In the rolling hills of Gascony tucked by the small forests and fields of sunflowers, under blue skies and within a town aiming to be a city grand as its namesake, sleepy little Fleurance calls to him. From the edge of the field he watches the town as it stirs to life. His eyes follow the people as they leave their homes and walk the streets. Some take those two wheeled things Seamus calls bicycles. Apparently it is so hard for humans to walk that they simply use these mechanical things to move. Maybe today he would risk it. The others were wandering to the forest today to gather food.

Standing on the rock hiding their den he spread his wings wide, feeling the blood flow through the veins, and a shiver went across his skin. The morning dew was cold against his bare feet, but it was too soon to hover. He had to stretch and wake first.

The large forewings were raised high as his arms rose up over his head; then the hindwings. Each wing was golden with specks of brown closer to his back, the segments broad and less bunched. More like a butterfly than the patched look of a dragonfly. They joined seamlessly between his shoulders, sitting at either side of his spinal column, and stood out pleasantly against the pale skin. Long thick fingers touched his chin as he studied the world as it woke. He was different than the other faeries.

The others were so very lean and dainty. He was a foreigner. He had come from odd batch that came in a chrysalis hidden in a shipment of sunflowers from Russia. The elders had said he was quite fortunate to not be discovered by the humans, but he didn't quite see what could be so horrid about them. A dew drop hanging off the stem of a sunflower allowed him to look at himself. His trunk was thick and more muscular than the others. He even had a few rolls near his hips and at the base of his stomach. All four limbs were thicker too and well designed for work. The others found him useful as a work horse. Not something he really enjoyed. His eyes were large and rounded either. They were thin, almost human in design, but the amethyst colour kept him from being too human. The platinum hair was long enough to cover his ears, a cute bush atop his head, and Ivan felt he looked decent enough.

Beneath his feet the ground was beginning to stir. The others were waking. Now was his chance. If he went now he could go explore and let the angry pests go about their own work for once. Did he go?

His wings stretched, a broad six inches from tip to tip, and off he flew. Each stroke took him farther from the sunflower field, and the air across his nude skin was exhilarating. He was further out than he had even been. The distance was crossed before he knew how far he'd gone. A flower pot with lush marigolds provided a place to hide. Only six inches tall he nestled in well enough. There was the house with the blue door! Seamus lived here!

Below the pot he heard a grumbling. Something like a growl, but ever flowing. Ivan gave a squeal of fright when a round face of fur and whiskers was suddenly at the flowers. Then the purring turned into grumbling laughter. Old man Seamus rose a paw to rub his white face, spotted calico fur still soft with love despite his age.

"Seamus! What are you thinking coming out of the air like that?" Ivan put his hands on his hips and leaned forward, trying his best to look stern. Seamus just kept laughing.

"Sorry, Ivan," the old cat said as he composed himself. "I couldn't resist it. So what are you doing out of the field? You know you aren't to leave except for the forest."

"I know, Seamus, but the day is so fresh and irresistible. I gave in. I had to come! I was just too curious!"

"Curiosity doesn't just kill cats, Ivan. It'd be best if you fluttered on home. Jocelyn Crow is somewhere near. I heard his caw this morning."

Ivan swallowed loudly and looked through the marigolds to the sky. Jocelyn Crow did not like the fae folk. He hated their radiance, the way they shunned him. He would kill a fae rather than let them flit about.

"I won't stay out long, Seamus. I just want to explore a little bit."

"The town is large, Ivan. Stick to the ground as much as you can." The cat gave a sound of displeasure at the boy's tenacity and flicked his tail. A voice called from inside the home, his ears rotating backward at the sound.

"Go ahead, Seamus. The girl is calling you." He reached out and brushed above the nose, a smile lighting his face, and Seamus went back to the home.

Stick to the ground. I have to stick to the ground and watch for Jocelyn. Ivan nodded to himself and left the pot.

Humans would see only a butterfly, so the chances of being caught were unlikely. Down an open space between two buildings he flew, eyes sweeping about and taking in all the sights. Flowers everywhere and so many new smells- People were walking after all! They didn't need those mechanical wheels! Yet, as he looked at them he wondered why their skin was covered with cotton. Were they cold? In a windowsill above a sweet scent caught his large nose.

Up and up he rose, lighting on the sill, and there by him was a pastry. He could see what seemed to be bread. Inside were berries! Maybe just a taste-

"Ow!" Ivan's hands trembled as he jerked away and fled to a puddle on the street, hands going into it. His lips quivered and eyes teared as the hot berries slid from his fingers. The skin was red from the burns. A hiccup left him and he sulked. Foot kicked the puddle hard, splashing water, and a shadow went across the puddle. As the water settled he looked into it. A loud caw overhead sounded as he recognized the shape.

