Apologies for taking so long again. There really is no adequate excuse, so I will only say that I promise this story will happen eventually-but it is going to take time. I appreciate very much that there are people reading, and I don't want to undervalue that. But saying anything other than "This will take a long time to finish" Would be unrealistic right now. I will try to post small chapters so that you will have some update rather than nothing for a long time.
The Carpenter's House (Mini CH) 2
She watched him rocking back and forth in the wooden chair he had made himself from a sturdy old oak. She watched him run his fingers over the hammer on his belt with reverence, and sip the chilled beer from a tankard on the stump beside him. Oona watched him breathing—his shoulders moving up and down as his wizened old eyes darted nimbly from tree to shrub, following the fireflies. The stars were coming out. Jack sighed and his wrinkled old lip twitched up to his nose in a smirk—the beautiful stars were smiling. In three days, it would be ten years. Ten years since his wife passed away. Twelve years since his youngest boy left the village to seek his fortune. Forty three years since he had left home himself. All that remained of the life he had created were the empty bed frames, the kitchen chairs and table, and a few too many good memories.
Life had never been easy for Jack, but things seemed to always turn out well. He would exhaust himself, working into the night, but wake up to find that he had finished anything that he started. The impish fairy Oona had learned much from Jack. She learned the value of treating others with kindness, expecting nothing in return.
She had set out to follow the human boy not sure if she was going to make his life better or miserable, but soon found that nothing she did could determine his happiness—only Jack could do that. She learned to watch and love the humans like one watches and loves the morning glories that blossom with the dew and close again before nightfall. Jack's wife was plain and gentle, and Oona didn't much like that. She gave the little woman a beautiful face and glowing hair and pinched her whenever she forgot to stand up for herself. Jack's sons and daughters were as wild as he was when he was young, and spent most of their time tripping over trolls' legs or stumbling into satyrs, but when they came home in the evening he showed them all the love that a father could give. They never were rich, but they never were cold, and they never were hungry. Oona missed the children and their mother as much as Jack, for they had been her favorite secret playthings, but she never thought to follow them off on their adventures into the wide world.
Jack tugged at the collar of his tunic as the night began to cool. So much was past now. The forest was thick around his small cabin and growing dark. He could see little looking forward, but the sky glittered so beautifully when he looked up that he could not take his eyes off of it, even when he began to hear sounds from deep in the trees.
Oona gasped, "My Jack!" And she fluttered so hard that she hit her poor little head on the top of an outstretched branch. Her head was woozy—rushing with bright pixie dust and fright. She spiraled out of control toward the tranquil old man as the wild things of the forest crept closer to his lonely form.