After Mor left, she had quickly gotten lost in the wash of reviews and comments, on Goodreads, about her book. She knew it was an awful place to be, that people on the internet were often harsh as they didn’t have to face repercussions when hiding behind anonymity. However, that didn’t stop them from occasionally plaguing her attempts to write her story, leaching all of her time and focus with every word.

Her eyes were glued to a particularly negative comment when the little girl approached her, a large knit cap pulled down over her mess of curls, pulled into a sad attempt at a bun. When the girl said “Hello,” in her small but confident voice, Olive nearly leapt out of her own skin. This close The red-haired woman could see that she was no older than six, maybe seven and her hair was a warm golden amber and it really bulged the hat at the seams. The little girl’s skin, like her father’s, told the story of a life lived under the sun and she couldn’t help but worry about the child’s chances of getting heatstroke, being outside as much as it took to tan like that, though that was unlikely to happen this time of year. What was more immediately concerning was the piercings that trailed the child's ears. Small purple metal hoops, more metal in her head than most adults that had likely been authorized by her father, something certainly out of the norm, and quite startlingly too grown up for her. She was right at the age that Olive jokingly called a baby teenager, she was not yet in the double digits, but she acted like it, fearlessly approaching an unfamiliar adult was just one instance.

The woman pushed her hair back, carefully clipping it in place, using it as an opportunity to try and track down the girl’s father in the café. He was two tables over, his hair, dark like his clothing, clung to him with the rain they’d come in from, not drying off nearly as quickly as the little girl. He looked on at his daughter with an affection that only came from a parent, and it made her want to walk over there and punch him for letting her approach a stranger on her own. She knew children this girl’s age loved their independence, but this seemed a little much, to say the least.

“I’m Fi, what’s your name?” The courage, or perhaps naivety that came with the little girl’s voice was almost endearing, as she climbed into the seat that Mor had vacated. The girl, Fi, adjusted her beanie as she settled into the chair before offering up a hand that was much too small to be old enough for someone whose greeting was a handshake, this gesture was almost as surprising as the approach itself.

Olive wondered for a moment if this was some sort of pick up line, sending his kid in to warm her up before she met him, had it been his idea or Mor’s? And did that even matter? Though it would make some sense if it were Mor, because her friend, more than anyone, knew her weak spot for adventurous children. “Didn’t your father ever teach you not to talk to strangers?” The little girl still had an edge of huffy impatience that she’d carried over from her father’s table and she decided poking at it playfully might draw her father over as well, at the very least, to retrieve her.

There was so much consideration and calculation happening on Fi’s face that it made her want to laugh, though she knew that would only make a little girl like her mad. As it was, the young girl made a noise much like an indignant snort, as if Olive had said something ridiculous. “If I waited for him to teach me social skills, I’d be waiting till I was dead.” Her accent was unfamiliar, somewhere between Irish Gaelic, British and Latin? It was such a weird mix that Olive could not place it for the life of her. “And if you don’t talk to strangers, how do you make friends?” Her voice was so soft and sweet it was hard to place the wisdom to the face, though she wouldn’t fall for it, it didn’t change that she was too young to be approaching an adult alone. “Plus, you’re Morrigan’s friend, right? So, you’re not entirely a stranger.” A prideful grin spread across her lips as if she’d found some sort of loophole in Olive’s logic. It revealed gaps in her teeth where her baby ones had been and canines that looked far too large, adult teeth that didn’t quite fit in her child-sized mouth. “And if you introduce yourself, then we’re not strangers, are we?”

“My name is Olive, and you’re right Morrigan and I are friends.” She gave into the peculiar charm of her little rebellious expressions. “How do you know Morrigan? Is she your caseworker?” Finally taking her small, surprisingly rough hand into hers to give it a shake.

The words the woman spoke seemed to give the girl some thought, once again considering it. This time Olive had to cover her mouth to hide away her amusement with how contemplative the young child was, thinking through her words so carefully before ever giving an answer. “Morrigan and Pa used to work together when I was really little, she’s like family.” It almost stung Olive to hear the girl say, Mor had always told her she didn’t have any family in the city, which had always made her sympathetic, but here were people who referred to the young woman as family.

“Oh.” Was all she could manage, glancing up towards the man watching them, he looked young to be her father and Olive couldn’t figure out if that was just his face or if he really was. There were hints at the edges, like the little lines that spread from the corners of his angular eyes when he smiled at her, but she couldn’t tell if those were from age or stress. “And what is your Pa’s name?”

As she asked the question, the girl turned to look over at him, as if he had a sign on him saying ‘hello, my name is…’, he shifted to look out the window, trying to hide that he’d been watching them. “Pa’s name is Dalex.”

It was a peculiar name for a peculiar man, but that didn’t surprise her much, breaking off another piece of her bar to eat while she contemplated the situation. “So, what brings you in here today?” The words were innocent, trying to gauge how long she would be stuck talking to Fi, while her book sat untouched. “On your way home from a grand adventure, or just popped in for a cup of hot chocolate after a walk in the park?” She decided the easiest route was probably to play along with the little girl, especially her refusal to acknowledge her father, sitting just a few feet away. As she spoke with Fi, she gave him a playful wink over the girl’s head when he turned to look back at them, signalling that she was on to his spying.

