#catwords

Then too, around the edges of the dance floor, young couples were breaking away, tucking their spell-bulbs into their clothes and sneaking off to dark corners. Some seemed to have only just met, whispering their names to each other in passing. Kilda could hear from somewhere behind her, a woman gasping and giggling, and the lower rumble of a man’s voice.

Kilda didn’t know how to do those things, either.  It was better to be plain-looking and sit in the dark, she thought, where she could go unnoticed. She was not here for the festival, and anyway, she would be taller than just about any interested man who might approach.

A hand found her knee, and Kilda drew in tighter. She had come up with a million clever ways to refuse advances, but all that came out of her mouth was a strained, “No thank you.”

Then she saw who her “suitor” was.

A little girl, ignored by her dancing parents, no doubt, had come looking for company.  Kilda brushed her hair back from her face, and the child’s face scrunched up in a smile.  She looked sweet, with dark gold skin and her hair in big, looping curls.

“May I please sit with you?” she asked, incredibly polite. Kilda wondered if the girl’s parents worked in the castle - villagers were not known for teaching more than grudging respect. She began to relax, unfolding herself from her hawk-like position. There was no need to be guarded around someone so small.

“Yes, but I will have to go when my friends come back. You haven’t seen two big boys, have you? One very tall, with white hair, and one very strong, with red hair?”

“No, miss,” the girl said simply, and climbed right onto Kilda’s knee. She leaned against her with far too much trust. Kilda’s heart felt like breaking.

I don’t care for children, she reminded herself, but couldn’t bear to listen.

Kilda looped an arm around the little girl, and they sat like that until the reel ended and the dancers stopped to applaud the musicians. Amid the noise, the girl looked up into Kilda’s face with large, curious eyes.

“Miss,” the girl said, laying her hand on Kilda’s wrist, as delicate as a butterfly, “who are you?”

“Me?” Kilda said, startled. “I’m nobody important.”

“Would you still tell me a story?.” The girl nestled in, getting comfortable. Kilda thought, There’s no harm in talking her to sleep. Then I won’t have to answer more questions.

“Once,” she began, “there was a little girl named Kay. She was not pretty or smart, but she was loved by a mother and a father. Their love helped her grow. She grew until she was tall, and she was still not pretty or smart, but she was loved.  Always loved.

“One day, when Kay was in the fields with her mother, a Bad Thing came. The Bad Thing hurt Kay, and it took her mother away. Kay was forgotten in the field, and there she stayed until her father came to find her.”

A man swept by, laughing raucously with friends, and Kilda held the little girl closer.

“Kay could not remember anything. She could not remember her childhood, or how loved she was, or how much that love had helped her grow. She could not remember all the nice people she had met. Worst of all, she could not remember her mother.

“Kay’s father took care of her until she healed. And when she did, he became sick, and so she took care of him. When he died, and Kay was alone, she set out into the world to become something. And what she became was a hero. She met other heroes like her, and they set about to fix the world of its wrongs. They are fighting for justice and equality and hopefully, someday, peace.  They want to make the world safe for-”

Kilda looked down and realized the girl was asleep.

By the time Lir found her, she had found the child’s parents and given her back. She was again a hawk, wrapped in her cloak and letting the lights of the festival blind her.

“I should have known,” Lir said, reaching out to help her up. “It’s just like you to visit one of the biggest festivals in the kingdom and keep to yourself the whole time. Come, Samson is waiting by the gate. We have news.”