Shirokibo

TW: Sexism and infanticide The weather had begun to cool. It was all that was needed for Tintalle to realise that autumn was already in their midst. Everyday, as the sun rose, she and Fflar, her black-capped chickadee familiar, would make it a point to count how many leaves had turned colour. Even now as they began their day, Tintalle’s whispering wind picked up the leaves that had dropped overnight, and they watched in awe as the numbers so obviously outnumbered the previous day’s. It was last summer when Fflar suddenly appeared in her life. Nothing had shifted; nothing had changed. She had just been thinking of the aspen forest she first woke up at as an esk when Fflar suddenly appeared. No flashing lights or shimmer. The space in front of Tintalle was empty, and then it was not. Fflar spoke to her through their minds, just as Tintalle did to her woodland friends. But while the squirrels and birds couldn’t speak to her directly – Tintalle could only interpret from their behaviour