The Elf's Breakfast

The warm, cozy kitchen was like any other found in every small cottage resting in any forest, thick and teeming of life and magic. Just as in any enchanted woodland, there were deer who would help you build your barn and birds who hang your laundry up to dry in the sweet summer breeze. Much like in the world that you surely grew up in, this forest was on the edge of a brightly shining kingdom, reigned over by two benevolent rulers: a king and a queen who were very much in love with a princess at their side, lovely and sweet as the summer day is warm. Of course, this kingdom’s summer never set and the sun always rose early to warm the cheeks of the peasant’s who happily tilled their land and slept with visions of freshly baked pies and wagon wheels that never squeak. 

Deep in the forest, though, this cozy kitchen in the small cottage was owned by no cheerful peasant or simple lumberjack, but an elf. This elf was tall and he was slender. His hair was the color of freshly spun gold and the texture of a blanket of woven cornsilk. His eyes were sapphires, sparkling and reflective in the early morning light. The sun was high in the sky by the time he slipped his lean legs from his covers and stretched the sleep from his ageless bones. He floated through his room with an elegant gait and adorned his shoulders with a plush robe of emerald green as gently as one may release a butterfly into the air. He moved with a grace seldom seen by man, though his mother often considered him gawky or awkward.

His home was unlike that of his mother’s: it was small and wooden with flowers dried and hung from the walls, it smelled of wax warming on the table and of the outdoors with animals walking nearby and fruit hanging from the trees just beyond the window (there was only one), and the oven held enough space for a single plate of meat and veggies or a dessert suited for a single person’s enjoyment on a day they were feeling particularly unfit. He was happy in his little dwelling for he had built it himself with opposing themes, styles, and values from those of his mother.

He left his room and stepped down the short hallway draped with woven tapestries, sprigs of herbs and other grown things, and drawings of maps and long-forgotten heroes of his people. The twinge of a full bladder nagged at him and instead of turning left into his cozy kitchen, he paused, slipped on his finely-yet-comfortably-crafted slippers, and then he walked straight through the door into the morning air. He grumbled then sauntered forward through the tall, waving grass until he reached the trees. There, he relieved himself much to the interest of the surrounding forest creatures, sentient and simple, who watched him with intensely focused eyes and grins that could crack a rock troll’s hardened grimace. 

The elf quickly folded his robe back over himself with a stark slap of the fabric and trotted back to his home and slammed the wooden door behind him with a scowl. The resounding boom of the entryway shook the hanging utensils and loose hanging cupboard doors. The single crystal item in his home, the delicate chandelier above his dining table, trembled with the great rumble of his tantrum. 

Birds had followed him from the yard and while some were polite enough to stay settled on his windowsill, others invited themselves into his abode with a tittering, twinkling, twittering song that made his headache. He looked over his shoulder at the blue, red, and green fluttering little fools and glowered. They sang all the louder and without hesitation, he hurled a balled-up rag used for cleaning at the winged creatures and they scattered, shrieking in surprise and dismay. He sneered softly as they joined their friends on the windowsill, silently, and watched him. From the corner of his tiny kitchen, he pulled a loaf of dense, porous bread; a serrated blade; and a speckled, clay dish full of soft swirls of butter. He set this on the table and leaned down behind the end of the counter to reach for a glass carafe filled with thick, sweet-tasting cream. He set that alongside the rest of his breakfast with a thnk! that scared away most of the insects and lizards that perched upon his tablecloth to soak in the sun of the morning. He brushed at the bouncing butterflies that aggressively accosted his butter dish. 

Slipping into his wooden chair with as much ‘slump’ as an elf might muster, the fair-haired elf picked up his knife with a delicate hand and began slicing his loaf of bread. Suddenly, from behind his head, tickling his ear through his long, sleek hair, came a soft humming. Not the hum of a maiden’s song nor the hum of a lazy windmill but that of wings. Small, delicate wings that could have belonged to a hummingbird but the tinkling of tiny laughter alerted him to the newest irritation to disturb his attempt at breakfast: fairies. 

“Go away,” the elf growled as a slice of bread flopped onto the table. He began to slice a second, this time with more gusto he hoped would deter them from intruding further. More tinkling laughter informed him that they had no such intention and he would be further bothered. 

What is it? they asked, one after another, in soft, singing voices. Is it bread? 

Bread? 

Oh, oh, oh, it’s bread.

“Yes, it’s bread.” He slammed the butt of his knife against the wood of the table and the puncturing sound startled the diminutive creatures so they fluttered and whirled about his dining space with a great many giggles and sprinkling of sparkles and glitter. He glared with gritted teeth through space as he waited for them to leave or continue their annoyances. 

But what’s to go on it?

There’s a little pot. 

Oh, how sweet. A little pot. What’s in the pot?

Their voices all bubbled together over the soft breeze that came in through the window, and it reminded him less of the smell of bluebells and fresh dew on morning grass and more of a squeaky hinge in the middle of the night as you try to sleep. Jam? one asked tenderly, hopefully. 

“Butter!” he hollered, pushing himself up from the table, his chair falling backward and slapping against the floor. “I’m putting butter on my bread. I will be eating it with sweet cream. I will be happy and full and content with my butter and bread and sweet cream unless you all continue badgering me with this inane interest in my breakfast as well as the inner workings of my bladder.” He spoke loudly but with restraint as the fairies gathered in a small, hovering batch and stared up at him with tiny, bulging eyes and quivering lips. 

The wildlife outside his little cottage became quiet; even the breeze seemed to slow to an imperceptible speed. The deer stopped frolicking, the insects ceased to chirp, and the grass grew still. He remained standing and turned around to look at the group of tiny bodies attached to fluttering, terrified wings. A sigh escaped him that carried pity and, perhaps, even regret. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked. The fear that covered their teensy little faces the moment before disappeared and they lifted further into the air, still holding each other, and cheered. Their little mouths split wide open with joy and they squeezed shut their eyes so very tightly. 

Yes, yes, yes! they cheered. He gestured grandly to the table with an open hand but no smile. He lifted his chair from the floor and pushed it in behind him as he sat and the fairies circled the plate in the center of the surface. They tucked their wings behind them and their legs beneath them and held their small hands open. He began to cut tiny triangles of bread from the first slice and opened the dish of butter to smear the minute segments across the face of it. He handed one to each and received a petite yippee! from each in turn. Then he stood, retrieved a thimble from a cupboard across the room, and returned to dunk it in the sweet cream. He set in front of them with a stern, “Now, share.” 

The elf set to buttering his own bread as the sprites rushed to happily sip at the miniature portion of cream given to them. He took a mighty but precise bite of his bread and chewed slowly as he watched the wee devils devour their very happily-received breakfast. A twinge of satisfaction struck him as he observed and even enjoyed the glee over such a small thing those cousins of his were gifted. He relaxed into that satisfaction as well as his rather comfy chair and then, not too broadly and not too meagerly, he smiled.