It was twilight when Lance exited the caves, and jogged to his cabin. Quickly donning a new shirt, and grabbing a hoodie, he ran out, loping into the forest. It took Lance fifteen minutes to find the clearing, overshooting it and then luckily finding a familiar tree. He slowed his run as he approached it, seeing the moon rays dancing in the clearing. He realized that his breath was steaming in the night air.
Lance stopped at the edge of the clearing, peering into the well-moon-lit glade, looking for Leshy. Lance was in no way disappointed, for she was standing on the other side of the dell, a host of what looking like glow-in-the-dark butterflies buzzing around her. She looked, by some miracle, even more beautiful than the last time Lance saw, which felt like days ago. She had a silver gown on that sparkled in the light of the full moon, and her leaf tattoo looked more prominent. Her luscious waves of golden hair were pulled back into a broad braid, save two strands by her temples. The glowing butterflies whizzed around her, some placing flowers in her hair, some finishing the braid, and one was stationary near her left eye, and Lance realized that it was painting on top of her tattoo, outlining it in the same silver as her dress. Lance stepped out into the clearing, his face slack. Leshy's eyes sprung open in surprise,and then a smile came upon her face, such a pure, child-like smile that Lance almost saved everyone the trouble of trying influence then and there by having a heart attack.
The last thoughts of the old man's possibly ominous words left Lance, seeming to wisp away like his breath. He stepped closer to Leshy, his eyes wide, as if to drink in as much divinity as possible. He didn't say anything, just wrapped her in the most gentle bear hug he had ever given. Leshy looked up at him, and smiled again, her hands encircling his back. Lance drunk in her scent, a piny wood-like smell that was better than a pile of Sparta's special marinade.
'Hello.' he whispered simply in her ear. She said something muffled against his chest.
Lance drew back from the hug, though he didn't let go of her, and looked into her neon green eyes, loosing himself, and wondering how easily it would be for Leshy to influence him in any decision. Then he dismissed the notion, almost laughing at it, she was way to naive to even know of the more sinister side of the influence coin. Lance ran his hand through Leshy's hair, fancying it felt like honey.
'What are these?' he asked, indicating to a glowing butterfly.
'They are fairies. So many there were, and now so few, that it saddens the whole forest. I can feel it, in the wind rustling past, in the creaking of the root, this forest is old Lance, and even though I am the youngest, I can still remember a time when the forest was filled with fairies; everyone laughed and played in this clearing. So rarely do the others come out now that I fear some of them have faded. Taking his hand from Leshy's hair, Lance held it out to one of the fairies, who landed upon it.
Lance ceased to exist. Well, at least seventeen year old Lance did anyway. He was seventy now, reaching to prime of his life, Tamrlaine at his hip, though he wasn't in any danger. He sat on a sunny hill, Leshy by his side and both looked older; Lance looked more muscular, and he had a scar running from the bottom of his right ear to his collarbone, and his skin more tanned. Leshy looked slightly taller, not much else changed except for they way she held herself. She just seemed less naive, less childlike. They kissed on the hillside, and Lance stroked Leshy's cheek, the sun made her look positively angeli-
Moon light. Trees. No sun, but the important part, Leshy, was still in his arms. Lance realized he was no longer touching the fairy and he inferred that the fairy had given him the vision on contact. He wasn't sure if it was the future, or a possible future, or something else. It had unsettled him how much he had enjoyed the vision.
'What was that?' he said, his voice cracking.
'The fairy. They have the most ingenious defense system of all creatures in Avalon,' said Leshy holding out her hand for the one Lance had inadvertently shaken off to land on. 'Anyone who touches them is shown something that will take away all their fear, anger, and sadness; all their negative emotions and replace them with things like happiness, security, and ..... love.'
She turned away from Lance as she said 'love', not so much as to slide out of his reach, but just enough so that she wasn't looking into his eyes. Lance put his hand underneath her chin and brought it up so he was looking into her eyes. He stepped closer, about to kiss her, when she squealed quietly.
'Lance! Your bleeding!' she said quickly squirming out of his arms, and produced a pair of pliers from her basket, which seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, and cut a few leaves from a nearby bush. Pushing him into a lying-down position, she lifted his bloodied shirt and crushed the leaves in her fist above his stomach, letting the leaf-juice drip onto Lance's gash. Lance mentally cursed the spear-wielding opponent in Hunt and Rescue, and made a mental note to take better care of himself in matches before the end of the day. He grimaced at the juice hit his gash, for while it hurt mildly, he was no stranger to the opposite gender.
Leshy pouted at him, and cupped his cheek. 'How did you do this?' she asked, concerned.
'In a game, a spear tip nicked me. I didn't realize it was still bleeding.' Or I would have stopped it. Lance thought, still smarting over his missed opportunity.
'Hunt and Rescue?' she asked, surprising Lance.
'Yes. How do you know Hunt and Rescue?'
'People walk past the edge, singing songs and claiming victories. I have been listening for all my life, and I remember.'
There was a pause in the conversation where Leshy was dabbing another poultice onto Lance and it genuinely hurt. He groaned, scrunching up his face. Leshy pouted again, and rolled a bandage around his prone torso, gently tying it in place and replacing his shirt. She then snuggled to his side, and Lance felt his eyes flutter as her aroma filled his enhanced nostrils.
Suddenly he felt stiflingly hot, as if someone had just thrown a thick quilt over him on a hot summer's day. He moved reluctantly away from Leshy, thinking the contact the cause. She looked at him questioningly, but he said;
'It is too hot for hugging, Leshy.' then he frowned, had his breath not been steaming in the cold before?
Lance realized that he was still as hot as before, and he stood, stepping back a pace. Instantly the heat ceased assailing him. He frowned again as he stepped forward, feeling the heat rise within him, burning him now, and he took a painful step back. The heat stopped, leaving Lance with a welcome sense of coolness. Lance took off his jacket, and stepped forwards. Lance felt himself scorch and saw his skin turn black under the onslaught of the unnamed heat. He felt the mystery calefacient perforating his scorched skin and boiling his blood, cooking him inside his skin. Lance would have screamed, but his windpipe had long since dried up. Lance fell to the ground, Leshy's worried approach just a blur. He arched his back, gnashing his teeth, and tried to put Leshy at rest, but his words came out a mangled groan followed by a squeak. His attempts were counter-productive as Leshy cast around for some water. Leshy stood, saying 'I'll be back in a moment. I'll fetch some water.' and walked in the direction of the closest tributary.
Lance felt his crusty skin fall off of him, peeling like a butterfly's cocoon. Underneath his blackened crust, Lance felt his raw inner layers of skin start burning, though this wasn't the burn of heat; thousands of invisible needles were prickling his bloody, vulnerable skin. Suddenly, gloriously, the heat ended, and Lance gasped in relief. The needling continued, but it was hardly as bad as the sun-like heat. He lied in on his back, breathing deeply, wondering what on earth just happened. Then he laughed, and then stopped. His laugh was not his, more a wheezing cough than laughter. But he had been laughing at the irony of his thoughts. Nothing on earth that he would have had contact with would have done this to him, so what was the use of asking what on earth just happened?
Lance's back arched again, though it was hardly his doing. He felt his back crack, the way his physiotherapist had made it. But then it continued to crack, and Lance was immobilized, paralyzed, for at least two minutes with his back cracking itself. Lance sagged against the force that was in control of his back, too tired to question his second assailant, if this was indeed an assault. He collapsed heavily to the ground, whatever it was had realized him, but his back was still cracking. Lance laid in the grass, feeling every individual blade against his red back. He realized that meant that his shirt was not on him, that it had wandered off somewhere....
