“Quiet,” another grouched from atop a little boat fashioned from lily pads. “Play dead.”

“You’ll be dead in a minute.” The elf climbed back onto the lily pads, and shoved his companion.

His friend shoved him back. “Stop it,” he hissed. “She’ll see us.”

“What are we going to do? Sit here like doomed idiots?”

I laughed, then stopped abruptly when both creatures froze.

Slowly, they turned my way. The wet one squeezing his top hat free of water blinked with large black eyes. “What do you want?”

“You’re elves.”

“That depends who’s asking,” said the other creature, a reed in hand that he attempted to use to row their makeshift boat.

“She did not ask, idiot.” The soggy one peered around. “Where’s the beast?”

“The beast?” I questioned.

“The one-eyed demon with rocks for arms.”

I withheld another laugh and informed, “He’s not here.”

The rowing elf paused and nearly shouted as he slumped with relief, “Oh, thank the stars.”

His companion looked skyward, his sodden hat clutched to his chest. “They are indeed so magically merciful.”

The rower narrowed his dark eyes on me. “But who are you?”

“I’m Aster, his…” My nose crinkled. That I would dare utter such a thing to these creatures when I could barely acknowledge it myself was absurd.

“His…?” the hat hugger prompted and scratched at his mop of wet, buttery hair.

“Don’t prod.” The rower glowered at him. “It’s evidently sensitive.”

I walked closer and crouched upon the muddy bank. “What are you two doing in there?”

“We were fishing until someone lost our rods,” said the rower. “I’m Jats, and this is Kloon, the idiot who sent them sinking into the deep depths of the void.”

I bit my lips to keep from smiling and spied one of the rods lingering just beneath the surface of the pond. Leaning closer, I plucked it out. “Here’s one.” I peered into the algae-covered gloom again, but I couldn’t see the other.

I reached across the water to give the rod to Kloon, who blinked up at my hand as though it would squash him. I laughed. “Do you not want it?”

Eyeing the rod, then me, the elf nodded with his mouth agape. He snatched it, and I quickly retreated before I fell into the pond.

“Epitome of rude,” Jats said, laying his reed over his brown trousers. “Say thank you.”

“Thank you,” murmured Kloon, who inspected the stick they’d trimmed and whittled into a fishing rod—some type of hair twined and caught around it.

I smiled and pushed to my feet, studying them for a moment. The last time I’d seen Little Folk, I’d barely been old enough to know what they were.