The little boy giggled as he collapsed into the pile of leaves bigger than himself, the soft, slightly damp mass giving way under his weight. He continued rolling around for a moment as he struggled to free himself from the leaves’ embrace, before tumbling out of the pile and onto the forest floor with a light “oof.” The wispy branches of the trees and sky spun as he lay flat on his back. He kept his eyes closed to ward off the dizziness, a new round of giggles bursting forth into the chilly autumn air.

​

“What are you doing, Seamus?”

​

Opening his eyes, the little boy could make out the slightly swaying form of his sister, a folded blanket in her arms and a smile on her face. Her red hair was buffeted around by a light breeze, dancing around her shoulders. She stood out starkly against the trees behind her; one of the few things this deep in the woods that wasn’t a tree… or Other Things. He’d never been told what Other Things were, but all the people in town spoke about them in hushed tones. Fern said they meant creatures beyond the fog; a misty barrier way behind the house he wasn’t allowed to go near. Mommy and daddy always said not to worry, that there was nothing dangerous out there, but why would they tell him to stay away if it was safe? He’d never seen anything remotely scary looking, but he wondered.

​

And steered clear. Just to be safe.

​

A bark snapped the little boy’s attention back from his wondering. Trotting up behind Fern was her dog Humphrey, his fluffy tail wagging and slobbery tongue lolling out. A hearty and strong dog, Humphrey was always friendly and happily accepted bribes of food and scratches whenever he decided to make trouble. Still, he wasn’t completely on Seamus’s side. Sometimes the dog would tattle and go get Fern, and sometimes he wouldn’t.

​

Remembering his sister’s question, Seamus smiled, pushing himself up off the ground, only to wobble and fall back again moments later.

​

“Playing,” he answered simply, squirming as the damp ground began to seep into his clothes. Underneath him, leaves crinkled and snapped.

​

“Making a mess more like.”

​

“Nuh-uh! You can’t make a mess in the woods!”

​

“Somehow I think you can,” Fern said, laying the blanket down, never farther than an arm’s length away. She held out her arms. “Come here, silly boy.”

​

Pushing himself up once more, Seamus paused to make sure he’d stay upright. Waiting for only a moment, he stood and scampered over into her arms, the two of them squealing in delight. He looked up at her, his grey eyes meeting cloudy white ones. Mommy and daddy had explained it all to him more than once, but his curiosity was never satisfied.

​

“Why can’t she see, daddy?”

​

“That’s just how she was born, kiddo.”

​

“But why?”

​

“No one knows. Sometimes things just happen that way.”

​

“Can magic fix it?”

​

“No, baby. She’ll always be like this. But that doesn’t make her any less strong.”

​

He had never cared that she was blind. She could still play and snuggle and laugh at his jokes the same way mommy and daddy could. She didn’t need eyes for that.

​

He settled down in her lap, snuggling into the furs that hung off her body. The brown pelts of what had once been rabbits signalled a change in the weather. Fern was never one to complain about temperature, but once the mornings began to frost, she was usually bundled as tightly as possible. He wiggled his hand at the dog, who sniffed and—upon finding no food—licked a stripe across his fingers, leaving a warm trail of slobber behind.

​

“Don’t you dare wipe that on me,” his sister said as he moved his hand towards her furs. He hesitated, a mischievous grin forming on his face.

​

“What if I do? Gonna put a spell on me?”

​

“I’ll settle for tickling.”

​

With a gasp, he quickly wiped the slobber on his own slacks. He looked up at her, biting his lip as he gathered the courage to blurt, “Can you?”

​

“Can I what?”

​

“Do some magic?” he asked. “I like watching.”

​

His sister frowned, pulling her own lip between her teeth, “I...you know it makes me tired.”

​

“Aw, please, Fern? There’s no one around! Mommy and daddy won’t mind! Just a little bit? A teeny, tiny little bit?”

​

As he spoke, he pinched two of his fingers together up in front of her face. As if she could see them, his sister giggled; a light, airy sound. The apprehension washed from her face as she smiled.

​

“Oh, alright.”

​

The young boy cheered with victory, untangling himself from her arms to let her work. He watched intently as she brought her hands up in front of her, breathing deeply. Slowly, a faint, golden light began to dance and shimmer around her hands, moving in time with the gentle twitches of her fingers. A grin spread across his face as he observed the delicate light.

