The shepherd shook his head. “No,” he answered. “That’s a grasshopper.”
Pointing at another flower, the boy once again asked, “Is that one?”
Once again, the shepherd shook his head. “No, that’s a dragonfly,” he said. Realizing that until he gave his son more information there would be many more questions, the shepherd added, “Not all of the Fair Folk are small. Some are as big as we are. Some have wings and some don’t. But they all have pointy ears.”
Reaching up, the boy rubbed his own ears. His eyes grew wide. “Papa!” he shouted. “I think I’m one!”
Stifling a chuckle, the shepherd stopped and turned toward his son. “Let me see those ears,” he said, gently examining the boy’s head. “No, not pointy.” Then he turned his son around. “And no wings, either. You’re just a boy.”
The son smiled, relieved. While he wanted to see one of the magical creatures, he definitely did not want to be one.
Raising a finger, the shepherd pointed to the land that bordered their family’s grazing fields. “If you were one of them,” the boy’s father went on, “you’d live in there. That’s the Moors—where the faeries live. That’s what all the fuss is about.”
The boy’s gaze followed his father’s finger, and his eyes grew large. He had never seen the Moors before. Their farmhouse was too far away. But he had heard his brothers talk about sheep wandering in and never returning. Even in the warm glow of afternoon light, the Moors were covered in mist, hiding anything or anyone who walked upon them. They stretched out in both directions, with tall trees that twisted and turned toward the sky concealing the land beyond. At the base of the trunks, cattails grew tall in the dappled sunshine, stretching out toward the human land as though they were curious. The little boy shivered.
Turning his attention once more to the sheep, the shepherd resumed his walk down the hill. Behind him, the boy lingered, his eyes glued to the Moors. He could just make out food on the ground, along with totems and talismans that swung from the branches of the trees that edged the faerie land. Squinting, he tried to make out more through the mist. Unable to, and overcome with curiosity, the young boy began walking toward the misty glen.
Moments later, he found himself at the edge of the Moors, the mist clearing around him enough that he could make out the rocks and small shrubs that covered the ground. Kneeling down, he reached into his pocket and cautiously placed his half-eaten sweet cake on a rock. Impatiently, he grabbed a fistful of dirt and spattered it around the rock. He took a step back and waited.
Nothing happened.
The boy nudged the cake closer to the center of the rock.
Still nothing happened.
Disappointed, the boy turned to go. The sun would be setting at any moment, and he needed to return home with his father. Suddenly, he heard a soft fluttering sound behind him. The boy stopped. Turning back around slowly, he watched with wide eyes as a pair of small, insect-like antennae rose over the rock’s edge.
Quickly, the young boy ducked behind a nearby stone, his heart racing and his breath coming in short gasps. The antennae quivered as if testing the air. A moment later, two tiny blue wings came into view, and then a brilliant blue faerie climbed onto the rock. Her skin was almost iridescent, like a dewdrop, and her colorful wings were mesmerizing as they fluttered behind her. She was the most beautiful thing the boy had ever seen.
Unaware that she had company, the tiny faerie reached out toward the sweet cake.
Behind his stone, the boy felt his nose twitch. He wiggled it, trying to prevent the inevitable. But there was nothing he could do. He sneezed.
Spinning around, the faerie locked eyes with the young boy. For a moment, neither of them moved, each in awe of the other. But then there was a loud bark and one of the collies bounded over. Before the boy could say a word, the faerie flew off, leaving the sweet cake behind.