Cocot stared, amazed. A pile of split logs, high as the eaves, wide as the walls. A winter's worth of fire wood and each log was just the right size for her oven Sarina. A gift worth its weight in gold, come the snows.

Coming to her senses, she spun around for a fairy creature with a red hat, but only found a pile of kindling next to the ax and chopping block.

"You don't have to go," she called. No one was there to hear her. "I could make you some..." What could she make? "Some crêpes with sugar if you like. You don't have to disappear. You don't have to go...." No one was there.

She walked slowly to the door, body and soul sore and aching.

Inside, there would be two eggs left she could use to make crêpes with sugar for herself, if no one else wanted any. She didn't need company. As she fumbled through her pockets searching for the key to the door, something skittered in the leaves behind her.

"Who's there?" she asked, jumping.

A black squirrel stood on its back paws at the base of an oak, twitching his whiskers.

"I'm kind of nervous, aren't I?" Cocot asked the fluffy animal.

It circled its head once, smelling the air and returned to digging through last year's layer of debris.

"Yes, I am," Cocot answered to herself. "I jump at every little noise and then I talk to myself."

Whispering the charm to open the door, she slipped her heavy shoes off to leave them on the threshold.

She stepped in, and froze.

Vines, real vines, were growing out of the wooden chest from painted ones. They spread across the inner door and all the way up to the ceiling, but that wasn't the worst of it. She took a few hesitant steps closer as her eyes adjusted to the low light.

"What are these things?" she asked herself.

There were two clumps of white masses cradled in the tangle of vines. They resembled nothing more than two spider egg cocoons.

Monster-sized spider egg cocoons, bigger than her hands.

Cocot shivered with revulsion and reached for her broom. One false move and spider eggs would be all over the chalet. One vine was creeping very close to her bed and she moved it out of the way as she went by, not wanting to be wrapped up by the vegetation later while she slept. With the end of the handle, she poked one of the white clumps cautiously.

"Those," announced a voice at her shoulder, "are field fairy nests!"

Cocot whirled and nearly swung at Soufflé with the broom. At least she didn't have to talk to herself after jumping at strange noises this time, she thought. She could talk to the fairy.

"I didn't know you were here," she breathed. "What are they?"

"Field fairy nests. You are right to take the broom to them. Once they've started an infestation, they are nigh impossible to get rid of," Soufflé said, flying over to the chest.

"You're sure they aren't any spider eggs," she asked, wanting to be absolutely certain that no giant spiders had been involved in making the objects.

"No, no. This is field fairy construction, no doubt about it. They use spider webs to hold everything together, that's what you see sticking to the wall. But notice here the fan-shaped dandelion fluff. Typical. And vastly inferior to hand fairy construction of tile-shaped layering."

Cocot knelt next to the fairy to see what he was pointing at. Up close, the nests were marvelous in their softness and detail. She wished she had a home soft as a cloud where she could curl up in fluff, too.

"Look at this, the thieves. Did you give them this?" Soufflé asked. He had reached into one and pulled out a sewing needle. He brandished it like a sword.

"No, but—"

"Hah! I thought not. I won't say they are as bad as pixies, because nothing is as bad as pixies, but I will say they are thieves and squatters. Well, go on." He nodded towards the nests.

"Go on what?" Cocot asked, confused.

"Go on with the broom. Knock the nests out before they come back and start making families."

"Knock the nests out? Why would I do that?"

Soufflé laughed. "Believe me, this is only the beginning. They'll steal, hide things, make holes in your linens worse than moths."

"They can keep the needle, I have plenty others." She put the broom back in its place.

"Well, if you're too squeamish," he said. He rolled up his purple sleeves, grabbed hold of a bit of dandelion fluff and started to tear the side of the nest apart.

"Stop!" Cocot cried. She reached for him, but thought that with his wings fluttering so fast, she would hurt him. She turned for the flyswatter, thinking she could hit the wall and maybe scare him.

The flyswatter was missing.

"Soufflé! Have you seen my flyswatter?"

"Hah! Field fairies are afraid of them. They've taken and hidden it somewhere. Do you believe me now?"

He pointed his finger in her face, but he had stopped destroying the nest. Cocot took a deep breath of relief.

"Oh!" she said. "Stay there, I have a surprise for you." She took the doll's teacup and went to the wash basin and cleaned off the dirt.

Soufflé alighted on the table, curiosity making his ears wiggle. "You have a surprise for me?"

"Voilà!" Cocot said, presenting the porcelain cup in the palm of her hand. "I found it, and I thought of you. Remember how you said no one has anything in your size? Well, now you have a teacup. And I'd like you to join me for tea this afternoon. Right now, actually." Her stomach contracted sharply at the mention of tea, telling her she had missed lunch.

