The sky was formed into a monotonous line of grey streaks, coating the air with a thick gloom. Everything moved with the cool breath of the air, as though nature itself was shivering. Trees shuddered and shook their branches like arms of a panicked child, forfeiting their leaves to the wind as they swirled about. Light drops of cool water intruded upon the waving grass, making the ground slick and wet. Everyone with a solid head would be curled up in their parlors reading a book by the fire at a time like this, and yet the shivering wood was not alone.
A small child sat perched on a damp rock, the canopy of leaves keeping a small bit of the wind away. A forest green cloak with a little hood to protect the drops of rain from splashing into his wind-beaten blonde hair wrapped around the boy's sore shoulders. Green eyes stared into the dim-lit sky, simply thinking. It was all he ever did – think and dream and wonder. Of course it wasn't particularly as comfortable as sitting in a warm cottage with a book and a glass of wine, but it was all the boy had ever known. He had no family of his own, no warm arms to embrace, yet he did not bat an eye to it, for it was all his mind could comprehend. It was all his emerald eyes had seen.
A soft blue light flickered nearby before dimming. The blonde turned, hungry and cold, but very curious. He arose from his boulder and blindly stumbled in the direction of the light, his worn brown boots sloshing in the damp earth. Two more lights flicked, and the child could swear he heard a soft sound through the now steady rainfall. It was almost.. musical. Although he had moved much closer to the lights, they still appeared far away, as if he hadn't moved at all. He squinted, straining to see what was hidden. Almost tripping over a branch and falling to meet the twig woven ground, he continued to press toward the source of the soft song. But as he came closer, he noticed that the lights he had seen were not two individual lights, but clusters and clusters of small blue dots. The wide-eyed child could barely see through the mist of rain, but one blue dot in particular looked as though it wasn't a dot at all. Coming closer still, he gasped in astonishment. The lights were alive.
Small, transparent wings sent the small creatures buzzing about. Not in an obnoxious, quick way as that of flies and mosquitos, but the creatures seemed to glide and float through the air. They moved in a delicate dance throughout a very small clearing in the wood that the child had not noticed before. There were many of them, and they did not seem in the least bit bothered by the rain. In fact, they almost seemed to enjoy it, weaving in between droplets as if it were a sport. One sat content on a small twig of a newborn tree, catching droplets with its tiny glowing hands. The boy crouched by it, not daring to touch it, but simply admired. It was beautiful, as though it had been a very small hand crafted doll brought to life. The soft melody rang through the air, making the child sway to the rhythm. He hummed softly, unfazed by the cold rain splashing onto his nose.
Loud footsteps. Crackling of branches. The song stopped abruptly. Every which way, a blue light buzzed about in a mass panic. The blonde blinked in confusion. Where were they going? Loud chatter, the boy recognized the language as much muffed French. He scowled, not wanting anything to do with Frenchmen. The footsteps came closer, and the boy looked to see the bright blue lights now dimmed, hiding under leaves and rocks and behind trees.
"You! Boy!" an unknown voice cracked in loud French.
The boy turned to run, but a large hand grabbed his now rain-soaked green hood.
"Let me go!" the boy cried before realizing that the gruff man probably did not speak English. He struggled underneath his grasp, yelling out insults.
"Laissez-le être!" a much softer but firm voice commanded the other. Cursing under his breath, the Frenchman let go of the child and headed back to the group of men nearby.
The blonde was just about to resume his escape when a much softer hand was placed on his shoulder.
"Angleterre," a soft voice spoke with a kind smile. Unlike the others in the group, he was wearing a beautiful violet cloak and seemed as though he were taking a stroll on a sunny day rather than stumbling through a wet wood.
The boy glared at the Frenchman, "France," he muttered into the ground, shaking away from his hand. He spoke in French, "You scared them."
The Frenchman's face twisted in confusion, "Scared who away?"
The English boy looked at the other as if he were mentally ill, "Don't you see them?" he replied, gesturing toward the dim blue lights that hid in the clearing.
But the other just gave the boy a worried expression, "There is no one here but my comrades, Angleterre," he spoke to the boy as one would explain to a child that their imaginary friends are not real, "Perhaps you are seeing things from exhaustion?"
"Exhaustion!" the child repeated, "I feel fine! And I certainly don't need any help from you! You're just.." he trailed off. Was France going blind? Or was he insane? No. He knew what he saw. With a sudden jolt of anger, the green-eyed boy rushed from the group of Frenchmen.
To this day, he still knows what he saw.