‘Oh, so that’s what it was.’

Hanging from a tree branch ten feet above the ground, Milo finally understood what the fey was trying to tell him. The boy laughed and dangled there for a moment while he gathered his bearings. It seemed like he walked into a rope trap set up for snaring game. Milo wasn’t sure of the exact reason why this thought crossed his mind, but somehow he was convinced that a certain grumpy uncle had set this up just for him.

He shifted his pack over from back to front and started digging around for a dagger, careful not to let anything fall onto the floor, or onto his face. The boy came up with a plan that he thought was quite clever:

Step 1: grab rope

Step 2: cut rope

Step 3: lower feet to the ground

Step 4: fall from safe distance

Milo swung his body up and grabbed the rope with one hand. Dagger in the other, he started sawing away at the ropes. Up below, a curious water spirit poked her head out of the creek and watched.

After cutting away at the rope for a while, it started to fray and unravel. Snap. Milo tightened his grip in preparation. Snap. He put the knife back in his bag just to be extra careful. Snap. He reached up with his now-free hand to grab the rope. SNAP.

Much sooner than expected, the last few threads broke off.

In his well-thought-out plan, Milo reckoned that he could support his weight with one hand – that the second hand would only be needed for insurance.

Alas, the insurance didn’t have time to arrive. And his judgment was wrong.

As soon as his legs came falling down, Milo realized his mistake. It was heavy. Very heavy. The momentum from his swinging body instantly caused his grip to fail.

‘Uh oh.’

He rushed to try and grab the rope with his other hand, but it was too late. He was falling.

Milo landed halfway on his heels and then slammed onto his back a split-second later. He groaned as all the air was forced out of his lungs.

The boy held his breath while he processed all the pain shooting through his body. But a moment later, he realized that he couldn’t actually breathe. He started gasping for air.

Every few attempts, he would be rewarded with the tiniest bit of breath. It was a struggle each time. His lungs felt paralyzed.

Splash.

Milo felt a tiny drop of water land on his face. He gasped and managed to draw in half a breath.

For a few minutes he laid on the floor, unmoving, sipping air through clenched teeth. The occasional drop of water that splashed onto his face reminded him whenever it was time to take another deep breath.

It got easier. And easier. Milo finally regained control over his body and started breathing with comfort. He lifted his arm off the ground and waved towards the creek. One final droplet of water hit him in the face and he heard a little chime tinkle in the distance. Milo couldn’t help but laugh along. He also couldn’t help but immediately regret that decision. His ribs exploded with pain the instant he did.

After recovering from the mistake, Milo slowly got up off the ground and hobbled over to the creekside.

“Thank you for your help, little spirit. Sorry that I didn’t understand your warning from earlier.”

A tiny blue head popped out of the water, just high enough to reveal a pair of clear blue eyes. The fey looked at Milo and shook left and right as if to say there was no problem.

“I’m very grateful but I have nothing to show my appreciation unless you want some plants that I gathered from the forest,” Milo pulled out his sack of foraged goods and offered them to her.

The water spirit waved her hands in rejection.

“In nature and whimsy, all debts must be paid,” Milo recited.

She nodded her head.

Milo paused and tried to recall if he had anything with him that the water spirit might find useful.

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“Oh! I have this!” He reached into his tunic and pulled out a small pouch – the one containing a sugarfey. “I heard that these can be used to express gratitude and thanks.”

The spirit’s eyes fixated on the pouch, shimmering with desire. She fully emerged from the creek and bowed at Milo. Then, with a look of great regret, she started gesturing.

Hands brought together – small.

Then waved left to right – not enough.

Clasping her collar – cherish.

Her arms opened wide – large.

With that, the spirit took one last longing glance at the sugarfey, flicked a drop of water onto Milo’s face, and dove back into the creek.

‘This small favour doesn’t deserve a gift that large.’

The boy grasped the general idea of what the water spirit was trying to convey and he felt guilty for what he had just done. Milo thought about the face of grief that the spirit hid as she vanished into the water and out of sight. He felt a pang in his chest. The little spirit was kind enough to not take advantage of the boy’s naivety, but he understood that rejecting the gift had caused her a lot of pain. Milo tucked the pouch back into his tunic.

