Why don’t cats play poker in the forest?
Too many cheetahs.
The cloak of depression
“What’s wrong with Spark? She’s usually so,” he paused, trying to come up with another word for annoying, “bouncy.”
Birch stopped her juggling and frowned, her ears drooping. “I’m not sure. Her color is off.”
Birch looked over as Spark walked past. He glanced over and watched the farfae out of the corner of his eye – which was the only way to really watch a farfae. Her cloud of ‘sparkles,’ for lack of any other word, still swarmed around her like a ball of gnats, but they were lackluster and not their usual rainbow hues. Her gossamer wings were flat against her back, a sure sign of distress. His eyes flicked back in time to catch Birch watching him intently out of her own overly large, almond shaped eyes. She was the color of her namesake, her pale silvery hair pulled back in an elaborate braid.
“I’m worried she might be sick,” she said, her ears flat against her head. Birch had a real phobia about illness since the graveyard incident.
“See if you can find something out.”
Birch gave a regal incline of her head in typical elfae manner. He left her juggling her knives.
He wandered over to where Torgood was sorting his pack. Torgood, his twin, gave him a toothy smile and waited for whatever he was going to say. He’d always supported him as the group’s leader even though he was the elder by a few minutes.
“Have you noticed something wrong with Spark?”
Danice, the cook and the most sape one of the whole group, joined them. Torgood didn’t look at her, and focused on his packing.
“What’s up, Torbad?”
“Something’s wrong with Spark. Have you noticed anything?”
Danice twirled her wooden spoon for a moment. She always had the spoon in her hand. It was odd.
“She didn’t eat this morning, but I figured she wasn’t hungry. Farfae aren’t always in the mood for sapefood.”
“Neither are clae and yet you feed it to us anyway.” Torgood muttered.
She threatened to hit him with her spoon and he flinched back in mock terror.