I am a shy pixie, birthed out of the waking dreams of an autistic four-year-old, left behind to wander the world of daylight when the child's mind moved on completely to the shadow realms. I live under the branches of a weeping willow tree, in the hollow space between the trunk and where the leaves brush the ground - on windy days, the lowest twigs turn into tiny ponies for me to ride.

We met one hot August morning, as I'm sure you'll remember, when we realized we were both breaking our fast on the same pine needle. My hair got tangled around your teacup, and you nearly fell to your death trying to pull it loose. A sliver from my tree stuck under your fingernail, and I have been compelled to follow you, ever since....