“What’s all this?” She strode into one of many clearings in her wood, the hem of her gown ghosting over the grass like spider silk. Being a fae of power, she was tall as a human, her wings a bright azure shadow that fell over the creatures present. It appeared to be a gathering of brownies—house sprites who had a goblin-like appearance with their wrinkled skin, pointed ears, and devastating height that would leave them no taller than a dwarf. Humans would call these creatures shy, yet they were among the most attached to humankind or perhaps more accurately, their houses.

Brus, a wide faced and gentle-looking brownie, jumped up to his feet and removed his brown cap with a bow. “Laila, guardian fair! I am hosting a house party.”

Her expression warmed into a proper smile, and she curtseyed. “Then I am fortunate to have wandered into your merrymaking. The rumors of Lord Arrington returning are true?”

A chorus of assent rumbled through the dozens of brownies present. Brus beamed. “Yes! I—that is, the manor and me—are freed of our lonely charge at last. Sadness piled up like dust and stuck to all the dark and desolate places the humans left behind. Grief has that sort of power, you know. Now that the humans have returned to sweep out the wretched cobwebs, I can return to work. Work… and home.”

Home indeed. What was a brownie without a house to clean and humans to tease? The others gathered would have an even greater sense of empathy, as they had also made their homes among the village’s families. Utterly unseen they were, doing their cleaning and mending at night. The humans in turn had learned to leave out little favors—cream and milk and honey—but always as favors. Brownies considered themselves as part of the same household, so the mere idea of payment was an insult.

But that wasn’t to say they never got up to mischief. One of the village wives had always made a point of keeping her kitchen table spotless and clean. When her daughter started keeping a vase of pink-petaled water avens there, the house’s brownie had been so annoyed by the smell he’d tossed them out and replaced them with weeds every morning. Oh, the scolding the younger children had received! They’d insisted it was the brownie, of course, but no one believed that. 

She glanced over to the small pile of housewarming gifts at Brus’s side. His fellow brownies had provided quite the assortment—rags of every texture and color, half-used tins of polish, wooden brushes with woolen bristles, golden bars of soap made from honey and beeswax, and bottles of every sort of homemade cleaning remedy the brownies had concocted themselves. The hope and well wishes there brought her joy and yet a strange sort of melancholy. How long would this new lord last?

Ah well, she’d try to hope like the others. 

“I’m afraid I neglected to bring a gift despite inviting myself. Let’s see…” She cupped her hand out in front of her, eyes squinting as she focused. There in the open meadow she could feel the sun soaking into her skin. As the brownies watched in wonder, she caught that warmth and began to concentrate it in her hand. A flash of golden light sparked from her fingers, then a butterfly fluttered up from them. The thing appeared to be made entirely of light, its delicate, petal-shaped wings glowing as they glided to Bru’s shoulder. 

“A light so your nights need never be dark or lonely.” She chuckled as Brus blushed and gave a low bow. “This Lord Arrington is fortunate to—”

“He comes, he comes!” Not one, but many small voices tinkled through the surrounding leaves. A moment later, a smattering of fae broke through, all heading for the other side of the clearing.  Pixies with wings like gossamer, sprites riding leaves like birds, little elves on squirrels, rock-like trolls rolling across the ground—it was a stampede so light and furious a human, oblivious to the fae world as they were, would have mistaken it all for a sudden breeze.

Even the brownies stumbled to their feet to follow the fray. A strange sensation came over Laila, too, her heart picking up a fast and unsteady beat. Though she never said his name, she knew who this new lord was. How had the boy grown? Was he anything like his aunt? What had happened to him in that strange land beyond the sea? 

She wanted to see him, [i]needed[/i] to see him. In a flash, she transformed, her body shrinking and twisting in a blur of color that turned to black. With paws and legs like unfettered springs, she leapt from the ground and joined the chase. There was something unnatural about her movements, the lightness of her body that carried her like an arrow and the precision with which she bounded off and above rocks and stumps. She barely made a sound as the grass whistled past her, the speed and the strain making her heart sing.

They came to the edge of the village in less than a minute. One of the pixies caught sight of a handsome black carriage bobbing past the cottages and their speed somehow increased. Like children running toward a mail carrier, they flew and bounded until they finally reached the great manor—and before the carriage, too! The prim and proper hedge was not happy to let them through, but they dug and twisted their way in like dainty cannonballs. From that leafy seat, they poked their heads out and watched with eager eyes. Here he was, an Arrington back at last!