Bitter Sprites 01, Curlie

Riz and Curlie sat high up in a tree, each on her own branch. Riz squatted with her bare back against the trunk, her buttocks on her heals, and only her toes touching the branch. Dressed in a white spider-silk robe, Curlie straddled her branch, leaning forward, resting her elbows on the branch and her chin in her hands. Golden locks of her curly hair touched the bark beneath her. Both peered down at the bed of moss below, between two large roots. Their daughters were giggling and playing, kissing and touching each other.

Curlie sighed. It had been a long time since Curlie had engaged in the lustful freedom her two daughters were practicing upon Petal, Riz’s only offspring. In fact, Curlie had only participated in all-girl play a few times. When there is a friendly gnome available to keep a sprite pregnant and young, Curlie thought, why bother? She had known some sprites in her commune that had preferred other girls, and only submitted to old Ferus for the benefits pregnancy brings, but Curlie liked and preferred the attentions that old gnome gave her. She lay down and hugged the tree branch, smiling at the memories.

Riz glanced around at the forest, both high and low, looking for danger. She spotted Wizica watching the activities below from a different tree, her wings occasionally buzzing with excitement. Riz remembered when her wings did not ache, when she could buzz her own wings and they would lift her from the ground, into the air, and she could fly faster than a bird, more agile than a bat. Now, her aged wings only extended her jumps, and the most she could accomplish was leaping from tree to tree. She knew soon, they would stop working completely, and then fall off, and her transformation would begin.

“I wonder if there are any more kind gnomes out there in the world,” Curlie wondered out loud. Riz glared at Curlie for a moment, then reigned in her animosity. Curlie stretched herself out on the branch, then rolled onto her side, turning her head to stare upwards at the canopy of green leaves above them. “If we find a nice gnome,” continued Curlie, “I will protect him with my life, so that my daughter’s will know the security of a safe community.”

“If we do run into an old gnome,” said Riz, “I am going to ask him if he knows how to reverse aging.” She kept most of her bitterness out of her voice, but there was plenty for Curlie to catch.

Curlie looked over at Riz, who was watching the forest intently, now. Riz’s skin was pale, almost ashen gray. Curlie’s skin held a pale yellow glow. Riz’s wings hung from the middle of her back with no life of their own. Curlie’s wings still twitched and fluttered with emotion. Riz’s shoulder’s were slowly becoming broader than her hips. Her figure was already boyish, except for her small breasts. They would probably be the last trace of a feminine figure to fade. Riz was even in the habit of keeping her white hair short and spiky, like many Pixies do. Curlie was the essence of feminine, though she was slimming down, losing the fullness of youth, though she would still draw pixies like bees to honey.

Curlie sat up, dangling her feet off the side of the branch. Her body was still relatively young, for an oldie. She was a couple months younger than Riz, but she had enjoyed a few more daughters. I wonder if I could still bear daughters? thought Curlie. She looked down at her stomach, still smooth and ready for a belly. She shot a quick glance over at Riz’s stomach and saw hard rippled muscles.

Riz saw the sad look on Curlie’s face and snapped, “We’ll see how cheerful you are when you reach my stage.” Curlie’s eyes watered. Riz looked away, feeling bad that she had hurt Curlie’s feelings, but not caring enough to apologize. They sat in silence, occasionally hearing the sounds of passion from below.

“You will be dangerous as a boy,” said Curlie, quietly, “if you keep your bitterness.”

“I’m dangerous now,” muttered Riz, still looking away.

Curlie cocked her head to one side, not sure of Riz’s meaning. Riz was the best warrior of the group. Only Petal, Riz’s daughter was a trained fighter, but Petal didn’t have the rage, or the experience to match her mother. Then panic blossomed in Curlie’s chest and her breathing became quick and shallow. She looked down at her daughter’s and trembled. When she returned her gaze upon Riz, Riz was looking back.

“Petal will take care of me,” said Riz, quietly, almost compassionately.

“But she is no match for you, even with her sword,” said Curlie.

“She will have help,” said Riz. When Curlie’s fear gave way to confusion, Riz said, “There will be a part of me begging for that glass blade.” Once again, Curlie’s eye streamed with water, the corners of her mouth drooped as her chin tried to push up her bottom lip. Riz looked away, hiding her own watery eyes.

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When Curlie stopped crying, she swung her legs to the other side of the branch and slipped off into freefall. Her wings buzzed and slowed her descent. She aimed for a small grouping of dandelions struggling to grow in the shadow of the tall trees. She landed softely, but she didn’t hear Wizica land nearby.

Curlie squatted down to pee, screening herself behind some dandilions. Wizica wandered over and squatted down in front of Curlie to watch.

"What are you doing?!" exclaimed Curlie.

"I want to see," said Wizica.

"Shoo," said Curlie, standing up and waving her hands at Wizica. "I like to pee alone."

"Riz says never do anything alone," said Wizica.

"Well, I am not a ‘tiny’, little one," said Curlie, "I can do as I please."

"When will I get little hairs between my legs?" asked Wizica.

Curlie turned red with embarrassment and anger, then she turned around and lifted herself up into the air with an angry buzzing of wings, away from the curious tiny.

Left alone, Wizica said in a small voice, “But, they are pretty.” She frowned for a moment, then quietly slunk through the vegetation to spy on her sister.