The young man’s cheeks flushed, warmed by the heat of a shy embarrassment, his lips forming a silent word, ‘sorry’, giving a little nod towards the girl, presumably apologizing for her invasion. The redhead gave a casual little wave of her hand as she shifted the position in her seat, subtle enough that the little girl never picked up on it.

Fi’s tiny hand reached forward as if to pick up her cup, in her contemplative state, only to realize she’d forgotten it at her original table. “Hold on one second Miss Olive.” A tiny hand raised in a polite gesture, clearly meant to signal that she needed a moment to fetch her drink. “I would like you to hold that thought and I will be right back in just a second.” She talked so peculiarly, so formally, as she lowered herself back out of the chair, hoping her way across the coffee shop to retrieve her mug.

“Having fun Fi?” The man’s voice with light, playful, and full of affection for her, reaching out to straighten her hat again before she returned to Olive.

The girl’s head bobbed in a nod, as she wrapped all ten of her little fingers around the piping hot cup, filling Olive with anxiety. “Perhaps you should find out for yourself.” The snarky bluntness to her words caught the young woman off guard, coaxing a small laugh from her that she quickly cut off before Fi noticed. Though it was clearly not quick enough to keep Dalex from noticing, his eyes flicking towards her in a meaningful way she couldn’t quite place.

As Fi returned to her table, Olive could see the steam rolling off the hot liquid and was about to say something, warn the girl perhaps before she took a sip, but she was too late. Her tiny lips parted to allow the liquid in as if it were as cold as juice, forcing Olive to wonder for a moment if she were hallucinating. “We are on our way home from what I suppose you city folk could call a grand adventure.” She over articulated as tiny hands placed the mug, half-empty, onto the table.

The whole situation forced the words to take a long moment to process, like computer lag, before Olive finally understood. One thing was for certain, she had forgotten the dread she’d had for her looming deadlines almost entirely. “And what adventure might that have been?” Olive was trying her best not to show just how unsettled she was by the little girl, shifting to prop her head on her hand, leaning in, demonstrating that the child had her undivided attention. “Surely it must have been something truly grand and world-changing to deserve such a nice little outing this afternoon,” Quietly she brought her own cup to her lips, taking a sip of the coffee she’d let go half cold. “I mean, hot chocolate that size all to yourself? You must have saved the Queen of England or something.” She tilted her head slightly, indicating the cup of cocoa in front of them, the mug must have been nearly as big as her head.

The girl’s soft face seemed to turn rather grim then, lowering her voice, carefully leaning forward as if she were whispering such a truth in confidence. “Saving the city from the horrors of the wilds, just deep enough into the forest that a civilian, like you, may begin to wonder if they’re lost.” Somehow, even with her tiny lungs, she’d managed to get it all out in one hurried breath before abruptly springing back from the secret.

Olive wanted to laugh, children could say such odd things, but if she did, it might damage their relationship beyond repair, and, of course, allowing kids their fantasy helped to develop their imaginations, it was incredibly important, so she attempted to remain serious. “Oh, I see.”

“Besides,” the little girl started back up as if Olive hadn’t even spoken. “Cocoa isn’t special, we just came in to hide from the rain, I’m not a big fan of the rain.” The little hand motioned towards her barely contained curls, the humidity of the whole situation forcing them to expand even now.

The redhead knew she didn’t hide her emotions well, the child’s bluntness was getting the better of her and she wasn’t sure she didn’t believe her. Of course, she had heard little kids talk like this before, all fantasy, but there was something about the whole thing that made her doubt that it was just the figment of the girl's imagination. Her Nina often spoke of fairies lurking around the backyard, or about the tree in the front yard as if it were a person, but nothing quite like the way Fi spoke, with so much certainty, she knew that Nina believed in her little fantasies quite deeply, but this was so much more involved.

After a moment of judgement, she determined that for now, it was best to indulge her, if it came to it, she would have to have a discussion with her father about her rather creepy daydreams. “Well, I suppose that the rain isn’t exactly very helpful when it comes to fighting the good fight.” She offered up, trying to understand by getting on her level. “When it gets dark like it is out there now, it makes that space, just deep enough in the woods, even easier to get lost in.”

Fi couldn’t hold back her little giggles, the gentle sound signalling that she thought Olive was wrong on the subject. “Rain has its perks though; it helps to keep the things that produce fire at bay.” There was a twinkle in her eye, an intention to her words that Olive couldn’t quite place. “Keeps the forest fires down.” Her small fingers touched her cheek in a new and more complex motion of contemplation. “Though I suppose the fire things tend to stay more east, down towards the heat and the dry, away from the dampness of Grand Valley.” The girl turned her dark eyes towards Olive, and in the dim light of the café, it almost looked like the girl had the uncanny slitted eyes of a predator.

“Sandwich for Fiona Lovett?” The girl at the counter called, drawing both of their attention away from the discussion, and just like that the child, was just that, a child once more.

She leapt from her seat, leaving behind the chair as she went, her small voice carrying through the café as she made a b-line for the counter. “Proteins!”

Olive needed a minute to process the encounter, to file it away under odd coincidences to never ask Mor about again. However, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to forget this one, something was telling her that she was going to learn more before she got to remember less.