Village Shepherd

"We got them!" Praxis was proudly relating his story to the Wise Old Pixie, who was listening with a frown on his face.

"So you followed this group of elves from the next glen and threw sticks and stones at them?"

Praxis nodded eagerly. "And they soon ran away! I don't think they'll be coming back. We'll have no more trouble from them." He sat back with an air of satisfaction and his skin glowed orange with pride.

Praxis and the Wise Old Pixie are the only pixies whose skin changes colour according to their moods. When he was small, the Wise Old Pixie used to be just like Praxis, with his skin changing colour sometimes so rapidly that it made people dizzy to look at him. But as he grew older and wiser and learned to love other people, all his colours began to blend so that now he was usually pure white.

Just at the moment though, the Wise Old Pixie was not quite as radiant as usual. His white skin had a shadow. "Praxis, tell me. What did the elves do that demanded such drastic action?"

Praxis grinned, and a malicious green gleam began to tint his skin. "They have no right to come into our glen," he declared. "They don't belong here. And they kept pointing at us and looking."

"Looking?"

"You know, nasty looks. Dirty looks. Laughing at us behind our backs. That sort of thing."

"I see. You didn't like the way they were looking at you, so you chased them away? How many of you?"

Praxis thought. "About twenty. All of us pixie children. We all joined in. Every one of us helped."

"And how many elves were there, laughing at you and pointing and looking and trespassing in our glen?"

"Six or seven, I think," Praxis said, with a little less certainty.

The Wise Old Pixie sighed. "And are you aware of the outcome of your actions, Praxis?"

"What?" Praxis wasn't sure what he meant.

"What is the result of what you did?"

Praxis' eyebrows lifted in surprise. "I already told you. We got rid of them. They won't be back."

"No," agreed the Wise Old Pixie. "But their elders will. I've already been told that a band of one hundred elves is gathering, armed with bows and arrows and slingshots. They are going to march on our pixie village. Pixie people will be hurt?\and the elves might destroy us altogether."

Praxis gasped. The colour drained from his skin and he turned a sickly yellow as he began to feel very afraid. "We can stop them, can't we?"

"Perhaps," said the Wise Old Pixie, "but if too arm ourselves and march against them, many pixies and many elves will be hurt. Some may be killed. And it might go on for years, us hurting them and them hurting us back. There may be no end to it. Our peace may disappear forever. Do you want that to happen?"

Praxis shook his head. "Of course not! But we had to show them, didn't we?"

"Do you think there might have been a different way of sorting things out, Praxis?"

"Well, I?\I'm not sure." Then he added in a small voice, "I suppose we could have talked to them, couldn't we? Found out what they were like and maybe played games with them?"

The Wise Old Pixie nodded. "And that's exactly what I'm going to do. I'm going now to the elves' village, to talk to them and see whether we can't all be friends. Do you want to come with me, Praxis?"

After a moment, Praxis nodded. He knew he would have to say sorry to those elves, and he didn't much fancy it. But if it that's what it took to regain peace for his village, he knew he would have to do it. And with the Old Wise Pixie holding his hand, he thought perhaps he could.

With that, they set off together, the Wise Old Pixie and naughty little Praxis. One was a pure and radiant white, and the other was a bright, shocking pink.