Sparkling water in the fountain poured from the dishes held by nymph carved with a master's touch, pattered onto the shined bronze leaves, then spattered off of the carved Peepers that were forever caught mid-step in their capering innocent dances. The water burbled, fish swam within, and brightly colored semi-precious stones glittered from the bed of white sand imported at great expense from islands that were jewels themselves.

The woman sitting on the carved marble bench watched the small lizards leap from the nymphs, or from the leaves, to splash into the pool and swim around, or imitate their stone dopplegangers. All of them were peeping the same request, for the woman who wore the cracked ceramic mask to look at them, to watch their antics, and to pay attention to them. The woman was dressed in a comfortable dress of shimmer-silk, without a bustle or hoops to extend it out as the current fashion demanded, her feet bare and grass stained, and her hands busy with a long sky blue ribbon that was being woven into the hair of the woman sitting at the other woman's feet. The woman sitting on a cushion on the ground was dressed in a demure cotton dress, with moccasins covered in elaborate beadwork folded beneath her calves. The woman on the ground had a dreamy, contented look on her face, and the long, delicate fingers of her right hand traced the color picture in the book held in her lap. A small silver Peeper with bronze stripes down her back sat, curled up, on the young woman's left, her fingers gently running down the little lizard's back, making the tiny female Peeper purr with pleasure at the affection.

Lady Elba pulled the hair tight, then crossed it over, careful not to fold the ribbon as she did so. She leaned forward so that she could see the book held in Aveliene's lap better, pecking a quick kiss at the top of the Wraithkiller's head. When she cleared her throat all of the Peepers that were dancing and jumping and preening scampered over to the bench, climbing over one another to climb up on the sun-warmed stone and curl up next to the woman. With a laugh, the woman on the bench began reading again from the worn book, her voice full of care and love as she recited the words to a story she had read a thousand times.

"But Little Red shook her head and told the great wolf that she was not allowed to leave the path, and even though she really wanted to go see where the butterflies danced she remembered her matron's warning that as long as she stuck to the path she was safe from all harm." Elba said, then kissed the top of the woman's head. "Turn the page, dear."

Aveliene smiled, turning the page to reveal another picture, this one of the same Peeper holding tight to the wrapped hard candy in its claws and running down the pathway. The Peeper's scales were bright red, its eyes a glittery black, and a tiny cape of red felt streaming out behind it. Aveliene's fingers drifted across the picture she'd seen so many times, and she shuddered with pleasure as Elba kissed the top of her head again, her hands still busy in Aveliene's hair, weaving in the blue satin ribbon.

"The wolf gnashed its teeth as the Peeper hopped away, but was not willing to give up his plans on devouring Little Red. He thought for a moment, his head heating up with the effort, causing fleas to jump from his head to his rump, and their biting made him twist around to chew at his hindquarters. Suddenly, he had an idea. There was a bunny he had once spared from being eaten, mainly because he had been full from eating a naughty goblin child that had wandered away from its matrons. He would have the bunny lure Little Red from the trail, and then eat her!" Elba continued, pausing once to kiss Aveliene's head again as the Peepers made noises of horror at the pronouncement (one even hissed out "naughty!" in a scandalized peep).

"Its black heart, as black as its fur, full of the joy at the idea of eating both the bunny and Little Red, the wolf bounded into the forest." Elba kept reading, smiling at the audience of Peepers and the woman at her feet.

And Aveliene, the Sterile Queen of the Wraithkillers, known far and wide for her deadly skills at murder and assassination, almost purred with pleasure as she was rewarded for doing her Step-Mother's bidding. She knew that the other Wraithkillers would be jealous of the ribbon, envious of being red the Tale of Little Red & the Wolf, and she planned on lording the ribbon over them at dinner that evening. Especially over Electulu, who had been getting a bit too full of herself in Aveliene's opinion.

Several of the Peepers yawned, some closed their eyes and purred as they dozed off, and others sighed and wiggled drowsily, as the story continued in the sun warmed garden.

* * * * *

Volan Theronius, former non-commissioned officer of the Stygian Legion, survivor of the Battle of Hellfire Ridge, husband to Pashima, watched impassively as the last of the small funeral pyres were lit. Too many little ones had been killed when the black unicorn had burst into the village for Volan's peace of mind. Even the one pregnant woman that had been killed had been one too many in his mind, and despite the words of the priest of Drox, God of Death, gave him no comfort as he looked around him at the faces of the parents who had lost children and the children who had lost siblings.

