05 - Diben and the dried rosebud

Morning had not yet quite dawned.

In the meadows still pearly with dew, a pale veil floated between the grass. The silence, soft and hushed, was only disturbed by the rustling of a blackbird in an apple tree, and the discreet cracking of a twig.

At the edge of the path, between two clumps of gorse, a deer was watching the still sleeping house. He hardly moved, but a mischievous spark danced in his eyes.

Because this was no ordinary deer.

It was Diben.

That night, the little korrigan had not slept. A wind from the west had blown through the leaves, and with it, a desire to run, to jump, to feel the earth differently. So, under a leaning apple tree, Diben had closed his eyes... and changed his skin.

In a light breath, her red curls had melted into soft brown fur, her small hands into thin paws, and her ears—already large for a korrigan—had stood up even higher.

He had become a deer.

Free. Silent. Invisible to hurried glances.

Well… almost.

That morning, the house was slowly waking up.

The shutters barely creaked, the footsteps were discreet on the stone slabs. A family had been staying there since the day before, coming to seek the calm of spring and the first rays of daylight.

In the garden, still covered in dew, a little girl was the first to get up. She was holding a crumpled drawing in her hand.

It was a deer, with a funny little red lock on its forehead.

She sat down on a rock not far from the field and looked ahead. There was something. Someone?

Over there, barely visible, the deer watched. He knew. It was her. The same little girl as last year.

The one who had caressed him without knowing it, when, in the form of a cat, he had slipped near the fire.

She had whispered, caressing him gently:

“You’re sweet, you… Are you a little magical?”

He hadn't answered, of course. A korrigan never betrays himself. But he had stayed snuggled up against her for a long time, until she fell asleep.

This morning, she didn't see him. Not really.

But she suddenly raised her head, her heart beating a little faster, as if something had just brushed against her without touching her.

Her eyes fixed on a point between the trees…then she smiled.

For no apparent reason.

The deer had already disappeared into the woods.

Maybe she won't say anything. Maybe she'll draw again, one day, that deer with the little red spot, a little too bright to be natural.

And maybe she'll wonder, when she grows up, if she really saw it, or if it was a childhood dream.

But Diben knew. And so did the forest.

And at the bottom of his tunic pocket, in a carefully rolled fold of moss, he still kept a small dried rosebud, given to him by the hand of a child one evening last year.

Just in case she comes back.

✨ Because sometimes, the korrigans take the form of things that we don't look at long enough. Just long enough for us to remember them... with a doubt. ✨