she only came when a full moon rose over the bleak and desolate highlands of northern scotland.

i’d see her walking down the moonlit mountain towards my cabin. slowly walking, approaching, through the thickening haze.

i’d open the door, she’d walk through, and sit at my small wooden table.

she was always ****, never wore clothes. her skin, milky white, perfect and flawless. her red hair windswept, tossed, strands in her eyes and lips. her piercing green eyes staring straight into space.

i’d wrap her up in furs. go to the kettle in the fireplace, ladle up a bowl of stew and place it in front of her with a thick slice of warm bread. i’d leave her be, to eat in silence, to eat in peace.

i’d go, sit in my rocking chair by the fireplace, lighting, smoking my pipe, and drinking mead.

after she’d finish, i’d place a sheepskin on the floor. she’d come sit at my feet, place her head on my lap. i’d caress, comb out the leaves and sprigs from her hair.

she’d crawl into my lap, laying her head on my shoulder, as i wrapped my arms around her, rocking her gentle, humming soft.

never a word was spoken, she just wanted to be held, to remember what it was like to be a loved child.  

she’d stare into the dancing, crackling fire till just before dawn, then stand up and slowly walk out the door into the mist and disappear into the early morning fog.

i knew she'd be back, next full moon, as even a fay, needs touch and affection.