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At times he felt like he had brought bad things onto the village by settling there, by thinking he deserved to be happy, to have a wife who loved him. Even though he knew, in his heart, that his presence was not what had brought the terrible black unicorn into their midst, in the dark of night he found himself wondering if the village was paying for the terrible things he had done during the Lich King War.

The crowd parting caught his attention, and he stared in shock at the small woman who exited the crowd, dressed all in mourning white, her face veiled and her hair hidden by a hood. The woman walked toward the first pyre, and several people screamed as the woman stepped into the flames of the funeral fire. When the flames neither touched her skin nor singed her robes, Volan felt his mouth go dry. The woman reached out to poor little Neenette, her hands seeming to plunge into the small, frail body of the dead little girl, and when the woman lifted her arms up, a pale, translucent version of the dead girl seemed to pull free of the flesh that was beginning to burn as the fires grew hotter.

Two small backward steps, and the woman had stepped clear of the fire, the ghostly figure of Neenette held closely to her, cradled lovingly in the woman's arms. The woman ran her hand across Neenette's brow, then made a motion to the crowd, which shrank back from the woman.

A single figure, gold skinned, clad in white and silver, with feathered wings folded at its back moved through the crowd, approaching the woman and kneeling, the figure's face alight with love for the woman, who held the ghostly child out to the figure. Without a single word, the winged apparition gathered up the small child's spirit to its bosom, spread its wings, and launched itself into the air, spiraling quickly upward with strong beats of its wings.

One funeral pyre after another, the scene was repeated. Crying redoubled, and Volan found himself kneeling, tears running down his face and dripping into the dirt as the hand maiden of the God of Death collected each of the souls and sent them to the heavens in the arms of angelic servants.

When all of the souls were collected, the hand maiden moved into the crowd, stopping in front of each person who had lost a loved one, those unlucky people found themselves unable to flee as the white clad woman approached them. Most were too shocked to even think of fleeing, and those who could have thought of it had no intention of angering or insulting the Lady in White.

She pressed long brown fingers to each person's breast, bowing her head in sympathy, and then moved to the next, before shimmering and vanishing with a tinkle of silver bells.

Volan held his wife close that night, and gave thanks that his daughter, tiny Neenette, had found a place in heaven.

* * * * *

The song was beguiling, and caused Saav to look up from where he was chewing on a straight twig in order to sharpen the tip and turn it into a sticker. His ears flicked back and forth as he listened, the song pulling at him, filling him with a longing to hear more and to see whoever was filling the clearing with such a tune. It could be a stranger, a dangerous stranger, who would see the People as something to eat, and that danger in mind, Saav kept the almost-sticker in his little claws as he ran through the grass, chirping out for his packmates to join him.

His stomach was bulging, full of yum-yum that had once been the Death that Thundered and its mate. The stranger that had nearly been yum-yum, with the hair like sour flowers that grew in the field nearby, had left both terrifying creatures where the People could feast on the yum-yum they had become. His full belly slowed him down a little, but the song was still bright and clear when he reached the flat rock in the middle of the People's home.

Jeema was atop the rock, doing backflips and slapping her feet in welcome, and when Saav managed to scramble to the top of the rock, the shock of what he saw made him drop the almost-sticker onto the warm rock, all thoughts of danger gone.

A big version of the People, with great wide ears, bright eyes, and skin as glittering and silver as Jeema's, was standing at the edge of the clearing, a huge metal acorn shell held in one claw, and a pot in the other. Dried hide was around the great silver's neck, and led to a strange thing that Saav had no words for, a thing that was flat, but held many strange and wonderful things.

The matron, Heemas Longnote, watched as over eight score little heads appeared, all of them watching her closely. The babies all joined her on the second time through the song, and she moved deeper into the clearing, dragging the travios behind her.

The Great Queen had asked her to find the babies that had been raised without song, to find them and sing to them, to teach them to be People rather than feral children devouring all who crossed their paths. She had been warned that there was a silver and a bronze with them, but Heemas had argued against stepping on Peepers of silver or bronze, for she believed that they, like all Peepers, should be cared for an nurtured.

As the Peepers gathered around, she began singing another song. A song they should have heard in the egg.

The song was old, its origin lost in the mists of time.

The words to Elba Loves the Little Peepers floated through the forest, and on the second chorus, a multitude of tiny, peeping voices joined in.