For some, there’s no way to escape loneliness. For some it has no cure. For me, I try to keep Evaton, the grumpy old ogre, company as much as I can as his furry dog companion. I stare at the thick ribbons of steam dancing around the bubbling cauldron. Evaton stirs the warm spicy golden moon milk. 

“I’ll take mine first,” I say. My wet snout nudges my chipped porcelain bowl forward. 

His only reply is a deep chuckle.

I sit, sphinx-like, and spot my reflection in the copper ash bucket. My shaggy, fox-red fur glints like embers, while my tail sweeps slowly across the floor.

“Embyr, you’re always on time, aren’t you, my friend?” he murmurs, dribbling a scoop into my dish. Evaton’s eyes drink in the firelight.

“Just because you make it at the same time every morning, old ogre.” I say and slurp the creamy mixture. “Mmm... Is that cinnamon bark I smell?”

“Ah, a treat.” Evaton stares out the frosted window, searching for the Starwhiskers’ soft glow in the fields. The last of the Swirl lifts from Frost Hollow, reluctant to release its grip. The Swirl is a curse that hovers over the village since the Great Witch cursed the Town Mayor. I’ve only heard stories Evaton has told me: when young, the Witch loved the Mayor, but the mayor instead married a wealthy neighbor in a secret night ceremony to evade her spying cats. Since then, her army of familiars has watched the village. Now, if I go outside at night, the Swirl will poison my lungs, and I will pass away.

This morning, the mist is silver-tipped and restless. It only parts for the faint, pulsing glow of Starwhisker wool.

“A treat, Evaton? That's nice of you. When have you ever been known to be friendly?” I ask.

“I'm trying, Embyr,” Evaton grumbles. “You said I should be less grumpy.”

I laugh, choking on my last sip of moon milk.

“Look at them, Embyr,” Evaton says, leaning his cane-wand against the hearth. He slides into his wingback chair. “Without their wool, we wouldn't be able to knit jerseys for the entire village. The Starwhiskers keep us safe.” Starwhiskers are his pride. Each evening, Evaton spins their wool into glowing jerseys, weaving strands as fine as starlight. At dawn, he hands the soft, protective garments to the villagers, ensuring they’ll stay safe when the Swirl rolls in during the night. Evaton has noticed a few years back that his Starwhiskers’ wool is the only source to date      keeping the villagers safe from the Swirl. 

It all started one day when he rushed to the fence to free one of the Starwhiskers. While Evaton carried the naughty Starwhisker back to its pen, it was already dark. He ran back to our house, but the Swirl didn’t touch him. I was ecstatic to see my master again, thinking I’ve lost him to the Swirl. We realized then that the wool is immune to the Swirl. The villagers were ecstatic, knowing they could roam the streets at night again. And the Witch never found out as her pesky scratchy spies didn’t patrol the streets at night. I saw a change in Evaton since then. He helped people again.

“Hmm,” my gaze follows my master’s, my nose lifting as I sniff the air, “you think Starwhiskers are aware of the Swirl?” 

“Nah,” Evaton mutters, running a gnarled hand over his thick brow, “but that’s the beauty of it. This wool’s not just cloth; it’s warmth and our survival at night, breaking the darkness of the Swirl.”

He lifts the mug to his thin lips. “Blazes,” he squirms, as the milk burns his mouth. “Piping hot.” Taking a deep breath, he lifts the steaming mug in a toast to the window. “To Starwhiskers and to the sun rays.” Evaton peeps over the horizon, searching for the sun to fill the sky and burn away the Swirl. 

But this morning feels different. The mist lingers longer than usual, pressing cold and heavy. “Soon, it’ll be night again, and the Starwhiskers will need shearing,” I say.

My pointy ears perk as my mind tries to track the Starwhiskers’ glow. Watery sunlight paints the window, but my fur doesn’t gleam the way it normally does. That’s my superpower. My fox-red fur glows when the Starwhiskers are close. The usual tug of knowing is gone. Instead, there is an empty space. I twist my neck to Evaton, hoping he’s thinking the same. My paws press against the timber floorboards as I nudge my nose at the oak door.

“What are you seeing, boy?” Evaton rises and follows me, cane swinging in his hand. 