"You are giving this to me?" he asked. His eyebrows lifted from his eyes and floated upwards.

"Yes, I found it. It's for you."

"And you are inviting me for tea?"

"Yes, and crêpes, if you want some," she said.

"You are too kind. I didn't do anything to deserve this," he said. He took the teacup with his fingertips gingerly and held it far from his body. As though afraid to claim it as his own.

"But you did. You came the other night and saved me from Jean-Baptist. He hasn't made any noise since then. And," she paused, heat creeping up her face, "this morning in Lessoc, you warned me not to get angry."

The hand fairy flushed bright pink in turn. "Well, that was...you have to understand that I didn't do anything. I just happened to be there, those two times."

"Didn't do anything? You told Jean-Baptist to leave me alone, and he has!"

"All I did was ask. The problem is, you see, is that I don't have a gift to give you in return. Is there anything you would like?"

"I'd like your company for tea and crêpes."

"That's not enough. What can I give you in return?" he insisted.

"In return? One day, you'll find something, something small, that will make me happy, and when you do, you will give it to me," she said firmly.

"In that case," he said, sitting cross-legged on the table and turning the cup this way and that to better admire it, "I would be happy to stay for tea. But not for too long."

"I understand," she said, smiling and pulling the ingredients for crêpes from the cold box and cupboard. Apparently, the fairy had forgotten all about the nests, his thoughts entirely taken up with his gift.

It was not until they were done eating and the teapot was empty that she thought about what had happened at the fountain. Images crept into her head, ugly and prickling with sharp claws.

"Soufflé, how did you know I was in Lessoc this morning?" she asked.

"I saw you out walking. There are strawberry patches near the town on the hillside, and when I saw you, I thought I'd say hello. You were already with those human children, though. Beastly creatures, if you want my opinion. They didn't hurt you did they? I can sour their milk and put weevils in the flour if they did. Nothing less than they deserve!"

"No, I shouldn't have pushed that boy. But when he splashed me, I hated him. I've never wanted to hurt someone before, but I wanted to hurt him."

"None of it wasn't your fault. That fountain, it....Well, Coquelicot, you must never touch or drink the water from the basin," he said.

Cocot felt the blood drain from her head and her hands grew icy. "Why do you say that?"

"Because it's true."

"What's wrong with the water in the basin?" Her mother's warnings were spinning through her head. Always warnings and never explanations.

"Because when the water sits in the basin it gets dirty with all sorts of nasty things—dead bugs, bird droppings, polio, and more! My goodness, it makes my skin crawl just thinking about it! I am glad that you are not hurt, though. A few bruises, is all. Good thing that strapping boy from the farm stepped in, and all's well that ends well."

"Soufflé, the village boy told me a story before you came. A story about the fountain," she said. She didn't believe Soufflé was worried about bugs or bird droppings for one second. "A story about how a man who thought his horse swallowed the moon in the water—"

"You have to admit, humans have such imaginations!" He chortled.

"Is that really all there is to the fountain? A story about the moon being swallowed so they decided to build a fancy roof over it? Because I think there is more."

"Dear, little Coquelicot. Humans are not, how do I put this politely? The brightest stars in the firmament, if you take my meaning," he said.

"No, I don't. Tell me about the fountain. What—"

"Coquelicot, it's just a human story. It's something a group of ignorant villagers worked themselves up into a frenzy over until the roof was built. That's how humans are, and there is nothing more to tell," Soufflé said. He rose, giving his stomach a scratch and sniffing noisily. "Tea was lovely, but I've started to itch and I have to go."

Cocot went to open a window for him. She held up a hand to stop him from flying away. "Why do you talk about humans like that?"

"Like what?" he asked, scratching impatiently.

"You speak of humans as though they were beneath you, less than you. Did you forget, I'm human, too?"

"But you're not," he told her.

"I am. But I'm not beneath you."

"You've too much fairy magic in you to call yourself human. And you are less and less of one every day."

"I don't have any magic," she said, thinking if she did, things would be quite different around the chalet. At her words, a sharp pain flared in her upper arm, sending a ghost trail of cold down past her elbow, wrist and to her palm. The pin prick of blood. The missing stone from her mother's silver locket. The flash of frost right before it disappeared. She clenched her fist, willing away the pain and the memories.

"Why do think your mother taught you the charms for the doors when you go in and out? You may not know it, but you have to use your magic or it can freeze and turn to crystals inside you. Or so I've heard," he said. He patted the cup and flitted around her hand to go. "Thank you again for the cup."

"Goodbye," she whispered. She needed to lay down and rest on the bed. Then a thought came to her - when had he ever been near when she unlocked her door, or left the chalet? She turned to face Sarina, her cold, iron friend, and wondered how he knew she said the charms.

*** Soufflé accepted her gift, but left her with more questions than ever! ***