We came out of the forest into a meadow so quiet it felt staged. Like a place designed to trick you into relaxing.
Hana stopped dead and whispered, sharp as a snapped twig, “Shh.”
That alone should’ve warned me. Having grown up in Sylvara, Hana would not have shushed us unless the world was about to do something unpleasant.
“What’s wrong?” Raven murmured.
She crouched and pointed. “See the grasshoppers?”
I squinted. “Yes?”
“They’re not grasshoppers.”
That was when I noticed they were all hopping in the same rhythm. Like they were listening to something we couldn’t hear yet.
“They are burr sprites,” Hana said. “If you see a few, there are a hundred. They feed on flesh. Slowly.”
I remember thinking slowly was somehow worse.
“In the circles,” she went on, calm as you please, “we learn about them from an early age. We won’t make it through if we just walk across.”
She nodded to the tree line on the far side. “You’ll move along the edge. I’ll step into the grass. The leader will come to me.”
Lea whispered, “This feels like an unnecessarily dramatic plan.”
“They adore flattery,” Hana said. “They’re helpless against it. And since I’m the only one who can speak with animals… this is my moment.”
Edie frowned. “Won’t the others notice us?”
“They already have,” Hana said gently. “But once the leader speaks to me, they’ll all listen to him.”
Lea hesitated. “I know this is unlike me, but… can we not?”
“No.” Hana held out her hand. “Dried beef.”
Lea blinked. “Okay, this already sounds more scary,” she said, handing it over.
Ox leaned close. “Be careful.”
Hana smiled, soft and certain. “It’ll be okay.”
I didn’t believe her. I wanted to. But belief is hard when the grass itself feels like it’s leaning toward you.
We started edging along the trees. I looked back.
The moment Hana stepped into the meadow, one of the grasshoppers hopped forward and… unfolded. A tiny green man in a perfect little coat and tails, like he’d dressed for the occasion.
“Well,” Hana said pleasantly, “aren’t you a dapper fellow.”
That’s when the meadow woke up.
Chirping burst from the grass as more shapes sprang free. Dozens. Maybe more. Little green figures popping into existence, all eyes, all smiles, all teeth if you looked too closely.
“Oh my,” Hana said, voice warm. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a lovely group of sprites. So sharply dressed. Absolutely charming.”
The chirping changed. Smoothed. Became almost musical.
I realized then that if she stopped talking, even for a heartbeat, they’d remember they were hungry.
“Me?” she added softly. “I was just thinking of crossing to the far side.”
The entire field went silent.
One sharp chirp rang out. Authority. Final
“Of course I know the offering,” Hana said calmly. “I’m a elf from here in Sylvara. I wouldn’t dream of insulting you.”
She reached into her chestnut-and-green colored purse and produced the dried beef.
The silence pressed so hard it made my ears ring.
“Yes, I know it’s not traditional,” she said, smiling like this was all terribly reasonable. “But I am only one young elf. Surely a leader as handsome as you can allow a small exception.”
Time stretched. My foot cramped. Someone breathed too loudly. I aged several years.
Then the chirping returned. Softer. Almost pleased.
“Thank you,” Hana said, bowing deeply. “I’m honored to have met such a beautiful crowd. May soft sun and light dew ever grace your meadow.”
She walked. Slowly. Deliberately. Like every step was part of a dance we didn’t know.
When she reached us, she whispered, “Move. Quickly. Quietly.”
We did not need telling twice.
Only when we were safely under the trees did I lean close and whisper, “You’re amazing.”
She turned pink, just a little.
And that’s how we survived the burr sprites.
Not with steel. Not with spells.
But with a little confidence and a little flattery.
We didn’t stop running until the trees swallowed us whole and the meadow was nothing but a memory that we all agreed not to think about.
That night, the fire crackled low. Nobody wanted sparks jumping. Burr sprites may be stupidly vain, but Hana told us that they are exceptionally vengeful.
Raven was the first to break the silence. “I guess that being eaten alive by grasshoppers would rank up there with one of the least comfortable ways to bow out of life.”
“I think, actually,” Edie said. “It would top the list.”
Ox nodded solemnly. “I don’t like enemies I can’t punch.”
