"Hello, Mother."

A heavy drizzle fell over the graveyard, soaking everything in range without discernment: the cold, grey stones, the lonely, shriveled flowers, and the young kitten who was oblivious to the fact that both her violet jumper and her lilac fur were drenched.

"Father taught me awl – arg - arpeggios yesterdays. I think they're pretty neat. Singing's all I do now – that's how Father makes money for us. He plays and I sing. I must be doing good – I think we're getting more money than we used to."

She came here often when Father was practicing. She loved him dearly, but sometimes she wanted someone else to talk to - but as she didn't really know anyone else, she always found herself returning to the smooth granite marker.

"I wish you were still here, Mother. Even if you weren't very good at music, you were good at that other thing. Father can't do that at all, so he can't teach me. I'm trying to teach myself, but it's not really working. And I can't try it when it's so rainy like today."

She finally fell silent and listened for some response as she always did, even though she knew perfectly well that none was coming.

"Can't try what?"

She jumped at the unexpected words. Although she was already unsure of what her mother's voice had sounded like, she knew this wasn't it. The pitch was too high, the tone too uncertain. It was a child's voice.

Her head jerked in the direction of the auditory presence – and a small scream escaped her. The figure was indeed a child, if the size was any indication – but a pale, faintly glowing one that couldn't possibly be earthly.

The apparition stumbled back a pace at the shrill outburst it had caused. "What? What is it?"

Her teeth chattered as she half-yelled, half-whimpered, "Leave me alone, you mean ghost!" She squeezed her eyes shut as she did this, hoping that when they opened the graveyard would be as empty as she had found it.

To her dismay, the voice replied, closer this time. "Ghost? I'm not a ghost, silly. I'm a hedgehog."

Curiosity overcoming fear, she cautiously lifted an eyelid and saw the truth of it. Sitting on the ground next to her was one very confused, very real hedgehog with fur so white, it was luminous – explaining why she had mistaken him for a spirit through the distorting curtain of rain. Then she looked up higher – and started giggling.

Like most children their age, he was hardly fond of being mocked. "What are you laughing at?" he asked indignantly, crossing his arms and pouting.

She grinned broadly, amazed that such… things could exist in nature. "Your quills are weird."

When his face scrunched even farther into a deep scowl, she realized she'd probably said something she shouldn't have. "I mean, they're a good weird. They're really cool, actually. Do you hafta use gel or something to make them like that?"

He shook his head vigorously, making the palm frond that was his quills sway and bounce. "Nope. They're always like this." He tilted his head, trying to think of a way to keep talking this girl that thought his unusual hairstyle was 'cool'. "So… who were you talking to?"

Having already forgotten why she was in a cemetery in less than pleasant weather – such is the mind of a child - she had no idea what he was talking about. "Huh?"

"Before you yelled at me and called me a ghost, you were talking to somebody. Who was it?"

"Oh." Her voice dropped in that single syllable, and her face became downcast. "My mother." She indicated the gravestone in front of her, not considering that most children didn't have dead parents that they chatted with on a regular basis.

Fortunately for her, he wasn't 'most children.' "Yeah, my mom and dad live here, too. I don't talk to them a lot, but I visit them when Auntie lets me."

There was a calm silence afterwards, one that makes the immature restless – but it was safe to say that the life experience of these two companions had given them an appreciation for solemn moments.

Well, for one of them, anyway. He wasn't in her sight at the moment, as she had been practicing reading the tombstone again, so she had no way of knowing what was causing that 'swoosh' sound. When she turned to ask him if he heard the same thing – or if it really was a ghost this time - she gaped in amazement.

As soon as he noticed her staring, the rock he had been unconsciously toying with dropped to the soggy ground with a soft squish. His first instinct was to run – but on the other hand, she had handled his hair pretty well, and he was curious what she'd think of this.

"It was floating around and – it was glowing blue and – did you do that?" she stammered.

He nodded. "Yeah, but you can't tell Auntie that you saw! She doesn't want me to do stuff like that, and she really doesn't want me to let anybody else see it."

"I won't, I promise." She hesitated a bit before offering, "Wanna see what I can do?"

He bobbed his head in the affirmative, and she pulled him under the overhang of a small mausoleum. Her first few attempts only dried her sopping hands, but after a lot of concentration…

"Whoa! Your hand is on fire!"

"No it's not, silly, it's making the fire." She released her focus, and the flame disappeared, leaving only a warm odor behind. "Now you can't tell anyone about that either, okay?"

"Okay. Pinkie swear." Lavender and alabaster entwined briefly. "I'm glad somebody else knows. Auntie treats it like it's something bad." The boy's tone made it clear that he thought this notion was ridiculous.

"Father doesn't think mine is bad, he just can't do it. And I think it makes him sad when I do it, because Mother could do it too. So he never lets me practice." Her amber eyes popped open as an idea occurred to her. "I know! Maybe we could practice together!"

His reply was preempted by the distant sound of an older female drifting through the mist, its words indiscernible. His head snapped around in recognition. "That's Auntie! I gotta go."

"Wait a minute - I don't know your name!"

He stopped and turned hastily, eager to get back before his guardian got upset. "It's Silver."

"I'm Blaze."

The voice was closer now, and they were able to distinguish his name among the words the woman shouted. With a half-wave, he ran off, leaving her with the first real smile she'd had in a long time.