So small they appear as bent grass
Or leaves flying in gusts of wind
But they interact with the woodland
Knowing any invasion might be the last
Each is a warrior, bearing the cost within
The faer live a life far from that of man
What is left if they die
Is an empty space
Where those who never saw them
Cannot mourn
This flesh is a disguise
If humans see them they are struck dumb
For here is proof of magic, in small form