The pasture lies quiet—too quiet. My eyes can’t find the Starwhiskers’ usual warm glow outside, protecting us from the mist. 

The hair on my back rises. “Something’s wrong,” I whisper.

I dart ahead, paws slipping through dewy long grass, following a scent—faint, barely there, but enough. 

Evaton’s boots slow, then stop. I hear his sharp breath. "Starwhiskers?" 

No one answers.

In the distance, I spot one Starwhisker dawdling on its own in the distance. “Where're the others?” I squeak. 

My nose hits patches of scattered silky wool. Its shimmer is fading fast. I look up at Evaton. Every line on his old leather forehead folds down.

“Tracks.” I nudge my snout to a patch of snow. Hooves have stamped a trail toward the bridge into the dark forest. There’s another unfamiliar scent I can't place. I spot a strange print in the mud from a creature I do not know.

Evaton’s eyes follow mine. “That’s dragon land.”

“No one crosses the Whitestone Bridge unless they’ve lost their way,” I say. But he knows as well as I do. “We only have daylight. The Swirl will creep in again at dusk. Without Starwhisker wool, we won’t make it through the night.”

“Or any night,” he murmurs.

I meet his gaze. “Follow me.” 

Evaton’s knobby fingers wave me ahead. “Go on then, don’t mind my waddling.” He taps his starlight-knitted jersey, reassuring himself it will protect him.

“Better take yours too, Embyr, just in case we're stuck in the Swirl tonight.” Evaton twirls his cane, and my luminescent jersey appears wrapped around my furry coat. 

Immediately I feel the warmth around my belly, eager to find the lost Starwhiskers. That’s my job in any case. My hunting skills kick in, and my paws lock on to the scent. The bridge lingers ahead, shadowed under the dark pine trees. I’ve never gone past the bridge. This forest holds more than shadows; it carries secrets. Evaton has told many hearthside tales about creatures lurking. Woodland dragons. He says they’ll turn us into charcoal. But I’m eager for an adventure. I lift my head, ears low. 

Evaton grips his cane, his knuckles blanching against the worn, shiny wood. His footsteps are soft as we press forward. 

He pauses, leaning heavily against the crossover to catch his breath. His hand snags a piece of wool from the ground. He lifts it. "Why would the Starwhiskers graze past the bridge?"

My ears flick to the left, uncertain.

We cross the viaduct, and the bridge behind us vanishes around a corner. The twig snapping jolts me forward, sniffing, searching. The scent of Starwhisker wool drifts faintly, but there is something else mingled in.

“Careful,” I whine, urging Evaton to walk faster, “these aren’t dragons we’re dealing with.”

A blur shoots from the pines. I retreat behind Evaton’s stumpy legs, my tail tucked between my legs.

“I thought you were the protector,” Evaton says, giving my backside a nudge with his cane. “Not me.”

“I thought you were feeling nice today?” I snap back.

“Fine,” he sighs. “I'll be nice.” Evaton steps forward and twirls his cane to glow a soft orange circle around us. “This won’t last long, so find the Starwhiskers before the Swirl or dragons find us.” 

I quicken my pace, nose down, tracking the scent. Ahead, the glow of Starwhiskers intensifies like a beacon. My red fur prickles. The familiar warm energy courses through me, the Starwhiskers are close, ready for their shear.

“At least she’s pulling the wool right,” Evaton stutters.

The creature scans her surroundings, wool poking from her mouth. “You... big! You… have more wool?” she asks, words stuttering like broken leaves. The Starwhisker is still relaxed in her grip.

Evaton frowns, his lips pressing tight. “And who are you to make demands of my flock, fae?” he grumbles, holding his cane firm. He points it at her, making it spit flashes to scare her.

The fae holds her hand out and extinguishes the sparks.

I squint and cover my eyes with my paw, startled at the fae’s power. 

Evaton glances down at his cane, shaking it to see if it’s broken.

The fae tilts her head, still clutching the wool with her other hand. “Haven’t eaten in days. Mist... too cold. Wool warm,” she mutters, nibbling another piece, her gaze flickering between Evaton and me. Seems like she calls the Swirl—mist—and that she’s immune to it too. Maybe the Witch’s magic doesn’t work on fae.

