At a loss, Jenks extended a hand to the ruffled pixy as his children watched sullenly. The pixy buck before him looked about twelve or thirteen, old enough to be on his own and trying to start a family, married by the clean and repaired state of his clothes. He was healthy and well-winged, though they were now blue with the lack of circulation and pressed against his back in submission. The unfamiliar sword in Jumoke’s grip led Jenks to believe the intruder’s claim to having a garden was likely not an exaggeration, even if it was fairy steel, not pixy. The young buck wasn’t poaching. So what did he want?

Jenks’s own suspicions rose. “Why are you here?” he asked, his focus sliding again to his own sword, set carelessly next to his tools. “And what’s your name?”

“Vincet,” the pixy said immediately, his eyes roving over the sunset gray ceiling. “You live in a castle!” he breathed as his wings rose slightly. “Where is everyone?”

Vincet, Jenks thought, wary even as he straightened with pride at Vincet’s words concerning his home. A six-letter name, and out on his own with cold steel. Pixies born early into a family had short names, those born later, the longest. Vincet was the fifth brood of newlings in his family to survive to naming. That he had a blade and a long name to his credit meant that his birth clan was strong. It was the children born late in a pixy’s life that suffered the most when their parents died and the clan fell apart. Most children with names longer than eight letters never made it. Jerrimatt, though…Jenks’s smile grew fond as he looked at the blond youngster scowling fiercely at Vincet. Jerrimatt, his birth brother, and both his birth sisters would survive. Matalina was stronger now that she wasn’t having children anymore. One or two more seasons, and all her children would survive her. It was what she prayed for.