If there was anything off about Mable’s demeanor, Malachi did not appear to notice. It did not even strike him as something to watch for – he just saw that she was cold, while he was a bit warmer.

“A fairy?” the priest inquired, smiling all the while. That was not one he heard often. If anything, he was meant to guide children away from such fantasies. It was not good for one’s spiritual health to play into the make-believe, but then, why did it really matter? If it amused them, and made them happier for it, then he did not see the issue.

If God was all-powerful, then no make-believe creatures could threaten that.

He felt an arm snake out from between them to hold onto him. Wished again that he had some sort of towel to wrap around her like a warm, fluffy cocoon.

The only holes he had ever dug had been graves. He supposed that, if he’d climbed down into them, they would have been just deep enough that he’d have had to stand on his toes to see out.

“Ah? I noticed those,” Malachi said in regards to the pebbles, “I’d say you managed it. It looked like a boulder to me. Or… a cat curled up in a ball.”

That was a bit of a stretch, but it wasn’t untrue. The shape had been there.

They passed by darkened buildings and alleys, and as they gradually got closer to the hotel, he could see the faint flicker of candles in the occasional window as they walked by.

“I think the local fishermen would be upset if we built a dam, but maybe… we can build our own little creek instead. On the beach,” he suggested. “And we’d be digging too.”

More of the fairy talk! Malachi could not tell from the girl’s tone if she was serious or not. Did she actually believe there were fairies, or was it just a part of her game?

He gave a hum as he considered this – though it surely must have seemed like his thoughtful look concerned the question of whether or not fairies lived on beaches, instead – and looked down at her again when he felt her arm squeeze his waist.

A quiet laugh escaped him as she deemed his imagination ‘colorful.’ Was it any more so than thoughts of little fairy creatures?

“There’s no reason why we can’t do both,” said Malachi. “Once we finish the sand-mud-soup, we can play your pebble game. Oh! We could play it with whatever we find on the beach – shells?”

He had not actually been down to the beach yet. Hadn’t had the time nor the reason to. There had to be shells and stuff like that.

It had been far too long since he had been around children like this. It felt like ages since he’d last seen Nettie, and longer still since she had been Mable’s age. There was something so refreshing about spending time with her and not worrying about how it made him appear, or whether his humor undermined the things he preached.

Malachi shook his head, but quickly clarified, “not a favorite, but I suppose there are colors I prefer.”

Yet another question he had never really given any thought.

“Black, white, blue – I could not choose a favorite. Do you?”

Oh, her eyes were green, weren’t they. Malachi leaned down once she’d said it, tilting his head to peer beneath the hat she still wore. Yes, they were a very pretty shade of green, and not a color often seen either.

As he straightened his posture to look forward again, he felt another laugh escape before he could even think to quiet it.

“Why do you think they’re scary?” asked Malachi, clothed from head to toe in black and white as he was. Mostly black, sure, but the touch of white around his neck still drew the eye.

“They are the color of the night sky, and the moon, and- some cows are black and white too, aren’t they? Words on a page, the keys of a piano… I don’t think any of those things are scary.”

“Mm, perhaps,” Malachi replied, unconvinced. “Storm clouds are more of a gray though, don’t you think?”

They had never struck him as all that scary, either, but he was used to them. Perhaps they weren’t as common where Mable had grown up, or they could have been all too common. He enjoyed the rain; the gray-tinted overcast, the scent of wet stones and soil, the sound of it raining down against the rooftops.

His fingers wiggled where she touched his hand, before settling down over hers. The hotel was in sight up ahead, and farther down the street, he knew the sleeping church awaited.

“What other colors do you like, then? Or are none of them comparable with green?”