#rodedragons

          “About as well as you did.” The prince is not a petulant child, but he maintains the same stubbornness.  Truth be told, it is not a question he has needed to answer since his days in school; when he was human, every one had known who he was, and those who didn’t asked someone else.  He rocks back on his haunches.                          “What is a farmer’s boy doing here?”

Mulder already has his flashlight out and in one hand, hasn’t yet turned it on (forests are always darker on the inside, even if it’ broad daylight outside of them, and you never can know what’s lurking among the tree trunks), fallen leaves crunching beneath his boots.  It’s autumn - or not quite, but he can smell it in the air, cider and pumpkin spice and roasted marshmallows and campfire smoke - he remembers making s’mores with Samantha, how the chocolate would melt on her fingertips, how he always somehow ended up with melted marshmallow on the tip of his nose - but the leaves on the trees are all different, some still green, some beginning to change colors, some already fallen, dead.He flicks the flashlight on and back off again, just to hear the quiet click.  Maybe not so quiet; it’s louder than the crinkling of the leaves beneath his feet, louder still than the rustle as the breeze shifts through them, loudest in the hush just after.  The flashlight is heavy, and he taps it in the air twice before turning to face the...boy, who tries to speak with as much authority as the local sheriffs when they have something to hide.Neither are particularly intimidating.          “Do you believe the rumors?”