Arion’s hen took first prize amongst the chickens. Still, Dragonfly didn’t appear.
As the chickens were led out and the crowd began to disperse, Collin’s heart pounded in his ears, loud enough to deafen. But he refused to give in to disappointment. She had to be here. She wouldn’t miss the fair. She’d told him herself—she loved the Autumn Celebration. In all the years he’d known her, she’d never skipped it unless she was sick. Last year, whenillness kept her home, she’d begged him to describe every detail of the festivities.
“It’s the gateway to snow and winter,” she’d said, “my favorite season.”
Collin pushed out of the crowd, breathing harder than he should. His palms were damp, his heart hammering. His sharp eyes swept the pens, the throngs of people, searching for the glint of long golden hair—the one thing his heart yearned for.
He called out to Arion as he approached the animal pens. His eyes flicked desperately across every face, every shadow, every movement. She had to be nearby—he could feel it.
Arion grinned, waving his ribbons in the air. “Look what I got!”
Collin stopped at the white pig’s pen, gripping the top rail tightly. “Where’s Dragonfly? Is she here? I really need to speak with her.”
Arion’s smile faltered. He wouldn’t quite meet Collin’s eyes. He cradled his prize hen closer, stroking her head nervously. “She decided not to come. Said she still wasn’t feeling up to the trip—she had a cold last week.”
No. That couldn’t be true. Collin’s gut twisted, his mind spinning with confusion. Arion was lying! But why? Had Dragonfly asked him to make her excuses? Was she so desperate to avoid him?
The hope that had carried him all day drained into bitter disappointment, longing replaced by acid. The words he’d rehearsed would remain unspoken.
He shoved away waves of anguish and forced a smile. “That’s too bad. Please tell her I hope she feels better soon.”
“I’m sure she really wanted to come. You know how much she loves the fair,” Arion said.
Collin congratulated Arion on his wins and pretended to admire his prize stock, but his heart wasn’t in it. After a fewminutes, he excused himself, claiming hunger. He wished Arion a safe trip back to White Wood and a peaceful winter.
As he shoved through the crowds of happy fair-goers, his heart echoed the bleakness of his steps. It was as if he’d plunged into a frozen lake—the cold gripped him, his pulse slowing, his vision blurring. The joyful chatter around him became a hideous buzzing in his ears.
He sped up his steps. Heat, bitter and angry, flooded his veins as he shoved past startled vendors and spectators. Their joy sickened him. When he sprinted past the clock tower, he heard Stella call his name, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t care if he offended her. All he wanted was to escape this place, to be alone, to drown in his misery.
When Collin slammed his bedroom door shut, the walls rattled. A glass jar on the sitting room shelf fell and shattered on the floor.
He threw himself onto the bed, staring at the dusty rafters. A storm of emotions churned inside him, too tangled to unravel.
Disappointment and pain cut deep into his heart. Bitterness and anger flared hot through his soul. Was he furious with himself—for daring to hope when he should have known better? Or was he angry with Dragonfly—for loving her—when she clearly didn’t feel the same?
The world outside his room continued to spin, but he was trapped in his own orbit, spiraling through unhappiness.
Lonely Travelers
Dragonfly pushed up the heavy latch on the stable door. She was immediately enveloped by the warmth inside—the earthy scent of straw, the steady breath of animals settled in their stalls. She moved quietly down the center aisle. The soft, liquid eyes of the horses and goats followed her with idle curiosity.
Falcon, her favorite horse, poked his massive head over his door. He watched her intently through a thick fringe of dark lashes. With a hopeful swish of his long black tail, he let out a soft, coaxing whinny.
She patted his velvety muzzle as she passed. “Sorry, Falcon—nothing for you today.”
