Satyr's Exit

By Toby O’Donnell

Every bright and proud summer’s day, the scholarly Satyr travels the fae kingdom seeking the woman who will teach him all that he cannot learn alone. To the Satyr knowledge and art, not just simple beauties, are everything. He studies persistently, and yet he needs someone else to further his learning. His wyld heart beats to the tune of a different drummer. Different he is, even from that of his fellow fae. The sprites and faeries will coax and learn the trees and flowers to great heights all summer long, but during the winter all they would do is play tricks on humans or lie around in the eternal summer of the Otherworld.

While the Satyr had attended all the summer festivities with the other fae folk, he couldn’t resign himself to nothingness when the seasons changed. So, during those long nights of winter he ventures forth into the mortal world seeking his mate. As unaware as humanity can be, they strive toward greatness and so shall his match. He cannot discount the chance that the woman who he seeks is human.

On these brisk winter nights, he adorns himself only in a scarf around his neck. Neither chimerical nor altogether plain, the green, blue, and black tartan scarf keeps him warm on his journey. It tucks neatly beneath his long blonde goatee. The curly blonde hair of his head is unkempt, but even in its estranged mass his horns protrude. Those, the woolen, goat-like legs and the hard cloven feet make him an obvious stranger to this world. To avoid undue attention he keeps to the trees. He blends in with the forest easily and should daybreak catch him here, the Otherworld of the fae is just steps beyond.

Though no snow falls this night, the existing snow crunches beneath his cloven feet as he makes his way through the forest. His footsteps are the only thing to break the silence of winter’s night. He carefully ducks to avoid the snow-laden branches of the pines that hang low under the weight of the snow. The green and white make an outstanding compliment in the moonlight, but he does not stop here. His search is not for nature’s beauty this night. His fae brethren would laugh at him. After all, to what fae was anything more important than the glimmer of the snow, the scent of a flower, or the sound of a brook?

He stops for a moment by the wooden fence at the forest’s edge. The wind is calm and the snow-covered plain lays still. The rural village that lies ahead radiates with the warmth of coziness. Each window reflects the orange from the fireplace within; each chimney smokes like a friendly pipe, and each freshly swept walkway invites the Satyr onward. The homes are of soft colors and comfortable textures, but he will not be distracted by scenic beauty tonight. He ducks between the frozen rails and brushes against the underside. He brushes the snow off of his scarf and hair before continuing.

As he walks across the stone bridge into the town, the moon highlights his reflection on the ice below. Peering in the windows of the country homes, he leaves a trail of heart-shaped footprints between them all. Morning light would suspect that a deer had been by looking for food, or perhaps the salt from the sidewalks, but would never suspect who had really been there.

In his house to house search he finds that many of the house windows have fallen in color from the live, flickering orange to the deep red glow of the sleeping embers. Most of the town has already gone to sleep. He mentally kicks himself again.

In a dark brown cottage, far from the town center the Satyr finds a window still warmly lit. His last prospect before sunrise waits ahead. Even before he has tread all the way up to the house, he spies its occupant between the curtains.

Inside is a woman who sits with her legs tucked under herself reading in her favorite chair. In her rapture he is immediately caught. While mortal, she still has the glamour and radiance of any fae. This simple woman has attracted the Satyr. She sips at a tea that he wishes he could have brewed for her. Her beautiful eyes read from a book the Satyr wishes he could have entranced her with.

Her inhibitions are gone. She reveals everything from her deepest cavern of "privacy" of her home. Her auburn hair is loosely tied in pigtails; she sits in grey sweat clothes, comfortable in the fact that she has nothing to hide here. The deep brown stain of the wooden furniture lulls her into that freedom. Her magic, her intellect, and her strength shine in her deep eyes and welcoming face. She stirs her tea absentmindedly as she reads. Her pinky finger taps on the back of the book in anticipation of the next verse. She bares it all; hiding no personality quirk, saving no private smiles, letting everything go because she can. Between her, the chair, the book, the teacup, and the house, no secrecy is needed.

The Satyr watches through the window, not needing to look in any other home this or any other night. Gone is the snow-covered world around him. Gone is the fear of being seen. Gone is the loneliness that drove him so far from the summer country of the fae. All that exists now is woman and Satyr. The walls fade into the back of his mind as he feels as if he is sitting with her, sharing every moment together.

She sets the book aside, her page marked with a narrow green ribbon. She rises from the chair with teacup in hand and moves towards the kitchen, pausing to turn on the light. The Satyr follows around the exterior of the house as she moves within. He loses sight of her for a moment, and his heart drops at the thought she had retired to bed.

Suddenly, she reappears at the door to his right. His face lights up red with embarrassment and yellow with joy that she has come to ask him into her home. She cocks her head to one side, regarding him inquisitively. A smile creeps across his face for his beauty has found him. As he raises his hands to welcome her, she pulls a handgun from behind her back, brings it level, and then fires repeatedly into the Satyr's chest. He stumbles backwards and falls into the soft, drifted snow, but he never notices. His smile is permanent and his prismatic eyes stare forever upward to the starry sky behind her perfect face.

Standing in triumph, she stares down at his limp body.

"Filthy pervert!"