Floating above the garden, Prose examines the place intently. A variety of colorful vegetables and fruit are scattered around, not being grown in any particular order or fashion, though each one was given quite enough to be considered its own space. The grass was quite a bit greener than in the surrounding town.

What specifically caught his attention was that the bat-like creatures walking around the garden and managing the plants, were all quite a bit smaller and less defined than the others he had met, and those he had seen on the way. They seemed to all be children.

The methodical nature of their work was quite impressive. They worked in tandem and with little communication, but they all knew where to focus their attention as they plucked the weeds and planted the seeds.

Sitting next to a shed with a happy but quite old face, was a bat creature whose entire fur was white. Her eyes were almost closed completely, and she sits on an old chair fashioned of logs and twine. She looks quite happy and content, humming a small song.

Prose descends through the air, hovering slightly above the woman who still hadn’t taken notice of him. He closed his eyes and listened to the humming, finding it to be quite a relaxing tune. The wind blew gently, carrying the hums. Since he woke up ,not once did he have such a moment of peace.

Deciding that to listen on for too long would be a needless intrusion, Prose descended further until he was in front of the woman. She took notice immediately jumping a bit in a quick startle, but not too pronounced. Before she could exclaim her surprise, Prose introduced himself.

“Hello, I’m sure I’m not something you see every day. My name is Prose, friend of Bart, a well renowned man around here as I know. I’m a friend. Elder Bayt sent me here.” He was quite quick with his words, and he bowed mid air.

A high laugh escapes from her lips. “Truly? Well I suppose I know well enough not to question something like this.” She smiles, her canines pointing out proudly. “And the Elder sent ya here eh? Did he tell you anything specific?”

“We came to experience the culture, and he told me to speak to the people of this garden. He told me I would grow to appreciate their craft.” Prose spoke with a bit of contempt, albeit not intentionally. His arrogance spilled out of him naturally.

The woman took no care of this. “The culture, and the craft…” She broke out into a laugh again. “That’s fine! Go around and take an offering from each of the kids, they’ll each have something different for you.” She eyed him up and down. “I’d give you a bag… but could you carry it?”

Prose’s eye twitched at the slight provocation, and he put on a false smile. “Just show me where it is, please.”

Opening the door of the shed without even getting up, the woman’s arm fishes backwards and grips the object of her desire in an act of acute memory and routine. She held the bag in her hand, offering it forwards gently.

Prose smirked, and exerted his mental force on the bag. It floated out of her hands and entered a slight orbit around him, suspended in the air, open and awaiting its future contents. Prose places his hands on his hips and puffs his chest out for a moment, feeling quite proud of his rebuttal of her statement, until she speaks again.

“So you can’t carry it, eh?”

He let out a deep sigh, and turned away towards the garden. He spotted 5 different children, all scattered about and he was resolved to speak to everyone in an attempt to appease the elder. He wasn’t motivated by the potential shame of failure, only by a want for understanding.

The first of the children he approached was the smallest, the plants it was taking care of were quite bigger than it. Similar to a watermelon, but its color was a bright orange with stripes of red.

“Hello there young one.” Prose made his presence known immediately, and he was quite pleased by its response. The bat looked with starry eyes and amazement, and its words erratically spared from its lips. “You- Amazing! What are you!?”

Prose beamed. “I’m a fairy!” And he introduces himself quite quickly. “The kind woman in the shed said you might have an offering for me, as a guest.” Prose makes quite a show as he manipulates the bag through the air, opening it wide and demonstrating its flight through the air.

The bat beamed right back, loving the sight. Turning around and walking through its section of the garden, It plucks a melon from its patch of plants. Not the biggest, or the smallest, but it could certainly be said to be a fine crop. The bat places it in the bag and nestles it firmly into its folds.

Prose feels the weight, but compared to the tree’s he had thrown with ease earlier it was nothing major. He bids the child adieu and thanks him for the gift. He heads to the next offeror, feeling quite good about the encounter.

His next encounter is more aged, an adolescent of their species. She notices Prose’s approach immediately, and her face scrunches and ears peel back in an aggressive way.

“Woah there! I’m sorry to surprise you but I’m not an enemy, I assure you. I came with Bart!” Prose lifts his hands forwards, palms facing the bat. He’d relied on the name of Bart quite a bit already, and he would shamelessly continue as long as they understood his intent.

The adolescent quivers a moment at the name, and speaks in a ghastly response. “Uncle Bart’s been taken by mercenaries.”

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Prose tilts his head. “Not incorrect, he was taken by mercenaries, but returned by friends.” He places a palm on his chest. “Me and two others, in fact. I promise you on my wings, your uncle’s safe and sound and in town now!”

The bat shakes, not wanting to believe the words, but also not being able to detect a hint of deceit. Prose then goes on to explain his encounter with the garden’s overseer, and explaining the bag to her. Although he wished he could more definitely prove his good intention, it seemed to be enough to the girl. Her hands nimbly worked through the grass, and quickly a crown of flowers was constructed.

