Spying On Faeries

While they do their snazzy dance I sit quietly, holding my breath, enraptured. Marveling at their poise and their daintiness. The forest is quiet, the slow pop of the embers the only sound. It would be a great night to hear an owl. The queen senses someone is about. I am a secret watcher, uninvited to this campfire dance. I hold my breath, and remain hidden behind a felled giant oak. The queen has stopped dancing. Her opalescent wings show themselves. I take off on a run, listening to my footsteps Crunching against dried leaves on the forest floor. Pursued by a faerie.