Grown On You Like the Moss That Surrounds Me

Light barely breaches the thick foliage of the looming trees. Little spots of sunlight splatter the forest floor. A tall, elegant figure briefly breaches the sunbeams path as they amble through the crowded forest. 

The fae, Sorrel, had decided to take a walk. An instinct had called them away from the little community housing the fae population and into the dense woodland that surrounded them. 

So, they let their feet lead the way and enjoyed the pretty sight the forest provided. The old trees stretched into the air as moss clung to its rough bark, flowers sprinkled throughout the undergrowth, and bees absentmindedly wandered from each blossom. 

The aged tranquility was broken by small footsteps and a sniffling sound. Sorrel froze and watched as a small child trudged uncertainly through the forest. Her eyes swamped, tear tracks falling down her flushed cheeks. She went to swipe at the tears obscuring her vision but ended up slipping on a gnarled tree root, falling heavily to her knees. The small hat she was wearing fell and bounced on the grass, causing more tears to flow steadily down her face as small sobs racked the girl's body. 

Sorrel crouched down and started making her way towards the weeping girl. They made sure to make their approach as loud as possible, ruffling leaves and breaking branches. The little girl, upon hearing Sorrel's approach, gazed fearfully at the nearing figure. 

Sorrel stopped short of the girl and offered their hand. The little girl, seeing no animosity from the stranger, accepted the assistance. Sorrel, after gently pulling the girl off of the ground, tenderly wiped the tears drying on her face and picked up her little green hat. 

"And what is your name?" Sorrel's voice, sweet and rough, asked the little girl kindly, kindly placing the hat atop her curly hair.

"Bee." She provided shyly, a sniffle following the introduction. Her green eyes were tinged red. "I lost my mom."

"Okay," Sorrel tried to soothe. "Where did you last see her?" 

"In the city." Sorrel nodded, having to clue what a "city" was.

Sorrel rose from her crouched position and calmly led Bee throughout the trees, quietly talking to the girl as she tried to calm herself. 

Sorrel led them to the edge of the forest, where the trees became less dense and the sun showed through the leaves. They could hear the bustling of humans, something no fae has heard since they secluded themselves in the forest.

Every fae child is told again and again about the cruelty of humans. Short, glutenous monsters that have and will gladly murder them without a blink. Their ancestors, tired of living in fear, took refuge in the deepest parts of the forest, a place the humans would never dream of going to. 

Sorrel's eyes found the small girl with bright green eyes jabbering on about "a pretty doll she saw in a shop window."

Sorrel conceded that most humans would never travel into such a dense forest, but Bee was not like any human she had learned about as a child. 

Bee had spent most of their time together holding on to Sorrel's hand and making idle conversation. She seemed to have forgotten about her panic, not two-shakes-of-a-trees-leaf ago and was happy to be smelling the fresh air and hearing the birds chirp. 

Seeing the end of the forest, Sorrel made an oath to themself that Bee would find her mother again, no matter what they had to do. 

When passing the forest edge, Sorrel was blinded by the harsh sunlight. Squinting ferociously, Sorrel was shocked by the contrast of colors. 

While the forest was full of greens, yellows, and browns, this "city" was overwhelmed with grey. It looked sick and drained of life. 

A small tug on their hand informed Sorrel that Bee had grown impatient of their immobile state. She was stumbling forward, moving towards the cold structures, dragging the fae with her. 

Bee seemed to have a sense as to where they were headed, so Sorrel analyzed the rotted corpse filled with parasites they had stepped into. 

It was a rather odd place. It seemed to be hundreds of people crowded into one area, bustling about paying no mind to others. Their streets were stone, houses tall in height but short in width, boxes were being pulled by horses. And, upon further inspection, seemed to be people riding in them. 

Sorrel was even more confused when they didn't see an inch of any plant. All they could see was grey. All of the familiar green that had surrounded them all of their life was vacant. 

Bee stopped in a small clearing of sorts. No structures surrounded them, but the ground was covered with the same solid grey stone that existed throughout the city, which was hard and rough, rougher than the toughest of barks. 

The little girl's head was whirling around, seeking the familiar face of her mother. Sorrel, much taller than the short child, looked above the heads of the fluttering crowd. They soon realized that they had no idea what the mother's face looked like. 

They gently tugged Bee atop their shoulders, holding her steady. Bee seemed to catch on the idea rather quickly and scanned the crowd from her new vantage point. 

After a couple of minutes, Bee was frenziedly pointing at a pacing woman. Sorrel smoothly plucked the excited girl from their shoulders and started their hurried trek to the worried mother. 

Once they were close, Bee released Sorrel's hand and raced to her mother with a cry, and clung to her dress. The mother, after gathering her wits, scooped Bee into a tight clutch. 

Sorrel was about to take their leave, glad to have helped the adventurous little girl, but was interrupted when Bee's hand wrapped around theirs once again. 

Sorrel was pulled along by Bee, the little girl was surprisingly strong for her stature, and was introduced to the grateful mother. 

"I'm Florence," she sounded exhausted to the fae. "I can't thank you enough for helping Bee, what can I ever do to repay you?" She had tears swimming in her eyes, staring blurrily at Sorrel.

The fae shifted uneasily, mildly offended by the thanks. It seemed like Florence wanted to forget this ever happened, move past it, and not learn from it. 

Sorrel had just opened their mouth, ready to decline the thanks, when they felt something touch their fingertips. Bee had taken off her little green hat and extended it to the fae. 

Sorrel grinned at the little girl and proceeded to take off a small leather bracelet, meant for just this reason. 

The fae hated being thanked and would rather be given something that will guarantee remembrance. 

By swapping accessories, they both promised to remember the day and in turn, each other. 

And as Bee tugged her confused mother along, leaving with a simple wave and smile, Sorrel hoped to meet the brave little wanderer again.