He cried out, wings spreading wide as he flew fast from the ground, staying close as Seamus had said. Jocelyn was laughing, an eerie cackle as he pursued the fae, and Ivan's breaths were coming to fast. He was made for work, not hard flying like the others, and already he was growing tired. Suddenly he veered up, climbing into the air, distancing himself only a little from the bird before sweeping into an open window. The bird began to follow before a broom's brush struck him. Out the bird was flung, giving an indignant caw as he lifted into the air, and Ivan knew he'd be waiting. He would have to hide until it would be safe to leave this building. Where was he, anyway?

He was stuck in something. Luckily his wings were high and lifted from flight, but the rest of him was coloured. The slick material the muddy feeling colours sat on was hard to stand. He whined and slipped, trying to get loose, and the world thrummed heavily, hard steps. Loud in his pointed ears, and he looked over his shoulder. A man stood there, looking down at him.

He'll squish me. He'll squish me with those shoes Seamus spoke of! Ivan's eyes were welling with tears again and the man's expression changed from shock to a much softer look.

"Non, non. Don't cry now. Shh. We'll get you clean, don't worry."

Don't cry? But bugs don't cry! Ivan stared back at him, swallowing to calm himself, and it dawned on him as the eyes traveled across his skin. The human could see him! He was one of those rare visionaries the elders talked about! They once covered the land ad celebrated the moon's phases with his kind! Yet they had died out, hadn't they? Why was this one here?

"You wait right there. I'm going to get water."

Ivan watched him walk away. The man's hair was golden, like the flowers he loved, and brushed his shoulders in curls and bounces. His jaw had been lined with stubble, yet he still had a slight feminine charm despite the masculine appeal. Those eyes were pure blue. A lovely blue. The cotton on his skin was different. It was white and pure, covering his trunk, arms, and a little way down his thighs. The rest was bare. He had qualities like Ivan and the other faes, too. He was lean and dainty, but had a thick tone like Ivan. It was an odd comfort to the fae.

He came back and sat the steaming bowl on the table. A sweet scent, like flowers, wafted from the water.

"I'm sorry. Let me know if I hold you too tightly."

The man spoke gently as his fingers wrapped around the fae. Finally he was out of the goop, but now the heat under his feet made him curl. He'd surely die in river water so warm! It wasn't natural! He wanted to cry out, to fight, and he was lowered. His breath was held, but then he froze. This water felt so-

"Nice! How is it that the river water is warm? It's only morning! The sun has only been out for a short while! These smells, what are they? How is it that the water smells of flowers? Is this flower water? Is it-"

"Whoa, whoa. Slow down! I can't answer all of it at once!" The man laughed, blue eyes shining as the sound left him. "The water is warm because we have a heater. It's like a well, but only warm. The smells are from the soap I put in. It's perfumed. No, it's not flower water."

Ivan listened with rapt fascination as the man spoke. His hands finally washed his skin, the muddy goop leaving his flesh and slipping into the water.

"Mister, what is this mud?"

"Little fae, you may call me Francis. And that mud, as you called it, is paint. It's colour."

"Colour?"

Francis nodded from where he sat in a chair by the table. On an easel adjacent to the table sat a canvas. Flowers littered across it in pencil, colour splashed in placed to resemble, the vase sitting on another chair covered in a drape. The flowers were pretty to Ivan.

"You make the world show on that white thing through these colours?"

"I'm an artist. That's what we do- Now, little fae, you haven't told me what I can call you."

"Ah! Ivan!" He had forgotten his manners! Ivan's face flushed and he raised his hands to apologize. Francis gave a sound, his finger drawing close, the nail pressing against Ivan's burned hand.

"What happened, mon petite?"

"There was a pleasant smelling treat in a window. I tried to get a berry, but it was too hot." The fae pouted as he lifted up, trying to get out of the bowl, and Francis chuckled at him.

He extended his hand and the fae settled onto it. From there Francis sat him on a washcloth, something no doubt large enough to dwarf the fae, and he watched the boy move. He was delicate, but strong. In so many ways he moved as a man, but at other times it was like a bird.

"Why was that bird chasing you?"

"That bird? Oh! Jocelyn Crow! He's a mean old thing. He hates us, you know." Ivan stated matter-of-factly.

"He does, does he?"

"Yes! And so he tries to catch us and eat us! He's probably out there waiting for me."

Francis followed his gaze to the window and nodded to himself. To his feet he rose and went to the window, drawing it closed.

"Then stay the night. Let me draw you. I'll feed you and keep you from Jocelyn Crow. Is that all right?"

Ivan nodded perhaps too eagerly, not realizing how trapped he was now with the window closed.

Author's note: A twist in a world of faeries. To me these sorts of things are fun stories, as fae folk can be both dark and pure, so having a story based in it will be exciting. I look forward to seeing you all next time! -Domani