A Human’s Song

Morning light filtered through the small cottage window, painting soft gold across the worn wooden floor.

Arlen stirred the pot carefully, the aroma of simmering herbs and vegetables filling the small kitchen. Elara sat on the bed, swinging her small legs, her bright eyes following his every move.

“Almost ready, little one,” he murmured, tasting the broth with a careful spoon. He smiled softly at her, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. Despite everything, this — cooking for her, seeing her smile — was the small anchor that kept him steady.

When the meal was done, he set the bowl in front of her. “Eat slowly,” he said gently. Then, after a pause, his tone grew quieter. “I’m going out today, Elara. To the forest — the one near the border. Saira says the herb we need grows by the streams there.”

Elara’s eyes widened, her tiny voice hopeful. “The forest one?”

He nodded, trying to sound certain. “Yes. But while I’m gone, Saira will stay with you. You listen to her, all right?”

Elara managed a faint smile and nodded. “I will.”

From the doorway, Saira folded her arms with mock sternness. “You’d better come back before dark,” she said. “The forest’s not kind to wanderers after dusk.”

Arlen chuckled softly, tightening his cloak. “I’ll be quick.” Turning back to his sister, his expression softened. “Rest now. When I return, you’ll be well again.”

Elara reached out, her small hand warm but trembling. “Be careful, Arlen.”

He squeezed her fingers gently. “I promise.”

Outside, the morning air was crisp and cool. His horse snorted, impatient to move. Arlen mounted and glanced back at the cottage one last time — smoke curling from the chimney, Saira’s silhouette by the window, and Elara’s small shadow still lying in bed.

Then he turned toward the forest. Toward the place he could not forget.

The path wound through rolling fields, dew still clinging to the tall grass. The air grew cooler as he neared the treeline, and the sound of running water reached his ears — steady, familiar. The forest loomed ahead, green and deep, its heart whispering secrets only the brave or the lost would follow.

He knew where he was going — to the stream, where he had once hidden behind the thick brush, watching the being he could not name.

Arlen dismounted, letting his horse graze nearby. Basket in hand, he moved silently through the mist, eyes scanning the ground for the rare herb Saira had described. Yet every step he took closer to the stream made his chest tighten — not with fear, but with something that felt dangerously close to longing.

Liora perched on a mossy rock by the water, her delicate green wings folded neatly behind her. The stream whispered over smooth stones, carrying the scent of earth and rain. This had always been her sanctuary — the one place where she felt the forest’s heartbeat most clearly.

But she shouldn’t be here. Not anymore. Not since that day when their eyes had met.

And yet, the memory of him lingered — the human with mud-streaked hands and wide, astonished eyes. The one who had looked at her not with fear, but with wonder.

Her gaze softened. “It’s still my place,” she whispered to herself. “Even if I shouldn’t be here… this is where I feel the forest the most. This is where I belong.”

She closed her eyes. The stream’s song mingled with the faint memory of his presence, and for a heartbeat, the forest seemed to lean closer — as if listening with her.

Unaware of each other, they shared the same air, the same quiet morning light.

Arlen crouched near the bank, searching between roots and moss. His heart skipped as he reached the clearing — the very same one.

He hesitated. The air shimmered faintly, as though the forest itself remembered.

And then he saw her.

Liora sat quietly on the soft grass, her green wings catching the morning sun, her gaze distant, lost in the rhythm of the forest and the murmur of the stream. She didn’t notice him — her mind wandered in thoughts as gentle as the water itself.

Arlen’s breath caught. She was even more enchanting than the first time. Every detail — the gold flecks in her brown hair, the shimmer of her wings, the way she seemed almost a part of the forest — made his heart tremble. He didn’t move. He couldn’t. He simply watched, afraid that a single breath would break the spell.

Liora hugged her knees, remembering the elder’s warning:

“Do not let yourself be seen by humans. They are not kind… and some can bring more harm than you imagine.”

“Not all humans are bad,” she whispered, as if answering an invisible voice. “Maybe… this one could be different.”

And then she began to sing — softly at first, her voice barely more than breath:

“I fear the world, its shadows deep,

Yet something stirs where secrets sleep.

Though danger waits and paths seem gray,

Perhaps not all will lead astray.”

Her words quivered like the leaves around her, filled with cautious hope.

Behind the ferns, Arlen froze, his heartbeat echoing her melody. The forest itself seemed to hum in tune — every note pulling him closer, weaving his memory of her into something achingly real.

A shimmer of silver broke through the trees.

A unicorn stepped lightly into the glade, its mane rippling like liquid light. Liora turned slightly, her song softening as the creature approached. The air thickened with quiet awe.

Arlen’s eyes widened, but he stayed perfectly still.

Elara would be so happy if she could see this… he thought. They’re real. She’s real.

The unicorn nuzzled a branch, and Liora’s voice grew stronger. The forest responded — leaves shivered, light danced over water, even the wind held its breath.

