“What are you doing that for?”
Llewellyn looked around, trying to find the source of the high pitched and slightly scratchy voice. It was not human, even though he had no idea what manner of being could own such a voice. Maybe it was one of Odette’s friends playing a trick on him; they did that quite a lot.
Sitting in a saddle where the bole of the oak tree next to him split, was a squirrel. Llewellyn was fairly sure that the average squirrel did not speak, and also that they were not usually as big as this specimen, which was more the size of a small dog than even a large squirrel. He tried to hide his dismay and was about to speak when;
“What’s the matter? You never been spoken to by an animal before? How old are you anyway? You must have led a pretty sheltered life if you’ve grown up this close to a faerie wood and not been addressed by a blackbird or a fox, nay even a squirrel, before.”
Was he mad? Dreaming? Better that than this be real. Such nonsense was not likely to be well received by his aunt.
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