Dust (Of Dust and Darkness) - By Devon Ashley Page 0,35

suddenly beside me, caressing Juniper’s face in a way that’s almost an examination.

“Juniper!” She shakes her gently at first, then more forcefully. “Juniper! Can you hear me? Wake up!”

Still nothing. Willow sighs and lays her back on the ground. She turns to gaze at the meandering pixies and shakes her head. “It’s a wonder they can even remember to shower every night.”

It’s their routine. Get up, eat, work, eat, shower, go to bed. Over and over and over again. Back home, on mornings when I was really sleepy, I found myself traveling from my tree house to the Hollow’s center without even realizing. One minute I was in the tree house, the next I was in the village. Sort of like auto-flight. My mind knew what to do and how to get me there, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember any part of it. I know it’s what these pixies do every day because I’ve done it a few days myself. Their minds are protecting them from the horrors around us because they don’t know how to deal with it.

Willow rises slowly, releasing a sigh along the way. “Watch over her. I’m going to make sure the rest of them get some food and water in them.” I nod my head silently and my eyes follow her over to Holly, who’s already working on tonight’s dinner.

Gee. Maybe we’ll have some fruit and seeds tonight. I almost gag at the thought. Once upon a time I liked them, but that’s when I was free to collect what I wanted, when I wanted. I wonder if the lack of variety in our food is done on purpose. One more simple joy they can take away from us. Flippin’ faeries.

I want to feed Juniper her mash and get some type of nourishment in her, but she just won’t wake. All I can do is keep cool, wet scraps of clothing atop her skin in hopes it’ll cool her down a bit. It scares me how much heat is radiating off her body, even after the sun goes down. I pull her against me in a futile attempt to transfer some of her heat to me.

It’s not easy to fall asleep. My emotions rip me in multiple directions. Anxiety eats at the lining in my stomach, making me feel really queasy, and makes it impossible for my right foot to stop bouncing. Fear is the worst. Hearing the rasp in Juniper’s chest tells me she’s having difficulty breathing. I’m deathly afraid she’ll never wake again. I lay on my side with Juniper in my arms, letting the dancing stars distract me until I drift off into unconsciousness.

I awake in the middle of the night, startled. Something doesn’t feel right. Juniper’s body is still pressing into mine, her head resting upon my chest. I feel her forehead – still warm to the touch. I gasp and hold my breath the moment I suspect, my heart speeding along as if I just flew ten miles in fear.

Juniper’s body no longer rises with each breath. Her neck no longer pulsates. A strange noise escapes my throat: a mixture of moaning, crying and screeching. In what feels like the longest gasp in my life, my lungs forget how to exhale. Fluid builds behind my eyes and stings as it tries to seep through.

I scream. Really scream. But it comes out raspy and rough, and in bursts since my chest is spasming at the same time. I don’t care who hears me, or if the spriggans come for me. I just don’t care. She was such a sweetheart. She loved and cared for me when no one else did. She genuinely worried for my safety. And she had this way of simply touching my arm or rubbing my head and making me feel like everything was going to be okay. She had the power to make me believe I could get through this. That I was strong.

That I was loved.

And now she’s gone. The one good thing in my life right now is gone.

I don’t know when Willow appeared beside me, but now she sits beside us on her knees, her body convulsing as much as mine. I roll Juniper’s body softly to the ground and join her hands across her stomach. We each take up a respective side to mourn, lying our heads on her shoulders. I gently caress Juniper’s hand and Willow surprises me by joining hers with mine. They’re cool and shaky, her