Page 8 of Where Broken Wings Fly

Killian tried a levelling breath as he shook his head softly. “We are of the earth. Just as they are. As such, bonds and allegiances are formed. But none of them are here against their will – they are free to leave at any time.”

“Like I am?”

It was a dream, I was sure of it, yet I was struggling to wake up from it. Or, maybe, I didn’t want to wake up from it.

“Like you are.” He shot me a roguish smile from his side before he continued on.

“Can you… can you tell me about pixies?”

A lifted brow twitched on his face.

“Please?”

“What would you like to know?”

I started to notice that every time a stranger popped their head out of their raised, dug, or road-way home, Killian diverted our path.

“What… what are you?”

“A pixie.”

My dissatisfied huff was met with a chuckle from him.

“What is that? Like… a fairy?”

Killian stopped so abruptly I nearly flew by him. With two hands on my shoulders, he held me stern. “Do not mention fairies while you are here.”

I couldn’t help but to giggle. “Why not?”

Killian rolled his eyes at me as he released my shoulders and brushed his hands against his shirt. “Not all the fair folk of this world get along.”

“Pixies and fairies hate each other – got it.”

“It’s not that we hate them. It’s just that… they have chosen to stray from the ways of our people.”

Cocking my head, I struggled some more at keeping his resumed pace. “How so?”

“Fairies live amongst you humans. They have chosen to adapt to that way of life.”

“And none of you have?”

Killian paused on his answer, his mouth slightly agape. “Most of us remain as we always have.”

“But not all of you?”

There was another glimpse of hesitation in his face before he shook it off and replaced the frown with tight lips. “Pull your hair down to cover your ears.”

Yanking at the braid that was holding the majority of my hair hostage, I resorted to half-skipping to remain at his side. Once it was all down and waving against my face, I lifted a brow to him.

“Better.”

“Why?”

Killian rolled his eyes once more, but there was a gleam of mischief behind them as he tucked some of his own hair behind his ear. It was like mine in most ways, except for the top of it. Whereas I had rounded, plump ears, Killian had sharp, elongated tips that did not point straight, but curved ever-so-slightly downwards.

“Pixie ears?” I gasped.

“Choilltean ears,” he corrected me. “While you try to blend in as one of us, always beware of the shape of one’s ears. Curved down? Choilltean.”