The Caretaker

The wind whipped the door shut, and the scent of fire was all smoke. There were creatures all about me, some with jagged teeth, others with green tinged skin, and many—even a plethora—with yellow eyes.

    They advanced quickly, their jaws quivering, some salivating.

    The caretaker's cottage lay in the middle of the forest, easily accessible by all who had need. And I was available to all of them, at every 

moment, doing the duty I had long since swore to uphold; making sure that all was safe and the world well. Not an easy task, caring for 

wild folk, and yet I had found that it was wild folk who carried with them the greatest gentleness, loyalty, even love.

    I was finding in this very moment that my findings had all been false.

    My breath quickened, and I prepared myself for the fact that their kindness had broken.

    That was when I was slammed into an armchair, and told this was an intervention; for I had taken too little care of myself.

    I looked up into yellow eyes and snarling fangs and even into a red-tinged gaze, and found myself at a loss. For these beings had turned the tables, offering me the greatest kind of care. 

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