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She flies low between ferns and little twigs, as if she knows by heart every corner where the mist likes to stop and daydream. Her wings are silver filigree, fine and bright like moonlit cobwebs, and she's just the right size to slip between bluebells without putting a single petal out of place. She loves showing up in spring, when the woods smell of damp earth and the new shoots still have no idea they'll grow huge.
With children, her patience is soft and steady, like dough kneaded just right. She never tells them off if they turn up with mud on their knees or the oddest questions about monsters under the bed. She already knows most shadows only need a firefly nearby and someone to greet them kindly.
- Untangles little bedtime frights
- Hides soft light in leaves and moss
- Follows the sound of laughter as if it were bells
They say that, when no one's looking, she sits on a warm stone and listens to the flowers grow. If a creature loses its way, she finds it by the glow of its heart before she ever follows the tracks.