“If you really did save uncle, then please wear this.” She offers the crown, her hand trembling slightly.

Prose places it on his head with no hesitation, and he poses for her. “Does it look as good on me as it did by itself?”

The girl nods, and Prose laughs and speaks for a bit more. He reassures her of Bart’s fate, and he tells her to ask around the town or go directly to the elder, if she must. She set off, wanting to confirm the truth and spread the word to those who didn’t know.

He thinks the crown of flowers feels quite nice on his head, and sets off to his next encounter. This time it was two of them at the same time. The two were a bit younger than the one he had just spoken to, and they were moving very quickly from place to place in the garden, tending to a wide array of the plant life.

Prose looks at the two, and they look back, all tilting their head in arrogance. The two speak to each other in hushed tones.

“I’ve never seen anything like that before, ever!” “And neither have I. Do you think its an angel?” The other shakes his head. “Of course not, he has no halo” This comes across as quite logical to the speaker.

“Well, I’m a fairy actually.” Prose introduces himself. He explains all that he had before, and once again drops Bart’s name, though this time to no real reaction. They take a moment of private communion, before they speak in unison.

“What’s a fairy?” They ask innocently.

Prose doesn’t fully know how to respond, his concept of the idea is fuzzy like most things. He shrugs. “A fairy’s like me, because I’m a fairy.” He doesn’t say those words with much confidence, but they’re quite satisfied nonetheless.

“Ok!” The two scatter off through the garden, plucking different fruits from branches and vegetables from the ground. They pack each item into the sack, and they don’t even question how it floats in the air on its own. By the time they’re done, it’s nearly bursting at the bottoms and the threads that make the sack are straining against the weight.

He again says farewell, and searches through the garden for the last of his encounters. In the corner, surrounded by slightly wilder and more deeper green grass. The oldest of the children sits surrounded by it, and hums a song quite similar to the way the woman did. His eyes are closed, he’s being carried by the simplicity of his own rhythm.

Prose floats forwards, listening to the song and once again finding it quite peaceful. He waits for him to end, allowing himself to also be caught by the trance of the music. When the bat opens its eyes, it's quite surprised by the fairy standing in front of it. But unlike the elderly woman from before, he finds that he’s not startled in the slightest. He looks on in curiosity.

Prose runs through his basic round of introductions, and the bat listens intently. To Prose its clear the aura of intelligence that emanates off him, and he’s quite impressed by the way it carries itself even in their brief meeting.

“Well hello, Prose. It’s quite nice to meet you. Although I don’t think I have anything to offer. I just come here to relax.” These words come out with a slight bitterness, clearly conveying the dislike of his own trait.

“Then let me ask you for an offering instead, if you have nothing you can think to give.” The bat acquiesced at this, waiting to hear Prose’s response in earnest.

“Tell me with your heart. Do you despise the world outside, the same way it despises you?” Malicious. The words came out of the fairy’s mouth with no regard for the potential pain, or the anger that they could spawn in someone.

He had met many different people, and even seen the apprehension from others when they were first traveling through the village. It struck him odd that mercenaries came to take their kind frequently and were from the outside. Yet they too were from the outside and completely unknown, and the worst they were met with is only doubtful stares.

The bat took a moment to think about the words, anger and pain both flashing through his face. But soon a pacified look came forward, and his response was gentle.

“The world outside doesn’t despise us. Individuals who have greed in their heart, struck with a lack of empathy are the ones who hurt us. The forest itself, the land itself kills us and is robbing us of our future. But I don’t despite it, I couldn’t.”

Prose wishes to speak more, challenge the idea further, but he never has the chance as the bat continues speaking.

“But yes, I do despise the world. I despise it’s indifference, it’s unwillingness to change. I hate that the conditions of our life are a whimsy and not logical conclusion. I despise the lack of an answer we can find from it.” Although the words were spoken resolutely, Prose did not hear a hint of true anger, or despair. All that he felt was a mild mannered recollection of what the bat in front of him perceived to be the absolute truth.

“You say you had nothing to offer me, but how wrong you are. Your words are true, and your emotions aren’t hidden. Transparent as glass, I can see myself in you.” Prose bows his head.

The bat isn’t sure how to react, and settles with a return of the same gesture. And when they’re both done with the gesture, he attempts to speak but is preempted by a final parting that leaves him silent.

“Although we can’t expect an answer from this wide, unclear thing known as the world, don’t ever feel resentful. Understand your own ignorance, and when you question the world because of it understand where those questions come from, beyond just idle curiosity.”

Prose leaves, heading back to the old woman to say goodbye. The bat he’s leaving behind thinking in silence.

Prose arrives back to the woman, showing his goods and explaining each person he met. They share a conversation filled with gentle laughter, and they say goodbye. Prose flies upwards, his bag of gifts following behind him and the crown of flowers still on his head.

His thoughts of the place were still not completely developed, but he was certain now that the culture of the people here tugged at his heart.

He could only curse his own ignorance, for he did not understand how or why he had the love he did.