In His Name

Chapter 12 - Tansy

Gasping, Rosco takes in the gathering before him.

Each little spirit is only about 3 to 5 inches tall, dressed in all the colors of the flowers. Each has their own little set of fluttering wings. Some brightly colored, like butterflies, while others have the clear, iridescent wings of bees or dragonflies.

The boy matches their stares of wonder and awe as the little spirits venture closer, inspecting him. They chatter amongst themselves freely, their tinkling little voices speaking in words Rosco is unable to understand. One flies up and begins tugging at a loose curl, Rosco flinches away on instinct, but the little creature only grins, beckoning the others closer.

With that, the others surge forward unafraid. Climbing all over him, each making their own through little inspection. At first Rosco's pretty nervous, but none of the poking or prodding hurts more than a tickle and he soon finds himself giggling like a child at their insatiable curiosity.

A particularly brave one moves to sit in Rosco's hand, letting him do his own investigation. This one has long golden hair, tied up in a tiny knot at the top of its head. A clear set of dragonfly wings and bright yellow clothes, their top is quite loose, with a wide boat neck, coming together just over the shoulders, tucked into formfitting yellow pants. With no shoes or jewelry of any kind. The wildflower spirit smiles softly in his palm, rubbing its petal soft fingers over his rough skin. The little thing seems to be neither male nor female, but somewhere in between. Not neither, but somehow both.

Now that Rosco can see them closely, he notices each one is wrapped in a vine of thorns, biting into their skin. Some of them tug at the thorns, clearly uncomfortable, but they shoo away his fingers every time he tries to pull at them.

Rosco frowns, "I just want to help you," he tries to tell them, though he has no idea if they understand.

The one in his hand flies up, resting its palm against the tip of his nose. He blinks back, pulling away just enough to clearly see the creature.

It shakes its' head sadly, wordlessly conveying their hopelessness.

Hayden decides then to make his reappearance, sending the spirits scampering away. Most of them fled, vanishing in the distance, but the one that had sat on Rosco's palm dove to hide behind his neck, clutching painfully at his hair.

He felt the little thing peak out around him to get a glimpse at the god.

"You're scaring them." Rosco scolds, reaching up to try and reassure his new friend, "Shh, it's alright, Hayden doesn't want to hurt you." He whispers, beckoning the little one closer. The wildflower inches forward, settling in to sit atop Rosco's shoulder, still half hiding in his hair. Hayden is clearly hurt, and a little annoyed judging by the ways his eyes shift from clear white to stormy gray.

The god lowers himself into the grass trying to be as non-threating as a man his size can manage, "Why are you hiding from me?" he asks softly.

"I think there is something wrong with them," Rosco worries at his lip, "They are all tied up in thorns. They aren't supposed to be like that are they?" seeking answers from the god.

Hayden's frowns answers Rosco's question and says the god is just as troubled by this revelation as the boy was, "What has happened my dear friend?"

The little creature jumps to its feet chittering with clear agitation. Hayden's eyes widen with surprise and then narrow as the story went goes. Rosco watches, unable to understand the words but recognizes the scolding from the way the little thing has its hand on its hip and waves a finger at the god with a startling amount of spunk for one so tiny.

glancing between the two, "Hayden, what is it saying?" Rosco prods, pushing at Hayden's knee.

The wildflower stops shouting long enough for them to peak back and gesture to Rosco expectantly.