A Night of Stories

Hummingbird

All faery folk are born with nature’s language on their tongue and a pair of wings upon their backs, though faery wings are not always the glimmering translucent that one often associates with such creatures. Some faeries have grand feathered wings like an owl, while others have the paper-thin, yet beautifully patterned wings of a butterfly.

Each faery is given their own place in society, such as making sure the trees and flowers continue to grow, or directing the stormy winds across the world. Some faeries even have the gift of flying so quickly that it is only through them that the earth continues to turn. But this tale isn’t about them. This is the story of two faery friends, a boy and a girl, who each felt as differently about the pristinely organized structure of their society. 

The girl, Azalea, was a color faery, tasked with brightening the sky with rainbows after a particularly nasty storm, and adding tiny painted details to make every flower, animal, or other creature of nature unique. She saw faery society as constraining, with each member perfectly fitted into exactly one job. She, for example, could never be a forest faery, helping tiny sprouts grow, or a snow faery, carefully creating frozen crystals. She would always be covered in paint, or blinded by flashes of sunlight through raindrops. 

The boy, Aspen, was exactly the opposite from Azalea in every way. He loved his work in faery society, bringing wild lightning storms to the land. He enjoyed the sensation of flying far above the raging clouds on giant, grey-feathered wings. He recognized the importance of his duty, and Azalea’s as well, for when the harsh weather ceased, he always saw her and her troupe of color faeries fly by with a rainbow assortment of butterfly wings, ready to dazzle the people below with their talent. 

He would wave to her, and she would return it, then direct her half-hearted attention to the task. Aspen would pay no mind when Azalea proclaimed her wishes of something more. Although this may seem like the mark of a bad friend, he truly did not know what a good response would be, and he told her such when she grew frustrated with his lack of one. He had never felt as though his life were incomplete, and she could not fault him for it. 

One day, as the pair were strolling through the whimsical faery gardens, their wings gently brushing the blooming vines and hedges, Azalea spoke. 

“I think I know how to make you understand,” she announced. Aspen did not need to ask what she was referring to. 

“Think of a rainbow,” Azalea continued, “like the ones I make. The red blending into orange to yellow and so forth.” She paused. “Are you thinking of one?”

“Yes,” Aspen said resolutely. 

“I want my life to be like that,” Azalea explained. “I don’t want to be stuck in just one color. I want to be able to move about to all the others, to do what you do, or what frost faeries do, or even what sand faeries do.”

Aspen took his time before responding, though Azalea could tell by the firm set of his brows and the hard line of his mouth that he was about to say something she might not like.

“I believe you’re right,” he finally said, “that I do understand you a little better now.” Azalea’s heart lifted, until his next words sank it, like a freshly sprouted seedling buried beneath the earth once more. 

“But you cannot go off and do whatever you want, Azalea. Storm faeries like me have the proper wings for the job. If you tried to control the weather, the winds would tear your wings right through. Sand isn’t much better. Getting those tiny grains stuck in a wing or an eye is painful for any faery, and without their special gear, the sand faeries would be unable to create desert storms or hide shells in beaches for the humans.