Then — crack.

A single branch underfoot.

The unicorn vanished in a flash of light, and Liora darted behind a nearby tree, her wings catching one last glint of sunlight before disappearing.

Arlen cursed under his breath, moving toward the stream, searching quickly for the herb he’d come for. But beneath his focus lay a trembling thought: She was here. Again.

Hidden behind the oak, Liora peeked through the branches, her heart racing.

“He is here again,” she murmured, voice barely audible.

Arlen knelt by the stream, his hands brushing through moss and stone. No herb. No trace. Only the water’s endless murmur. With a quiet sigh, he sat back, exhaustion and longing mixing in his chest.

And then — softly, almost without thinking — he began to sing.

Song for my dearest Elara

I must help you, dearest Elara,

Though my hands can do so small.

Your life, your laugh, your gentle aura —

I cannot let you fall.

Through shadows deep and nights so long,

I’ll follow where your heart belongs.

No sickness, pain, nor fleeting fear

Can dim the love that keeps you near.

Though I am small, my heart is true,

No darkness shall undo what’s due.

I’ll guard your warmth, your shining flame,

And whisper still your sacred name.

The song trembled in the air — fragile, filled with love and quiet despair. Each word carried his promise, his guilt, his desperate hope.

»Something in him…« Liora thought. »The forest answers him, and his song… it’s like it knows my own thoughts. It is him. It is his song — and it has reached me.«

The leaves quivered more strongly, the water of the stream rippled as though dancing to his tune, and even the wind seemed to carry his notes deeper into the forest. Each note he sang awakened subtle responses — moss bending, petals trembling, a deer pausing mid-step — the forest itself breathing in time with his melody.

Arlen slowly rose from the stone by the stream, brushing mud from his hands. His heart ached,not just from the missed herb, but from the helplessness he felt toward Elara’s illness. He glanced around the forest one last time, catching the shimmer of a fleeting figure—perhaps a glimpse of the unicorn he had startled earlier. A small spark of hope stirred in his chest. Maybe one day, Elara could see it too.

With a deep sigh, he slung his basket over his shoulder and mounted his horse, turning back toward home. The herb was not found today, but tomorrow was another chance. The forest seemed to whisper softly behind him, the leaves rustling as if bidding him farewell.

Liora crouched behind the thick trunk, her green wings folding tightly against her back. Her heart still raced, a fluttering she couldn’t quite name. The older fairy’s warning echoed in her mind: “Do not let yourself be seen by humans again. Some are dangerous, and curiosity can be fatal.”

And yet… something about him lingered. Not his clumsy steps or the way he startled the unicorn—but the sadness in his song, the care in his every gesture. He wasn’t like the humans she’d glimpsed before. He wasn’t cruel, or careless; he was… real, honest, and somehow fragile.

She let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh. “Perhaps… not all humans are the same,” she whispered to herself. Her eyes followed him as he disappeared into the trees, the morning mist curling around him. There was a pull in her chest she didn’t understand—a quiet wish that he might return, that she might see him again, if only for a fleeting moment.

The forest exhaled around her, leaves rustling softly, streams murmuring. Her secret place felt alive, more alive than ever, as if it had recognized something extraordinary in him. Liora straightened, her fingers brushing the moss on the tree, and though she had not moved closer, she felt a strange closeness to the human who had unknowingly left a mark on her world.

He sings for someone he loves… she thought, and a delicate warmth spread through her chest. Maybe he’s not as ordinary as he seems.

Though the stream and the trees remained silent to any observer, the memory of this morning—the song, the unicorn, and the hidden presence in the forest—would linger in Arlen’s mind. And somewhere in the shadows, Liora’s green wings had settled, watching from a distance, her heart stirred by the human who sang not for himself, but for the sister he could not protect.

On horseback, Arlen made his way home, the forest slowly receding behind him, determination pressing softly against his chest. He would find the herb tomorrow. And maybe, just maybe, the forest would allow him another glimpse of its hidden wonders.

Arlen stepped through the doorway, the basket of herbs still half-empty in his hands. The warm smell of cooking drifted from the kitchen, and Elara looked up with a small, tired smile. Saira stood nearby, her eyes attentive, watching over the little girl with careful care.

Elara ran toward him, her tiny feet pattering on the wooden floor. “Did you find it, Arlen?” she asked, her voice hopeful yet weary.

Arlen knelt, ruffling her hair gently. “Not today, little one,” he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of the morning’s disappointment. He glanced toward Saira and gave a small nod, silently letting her know that he had tried his best.

“I’ll try again tomorrow,” he added, determination lacing his tone. “I’ll find it, and your tea will be just right.”

Elara’s lips curled into a small, trusting smile, and she nestled close to him. Arlen felt a pang in his chest, the mix of frustration and responsibility pressing down on him. But seeing her there, safe and warm, gave him the strength to face another day—and another journey into the forest.