Lea rubbed her temples. “I would like to formally apologize for each time I said ‘surely it won’t be that bad.’”
Raven glanced toward Hana. “You were awfully calm out there.”
Hana shrugged. “If I hadn’t been, we’d be bones.”
I cleared my throat. Loudly.
“Well,” I said, “I did notice something you’re all forgetting.”
They all looked at me.
“When Hana stepped into that meadow,” I continued, warming to it, “the sprites didn’t just notice her. They were transfixed. Like a full audience for a staged play.”
Lea squinted. “I recall mostly chirping.”
“Yes,” I said. “But dramatic chirping.”
I stood and spread my arms. “Picture it. The sun catching their tiny coats. A hundred emerald faces turned as one. A hush. A breath. And there she stood, fearless, radiant, offering words sweeter than honey and—”
“Dried beef,” Ox said.
“—symbolic dried beef,” I corrected.
Hana hid her face in her hands. “Alfie, please don’t.”
“Oh, I must,” I said. “History demands it.”
Edie smiled. “You did bow very nicely, and Hana…don’t try to stop Alfie when he begins. It’s useless.” She gave a rare Edie laugh.
Hana peeked up. “I was trying not to shake.”
“Ah,” I said, tapping my chest, “but that’s the secret of heroism. Terrified on the inside. Flawless on the outside.”
Ox nodded. “Good strategy.”
Raven smirked. “So when you tell this story again, how many sprites will there be?”
I considered. “A hundred is accurate.”
Lea raised an eyebrow. “And later?”
“…A thousand,” I admitted.
Ox laughed. “They still small?”
“Yes,” I said. “But the teeth get bigger.”
Hana groaned. “You’re going to make them legendary, aren’t you?”
I smiled into the firelight. “Oh, Hana. They already are.”
She sighed, but she was smiling too.
“I absolutely need to compose a song for posterity” I said, already tuning my lute far longer than necessary.
Lea sighed. “If this becomes a ballad, I’m leaving.”
“History demands music,” I said, while strumming. “And possibly applause.”
I launched in, voice low and theatrical:
Oh gather close, you wanderers bold,
And hear of a tale among the grass,
Of tiny lords in emerald coats,
With smiles too sharp, with hunger vast.
We thought the field was calm and kind,
A place to rest, a place to gleam,
But teeth were hid in every blade,
And death had dressed itself in green.
Then stepped one forth with silver tongue,
No blade, no spell, no battle cry,
She spoke of charm and morning dew,
And made a hundred monsters sigh.
So raise a cup to clever words,
To courage masked in gentle cheer,
For swords may fail and shields may crack,
But flattery keeps us living here.
I finished with an extravagant flourish.
There was a pause.
Then Ox clapped once. Hard. “Good song.”
Raven laughed. “Scary grass.”
Edie smiled. “Surprisingly accurate.”
Lea sighed again. “I hate that I liked it.”
Hana had been staring into the fire. When she looked up, her cheeks were pink.
“You didn’t mention the dried beef,” she said.
“Ah,” I replied. “That’s the bridge.”
The others drifted off, one by one. I stayed, plucking softly at the strings of my lute, less performing now and more thinking.
Hana approached quietly and sat beside me.
“You didn’t have to make it a song,” she said.
“I did,” I replied. “Otherwise it would’ve stayed stuck in my chest.”
We listened to the fire for a moment.
“I was afraid,” Hana said softly. “Out there. I knew what I had to do, but… I was shaking the whole time.”
I shrugged. “That’s not how it looked.”
“I know.” She smiled faintly. “That’s the trick.”
I glanced at her. “You saved us. All of us. With nothing but words.”
She shook her head. “With trust. You all trusted me to step forward.”
I swallowed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone be that brave so quietly.”
Hana looked at the flames. “You make it louder than it feels.”
“That’s my job,” I said gently. “Someone has to carry the fear after, so the hero doesn’t have to.”
She looked at me then. Really looked.
“Thank you,” she said.
I bowed my head slightly. “Anytime.”
And that’s when I knew: No matter how dangerous the road ahead got, we would always survive it.
Because someone would always make it a story worth telling.