I edge closer, sniffing at the creature. “Let her eat it,” I say, peering up at Evaton, trying to mask my trembling voice. The fae’s power hums in the air. “She’s half-starved.” I stare at her slim figure. Knowing well the feeling of an empty stomach. Evaton saved me when I was a pup in the Village and took me in as his own. No one wanted me covered in fleas. Only the greasy big ogre shepherding the Starwhiskers outside the Village had the courage to take me in. 

Evaton peers over his glasses. “Embyr, she’s a young fae. She's likely the one who stole our Starwhiskers. If I let her near the flock, she might devour every last one.”

The fae narrows her eyes, snatching more wool, her blonde braids slick behind her pointy ears. “Sorry, yes it was me. Just enough to stay warm,” she says, licking her fingers. “Pretty sheep, that one. Bright. Tasty wool,” she adds with a smirk, mischief glinting in her topaz eyes.

Evaton huffs, crossing his arms. “I’m no fool. You think I’d let a wool-munching fae wander off after feasting on my Starwhiskers?”

The fae grins. “But I glow now! See?” She stretches her arms, and indeed, she shimmers. Light glints off her sun-kissed skin. “You don't need a wool jersey. Take fae glow instead.”

“She’s got a point,” I nudge at Evaton’s leg, hoping he’ll see sense. “A fae’s glow could keep the Swirl away too.”

Evaton groans and rubs his neck. “Embyr, you’d let any hungry creature wander home with us if you could.”

I nudge him again, determined. “She’s no worse than you, honestly. And we’re lonely up here,” I say, snapping my eyes to the fae’s now hopeful gaze. “I am lonely.” I take the blame, knowing he’s been alone since his father passed the Starwhiskers to him to herd. When he found out his precious wool kept the villagers safe from the Swirl, he found a purpose again. 

“What's your name, dear? Why are you alone here in the forest?” Evaton asks.

She clutches her wool-prize tighter, peeking up at Evaton. “I’m Maeye. My family was burnt by Woodland dragons. I’m alone and won’t take much room. Eat scraps, maybe wool here and there,” she says, pleading. “You won’t need a jersey anymore.” She points to a frayed patch on mine.  

I'm burning hot in this thing; my fur usually is more than sufficient. I’ve never needed to wear this itchy mess—not with Starwhiskers always guarding us.

Evaton sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can you take the Swirl away too?”

“The mist?” she asks.

Evaton sighs, hating to be corrected. “Yes.”

“I can try, yes. I have great powers.” 

“Fine,” he mutters, “but try anything funny, and I’ll send you right back into this dragon-infested forest.”

Maeye beams, shoving the last bit of wool in her mouth. “Deal!” she chirps, eyes sparkling as she scrambles toward us, her glow illuminating the trees around. She reaches out, fingers grazing Evaton’s arm, and I watch his shoulders soften slightly.

The Starwhisker shakes off its freshly trimmed fleece and waddles alongside the rest of the flock. Evaton leads them back through the forest. The glow of Starwhisker wool dissolves the Swirl’s mist before us. I press close to Evaton’s leg, the warmth of his hand occasionally brushing my head as if to reassure himself that I’m still here—me, him, the Starwhiskers, and Maeye.

Back at the cottage, Evaton steers the flock of Starwhiskers into their pen.

“Cozy,” Maeye declares, settling by the hearth, her glow casting a warm hue over the room. She sniffs the air, eyes narrowing at the cauldron still bubbling with the remains of our golden moon milk.

“Hungry, are we?” Evaton asks, filling her cup. 

She beams, grabbing it with both hands. A white glow appears over her fingers, warming her cup even more until steam puffs. She takes a big gulp. “Mm. Better than wool,” she decides with a grin. “Tomorrow I will try and break your curse too. I’ve heard there’s a charming prince that has come to age. Maybe the Great Witch will find a liking in him.”

Evaton chuckles, kneeling beside me. “What do you think, Embyr? Maybe love will break the curse. And for now, we’ve got ourselves a strange little new family now, don’t we?”

The fire crackles beside us. Snow drifts softly outside, catching in golden layers of dusk blanketing the windowsill.

And perhaps, the cure to loneliness is having a purpose in life, after all.