Offering something so valuable in return for something so small must have been almost like an insult to the fey – a show of insincerity. As if he was flaunting his wealth by making an extravagant offer that he knew she could not accept. He really hadn’t meant to hurt his friend like that, but in his ignorance he did so anyway. Milo never wanted to make such a careless offer ever again. He would have to ask Gu to explain the real meaning behind the sugarfey so that he wouldn’t repeat this mistake. For now, though, the harm was already done.

The boy bowed to the creek for a long time before turning around and continuing his journey into the heart of the forest.

Milo didn't know why, but he had always been treated well by monsters. Maybe it was because they took pity on him. Maybe it was because they saw something good in him. Maybe it was because they too were without Gift. Whatever the reason was, creatures of nature and whimsy had always been kind to him. Even when he had been living in the palace, his closest friends – or rather, his only friends – had been monsters.

Nobody wanted to speak with the cursed child unless forced to by circumstance; his only interactions with people were borne of necessity. Education, training, commands, reports, and games. These were the only times Milo was ever spoken to. Even then, it was as brief as possible. As long as he learned everything that he needed to, nobody bothered dealing with him.

Conversations did, of course, happen around the child. At dinners, Milo would sit quietly and go through all the expected etiquette while the adults and other noble children talked amongst themselves. During training, the instructors would ask and answer questions from the promising students while Milo listened and copied on the sidelines. In games, he would offer his opinion when his turn arrived, only to be buried under the din of the group discussing their plans without him. The boy simply sat there and did his part while the surroundings flowed past. He was like a rock in the middle of a stream, ignored by the current, isolated in a world of his own. Milo didn’t mind, though. It was all he had ever known. And he also knew that if he stuck through the day without making any mistakes, then he would be able to enjoy the evening in peace with the ones who really cared for him. With his friends, the monsters.

They came from all over to play – from the ceiling, from under the bed, through the window, down the chimney. At first there was only one tiny sprite – a white blob with three dots for a face. It squeezed itself out from a crack in the baseboards and blinked at the boy sitting on the bed. Milo stared back at it.

The two froze, locked in impasse.

Tentatively, the blob rolled over and bopped the leg of the bed frame. Milo reached down and picked it up.

The blob was surprisingly malleable.

He squished it and pulled it and kneaded it into all sorts of shapes. Every time, the blob would return to its original shape with a little pop. It rolled around on Milo’s hand and seemed to be having fun. Milo laughed and rolled it across the bed. The ball turned around and rolled back to him. He rolled it again. It rolled back again. They played together until it was night.

Milo heard the footsteps of the evening maid coming to check on him so he quickly ran over to the wall, put the blob against the crack it came from, and then quickly ran back under the bed covers. He smiled and waved at the little creature as it disappeared through the baseboard. This was the first time that Milo had made a friend.

In the days to come, perhaps it was through word of mouth, but more and more monsters started to visit Milo in his room. Each one had a different shape, size, colour, and personality. Some were hard, some were soft. Some had twelve legs, some had none. No matter what they were like, every monster was unique and beautiful, and Milo loved them all. He didn't understand why everyone considered these little creatures to be monsters when they were all so kind and playful. The only thing the monsters had ever bared towards him was their curiosity. Maybe people were just scared because they didn’t know any better and hadn’t met one of the good ones? Milo tossed a purple lizard in the air and watched it fly around as he thought things over. He was torn between wanting to show others the true nature of his friends, and the fear of them being hurt if things went wrong.

Milo was jolted out of his reverie by a cry of distress from the bushes up ahead and he immediately ran over.

As he parted the branches, Milo saw countless fragments of pure colour lying scattered across the ground. The iridescent lights morphed and blended as the boy approached. He picked up one of the fragments. It was warm and smooth to the touch. The cries were coming from right in front of him, but he still couldn’t find the source.

The boy dug deeper and deeper through the tangled foliage until finally he found a baby bird shivering at the bottom of all the cover. It was pink, featherless, and…quite ugly. Off to the side there was an empty shell – about the size of his hand – covered in cracks, with a jagged opening on top. It shone with ever changing hues that never seemed to settle. Like the shards on the ground, the colours on the egg shell were always shifting, always in flux.

Milo picked up the bird and, though it was still shivering, it soon stopped crying. He placed the bird in a cloth bag, bundling it nice and snug.

“It should be warm soon,” he said to the bird. “I’m sorry. I have nothing to feed you with now, but when we find your mom she’ll take care of everything.”

With that, Milo hung the bag around his neck and gathered up all the bits of iridescent shell before continuing his journey north.