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She was thin next to his roundness with a pretty face and fair hair touched with silver at the temples. Missus
Tuttle wore her age well.
“Oh come now! It's been an age since we danced,” she said.
“It will be another age before I do so again!” Tuttle announced, before whispering conspiratorially to
Dréoteth. “Don’t ever marry.”
“I will heed your advice well.” Dréoteth replied. The feigned gravity made the men chuckle.
Regarding them all with a neutral smile, hands loosely clasped behind him, he watched as the couples
retreated to dance. He was perplexed at the interactions. How the women cajoled the men and although they
complained, they pandered to their whims.
Women rarely ever approached him, for any reason, so he was not subject to the ridiculous displays he had
just witnessed. Eugenia Bailey was the exception, although even she hadn’t gone so far as to touch his arm or ask
for escort.
While the men took their places amongst the lines and waited for new music to start, Dréoteth strolled the
perimeter of the gathering. He took care to appear casual rather than like he was hunting—which was exactly
what he was doing. He took the opportunity to examine the townsfolk while they were unaware of his scrutiny.
Many people were already well into their cups, laughing drunkenly, and several couples slipped away into
deeper shadows only to return a short time later with leaves in their hair and their clothes askew. Some of these
would have been prime targets, but Dréoteth was not yet ready to kill. Tuttle was also a good choice; too slow to
move quickly and the extra mass around his middle made for a tasty meal.
Even as he considered the scholar, he found himself reluctant to end his life. It was a startling revelation.
Rarely, if ever, did he second-guess the slaughter of humans. Curious over his own hesitation, he stood at the far
end of the clearing, not directly involved but not apart from the festivities.
***
A small girl, no more than seven or eight, broke away from the other rowdy children. Directly, without
pausing to ask permission from her mother and without any trace of fear, she ran past the haystacks for
Dréoteth. She halted before him and stretched out her tiny hand, extending a bright yellow dandelion. A pale
halo of curly blonde hair framed her face.
“Is this for me?” Dréoteth asked, glancing down. His lips thinned faintly at her intrusion.
She nodded, smiling, dimples appearing in her cherubic cheeks. With her other hand, she reached up to
impatiently push a few strands away from her mouth.
He took the weed with care and examined it as if it were the most precious of flowers, as delicate as the girl
who gave it to him.
“Then I shall wear it proudly,” he said, tucking the dandelion into one of the buttonholes on his coat. As a
rule he avoided children at all times, finding them irritating and noisome. This particular one surprised him with
her fearless charm.
They made a sweet cameo against the celebratory backdrop. Not one of the townsfolk could have guessed
that the small child stood before the very man who had made four of their citizens disappear.
She performed a miniature curtsy, short legs bobbing her down and up in a flawless imitation of women
thrice her age. Her dress, a haggard thing three different colors of brown and dirty at the hem, proclaimed her as
one of the less privileged.
“What is your name?” she asked.
The abrupt question nearly caught Dréoteth off guard and he bit his real name back in favor of the fake one.
“Nehemiah Trimble. Yours?”
“Miss Thea!” Exuberant, she hid a giggle behind her grubby hands. Dréoteth thought she had the palest pair
of green eyes he'd ever seen. In contrast, his own were a vibrant blue.
He spared her a scant smile, head and shoulders bowed just enough to make eye contact less of a strain on
her little neck.
“Mistress Thea. I shall not forget it, or your thoughtful gift.” In retrospect, he thought he sounded almost
gallant. On the heels of that, he realized that he was standing there chatting with a mere child. A human child. He
should be choosing a victim from the herd and instead here he was, coddling one.