Vincent stumbled through the lush greenery as dew dripped on his scalp from the large overhead leaves which spread wide to capture the misting moisture from the heavy, dark clouds above. He carefully held his cupped hands aloft before him as he made his way. His breath seemed to have abandoned him and his heart increased to double its normal rate -- all because of that precious little treasure he transported in his hands. He couldn't believe his good fortune!
He paused to regain control of himself lest he drop the poor little creature in his excitement. He gingerly opened his fingers and leaned in close to his hands to more closely inspect the tiny and injured being within his grasp. She was okay, seemed coherent, and returned his gaze with an unsettling intensity that caused Vincent to pull his head back into its natural upright position.
He did not wish to frighten her, so he cleared his throat and smiled down at her, "I need you to know that I wish you no harm, little one. Forgive my clumsiness, but this is the first time I have ever touched one of your kind"
Vincent jumped across a tiny stream and landed on the opposite bank with a groan. Curious, he spoke into his hands again, "Can you speak? I would like to know your name so I don't have to call you 'Little One' all the time."
Vincent scratched his beard and looked around nervously. A droplet of rain fell from his scraggly curls sticking out from under his knitted cap and landed directly in his hands, dousing his tiny passenger. She sputtered and flailed, and she looked so delicate that for an instant Vincent thought she might have fractured a tiny leg. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Are you all right?"
He tried wiping her dry with one grimy pinky, but the girl swore and swatted at him, "Leave me alone, you giant oaf!"
A delighted gasp escaped Vincent's mouth and a smile spread across his chapped lips. His newfound fairy friend had spoken to him! This was wonderful! He brought his hands to his face so he could converse with the little creature of myth. But she was in no mood to talk. She stood at her full five-inch height with her lower lip thrust forward in an aggressive pout, her hands were balled into fists at her side, and her wings folded closed along the length of her back. She looked about ready to throw down.
"You stupid, ignorant wombat! Is that the finger you use to pick your nose? I would rather spend all day riding a donkey's backside than to have you touch me again!" She was all worked up now, and she paced an angry circle in Vincent's palm as she verbally chewed him out. Finally she raised one arm and pointed at him with an accusatory finger. The pouting lip had returned and evidently her brief tirade had reached its completion.
"You're pretty," Vincent giggled.