​

“Wow,” he breathed, unable to stop himself. 

​

“Can you” —Fern began, hesitating for a moment, uncertainty and something else clouding her normally happy face— “Can you tell me what it looks like?”

​

Seamus stared at her hands, scrunching up his face as he thought. It was pretty, but he couldn’t say that. No, that was gross. He needed something else. The magic suspended between her fingers swirled slowly, and he spoke in time with it, “Warm.”

​

“Warm?”

​

“Yeah. Like you. And it’s gold like uh….um—oh! Honey! It looks kinda how honey tastes.”

​

A tiny smile crept upon his sister’s face, and Seamus couldn’t help the fuzzy feeling that filled his chest. He watched the golden glow begin to fade, and then fizzle out completely. A small part of him wished to have it back, but he knew his sister would refuse.

​

“I wish I could do magic.”

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His sister ruffled his hair. “You’ll be able to soon.”

​

“That’s what everybody says.” A pause, then, “Are you sure I’m a Druid?”

​

“What? Silly boy, of course you are.”

​

“But you could already do magic when you were as big as me. Mommy said so.”

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“I was seven just like you. Besides, mom also said my magic is probably different from yours.”

​

“Like her and daddy?”

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“Yep.”

​

He thought about playing with daddy around the forested yard when he used his Druidic magic, shifting into a large bear that would chase him around. He thought about mommy and how she could call to the rain and speak to the trees. Daddy couldn’t do what mommy could, and it always fascinated him. Yet another one of his endless questions that went unanswered, but he didn’t mind as much. If he got to see magic some of the time, he was happy. Magic meant home.

​

Magic was only allowed in their home. Nothing outside the walls of the house. He’d been warned long ago not to ask about magic if they made the long walk to town.

​

“You remember the rules, kiddo?”

​

 “Don’t talk to strangers.”

​

“That’s right. And?”

​

“And no talking about magic.”

​

“Good boy.”

​

“Why don’t they like magic there, daddy?”

​

“They don’t like magic anywhere, kiddo. People are afraid of things they can’t do.”

​

The little boy frowned, an uneasy feeling filling his tummy. A sigh left his mouth, and he looked down at the leaf-covered ground. He didn’t want to talk about magic anymore. Seamus looked up at his sister, “Tell me something interesting?”

​

She smiled. “Like what?”

​

“I dunno, you know lots of things!”

​

“Okay, let's see,” she said, pausing and scrunching up her face in concentration for a moment. “The mountains of old O’Cira are actually the bones of the last dragons.”

​

The little boy felt his eyes go wide. “Really?”

​

“Mmm-hmm. Dad said that’s what they used to say where he was from, and he wouldn’t lie to us.”

​

“How come there’s no more dragons? I wanna see a dragon!”

​

“They’d probably just eat you! They’d love nothing more than a silly boy right before winter hibernation.”

​

“No, they wouldn’t!”

​

“Yes, they would,” she said, ruffling his hair, “and dad said that they made the Gods upset because they wanted to be Gods too. They gave humans magic blood, so to them, they were the same. They thought it should be enough.”

​

“It wasn’t?”

​

She shrugged. “Guess not. They all had this big fight, and when it was done, there were no more dragons.”

​

“And no more Gods?”

​

“And no more Gods.”

​

The wind blew a little bit harder, and the boy shivered, pressing closer. He made a face when he felt a kiss pressed to his forehead. Gross. Looking up at the sky, all he could see was grey. He looked up at his sister. “Do you think they’ll come back?”

​

“I don’t know. I don’t think so; they’ve been gone a really long time. But even gone things can leave stuff behind. The Gods left the land, O’Cira, and the Druids; the dragons left their bones and the mages.”

​

“I wish I could meet a mage,” Seamus said.

​

“Maybe you will,” his sister said, flicking his nose with a giggle. She frowned after a moment, likely feeling him shiver. “We should go back inside. It’s going to rain.”

​

“How do you know?” he asked, getting up.

​

“You can smell it.” His sister stood and brushed herself off, her dog right behind her. Quickly picking up the blanket and shaking it, he wrapped it around himself, before taking his sister’s outstretched hand and leading her back toward their little house.​