The assigned counsel made a show of looking something up, and gave her client a long look. She just had to ask, "Boils filled with cats?"

"They were small cats?"

"I mean, where do you get ideas like that?"

"Misspellings."

"Oh. Pus."

The client nodded.

He looks too mousey to be comfortable around cats. The attorney stared at her client, trying to find her professionalism, which she seemed to have misplaced

He fidgeted. "Well... it was just a hallucination."

"Really? Psychic attack rather than physical? That might work in our favour. At least with the cruelty to animals charge."

Diane picked through open shelves and big boxes, trying to find clothes that didn't clash, but were comfortable and sturdy enough to carry furniture in. She left the house wearing a sweater inherited from her older sister, a pair of jeans her aunt had been tired of, and a jacket worn ratty by a succession of cousins. She had inherited enough to fill up three wardrobes...

The trip took longer than planned, and yielded just one piece of furniture. Finding clothes to start filling it that fit and appealed to her had taken a long time.

So worth it.

When can you run away?

If your heartbeat pounds so loudly in your ears you can't make out the words of a challenge? If your arm falters, your fingers tremble, useless? If your mouth is dry as a dusty road, if your voice fled already, with your breath longing to follow?

But there was no difference between trying and failing, or failing for not trying. She'd be ridiculed either way.

"Gail? Do you need the blackboard?"

"No, I prepared handouts." As those were passed around, she clutched her prompt cards, cleared her throat, and began, "My topic is Nicolaus Copernicus."

Worry and irritation mingled in Sylvie's mind. Ayu-Asra, the two-headed pet dragon she could not get rid of, had gotten her thrown out of an inn, and she had really looked forward to not having to sleep outside.

Not that she could blame the landlord. A glance at the animal trailing her by alternately running along the top of the fence next to the street and gliding a short distance showed her that its chest was still glowing faintly. Maybe she should have claimed this was normal and harmless, rather than admitting he had never done that before. The dragon didn't seem bothered, so maybe it was harmless, but what could it be? He was able to breathe fire, so maybe something going wrong there? Trying to remember if she'd ever heard of a dragon overheating and exploding, Sylvie flinched as Ayu-Asra whistled shrilly and veered off towards an orchard.

After a furtive look around, Sylvie followed to see what had him so excited, or what damage she would have to apologise for.

She found him chasing insects, his heads occasionally fighting each other for the fattest bugs.

Luminous fluid sprayed from the fat glow-worm corpses.

I heard Nico approach, and didn't hide from her. I could not... well, if she was looking for me, she'd go on, and who knows in what trouble she'd end up.

She took a breath and stood still when she noticed me. She must have looked at me for a while, I guess. I didn't look at her. Eventually she sat down next to me.

You'd like to hear a fairy tale from me? Really? Well, all right.

Many generations ago in a village in Kandral was a boy who thought he was smarter than he was. He went out into the woods without telling anyone, wanting to prove he could hunt on his own. Instead he got lost. His parents thought he was with his cousins, his cousins thought he was with his parents, so nobody missed him until night fell.

In the dark and with no idea where he was, he became very afraid. He called for help.

Someone arrived, a figure with skin and hair shining like a moon. It talked sweetly to the boy, until he was not afraid any more. The fae asked the boy to tell it about his family, in exchange for being led to a street, and got a lot of complaints how his parents liked his brothers and sisters, who he said picked on him, more, and no-one took him as seriously as he deserved.

"Ah, this is sad," said the fae, and nothing more.

They walked in silence until they reached a path. The boy recognised it after a moment.

"Here, take this," said the fae, and handed him a seed, big as a nut and shimmering golden. "Plant it somewhere near your pastures. It will grow into something wonderful. It will bring joy to your life."

The boy thanked the fae and ran home. He hid the seed, and it was a week later, after all the anger, relief and excitement about his disappearance and reappearance had worn off, that he snuck off and buried the seed in a hedge, a bit hidden. He did not want it out in the open, so he could be the one to "find" whatever would sprout.

He never saw the plant, because it grew much faster than he had thought, but much more hidden. Roots spread far, sending up shoots that the goats liked to eat. It did not harm the goats, but their milk turned to slow poison. Soon the boy's parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins, and many of their neighbours fell sick, and died. The fae's poison never harmed the boy who had received the gift of getting rid of those he maligned.

When the story came out, the remaining people of the village decided they had to cleanse the area with fire to get rid of the plant. The boy, mad with grief and guilt, jumped into the flames, and burned to ashes.

What, you don't like it? So leave me alone about fairy tales. That's the kind of story about fairies that I know.