Quiet

“What is that?”

“What?”

“That…right there, at the edge of the brambles. With the red mane.”

“I don’t see anything.”

“No, over there, dingus. Where I’m pointing.”

“Ooooh, dude, it’s a kid!”

“Whattaya mean, a kid? Like, a human?”

“Yeah man, a little baby human! I mean, look at it! Look at those short little legs! Can’t be an elfling, they’re like twice that tall by the time they can walk!”

“Nah, man, you’re trippin. There’s no humans here!”

“Well then what do you think it is, Vandabor?”

“I don’t know, but I bet we could catch it. Whatever it is, it can’t run very fast on those little stumps.”

“What do you wanna catch it for?”

“I dunno, man, for science! I just wanna know what it is.”

“A’right, well, do you have some food or something? Or are we just gonna tackle it?”

That was my final patience spent.

Slither. Slurp. Chomp. Slurp. Chomp.

I’d been watching the young gnomes since they entered the forest, high on endleberry root and louder than a sackful of watercats. Younglings usually entered the forest for one of two reasons, and both of them caused more noise than our kind prefers. Those who ventured here for romance I didn’t fault too much – while they certainly disturbed the peace of my forest just as deeply as the psychoactives enthusiasts, I could forgive the youthful rudeness inspired by love and lust. And some of the plant-worshipers came to the forest with reverence and awe – these, too, I could allow.

But some, like these two, came with doubled voices and dampened brains, and for them I had little tolerance. After so many years of disrespect, my forest deserved protection from the worst of the Walkers. Convenient and pleasing that I could serve my forest and preserve my own peace and quiet with the same swallow of loudmouthed gnome.

Tonight, though, the raucous rootheads were not the only unusual noise in my forest. The creature they’d been watching ambled along the edge of the clearing, gurgling and squealing and babbling unfamiliar syllables. I hadn’t heard any Human languages in awhile, to be fair, but the sounds this little creature made didn’t seem to be any of them. Perhaps it was too small for language. My memory of the Human life-cycle was fuzzy at best. When did they learn to speak? I knew their young remained vulnerable and helpless for far longer than most species in our realm or their own.

Helpless. Godsbollux.

This little – thing – was helpless. Lost. How did it get here? Was it alone? Was there a Godsloving adult Human somewhere? No, I’d have smelled it. My Underrealm Studies may be rusty, but my nose never forgets. It was alone. But still, how? And why?

A stabbing ache in my abdomen pulled me from my thoughts. Strange. Those two idiot gnomes weren't a full meal, perhaps, but they certainly should take the edge off of any hunger pangs, and I'd eaten three wood-deer for lunch before my walk into the forest. How could I be hungry? And painfully so?

Oh. The little human. She was hungry. I forgot what it feels like to be around humans, with their weak sensory defenses. Their every whim and passing sensation picked up by our empath sense, unless we actively dampen it or the human is highly trained. Children, especially, felt loudly, though I didn't blame them for the interruption. They can hardly be held to the same standards as an adult of the Upper Realm, and their feelings were generally pure and sweet, even those that were unpleasant. Children were driven by justice, pleasure, and their body's connection to nature. Adult humans were driven by fear, greed, and spite more often than not.

What did humans eat? Their children like sweets, I thought. Berries, perhaps. Or cookies. Could humans eat our berries? I didn't want to hurt the little creature, and I certainly didn't want it to suffer out here, all alone.

I approached the little human slowly. Some of them were skittish, and some were known to bite when threatened.

She hid when she saw me, though not at all well. I conjured a couple of Monah's gingersnaps and a caramel candy. I'd send her a thank-you note later. She wouldn't mind -- she'd been nagging me for ages that I would be less of a curmudgeon if I weren't so lonely.

The little human smelled the sweets and peaked out from behind its bush. She slowly ambled toward me, nervous, then saw the cookie. She took one gingerly from my claws, risked a tiny bite, then giggled with joy and grabbed the other. The sugar must have tasted trustworthy.

I smiled to myself. I'd never admit this to Monah, but I'd always sort of wanted a pet.