Chapter .29
It is summer. Owls and bats fly overhead, their wings beating softly. Far away animals dash through the forest: deer and rabbits, foxes, voles, mice and wolves, and a bear further away still. Insects and small reptiles scuttle in the ground beneath them. The humans are quiet in their village, deep breathing of sleep the only sound, those strange noises silent for once.
The sky is cloudy tonight, the absence of the moon and stars casting a faint gray glow over the land. Sherlock lies with his arms and head across Mycroft's stomach, whose hand is resting in the middle of his back. Mummy sits crosslegged before him and Mycroft, having just finished a tale about a changeling girl whom was given to a family because they angered the forest spirits by cutting down the trees. Father, whom is lying on the ground beside them with his head brushing Mummy's hip, snorts through his nose.
"What?" Mummy asks as she turns her head to face him.
"I hope you don't expect them to believe that human folktale." Daddy remarks without opening his eyes.
Mummy waves her hand at him impatiently. "Oh, yes, yes. Everybody lies and religion is for the feeble minded. We know. Besides, Siger, I am perfectly aware that neither of our sons believe my tales."
"So why do you persist, Violet?"
"Because I happen to enjoy it." Mummy says airily, turning to face him and Mycroft once more.
Smiling at them she launches into a tale about Artemis and Apollo, the twins that ruled the moon and sun.
Sherlock glances at Father out of the corner of his eye, knowing that Mycroft is doing the same. In spite of his pervious words Father is still, listening intently even as his lips turn up in amusement. Without pause Mummy reaches down and tugs lightly at Father's hair.
Mummy continues with her tale and soon starts another, her words joined by the scent of flowers carried to them upon the wind.