Sublime

Emily was perpetually at two or less hearts, but she was able to make a living.

“Silver,” said his guest after a moment. “Henry Silver.”

He let Silver come to see him a time or two, took care to have his cottage in the same place every time. Braided his hair when he felt Silver’s tread snapping careless twigs on the forest’s edge.

He’d found the trail a few days ago up on the hills, among the twisted gorse. It was a sad thing when a dryad went sour. They were sweet ladies for the most part, and Tobias liked them. He had four or five in his wood, not counting the old oak, who was his own manner of thing. This one wasn’t a local; she smelled rootless and angry. Lost her tree,

For Emily, who returned her borrowed stardust to the universe far too soon.