-worn, though, and he wasn’t afraid of getting lost—though someone else might have been. He could smell something wooden ahead, along with a flowery scent that wasn’t quite so flowery. He relied mostly on the scent as well as the feel of the path underfoot as he ran. It had gotten dark early this evening, as was natural for the late months of the year, but the darkness was the best time to see the fairies, he was told.
Skoll finally came out from the trees to see a field, his mouth open and panting as eager green eyes washed over the meadow of flowers and fairies—or where they should have been. Blinking, he ventured into the field, brushing grass and dead flowers. Where were the fairies? Why weren’t the flowers blushing with color? He’d heard of twinkling lights dancing around, of a sweet aroma that the fairies used to lure luperci to their home.
About the only thing that was here was the gazebo and swing, but it looked decrepit by the weak moonlight. Scowling, the Prince bounded through the flower remnants and hopped up onto the love seat swing, claws scrabbling as he only managed to get his front half on. After some fighting, he sat down on it, looking around the Fairy Lights fields with disappointment.
Skoll supposed that some stories were make-believe. He told make-believe stories himself, sometimes, and pretended to be a human or a monster or a hero from a song. He shouldn’t be feeling this sad about the empty fields and the creak of the swing in the cold, late autumn wind.
What he didn’t know was that the story about the magical field was true—though fireflies danced above the wildflowers instead of real fairies. But Skoll was a September-born child, and the warm nights of spring and summer was as distant a dream as the fairies’ lights.
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