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Summary
He finds Neil curled up under the willow by the fairy circle, all but dead to the world. He’s almost impossible to pick out at a distance, his freckled, downy fur camouflaging him perfectly against the tree trunk. His antlers curve elegantly up and out like branches, velvet and heather-soft. Andrew reaches out to flick one of Neil’s ears, which twitches back and forth like butterfly wings as he is roused from sleep. His fae-blue eyes crinkle into a smile as he sees Andrew standing over him.
“Happy winter solstice.”
Andrew responds by dropping Neil’s outfit for the evening in his lap. “Festivities start at sundown.”
Neil stretches, the thin layer of fur on his arms ruffling as he cracks his back. “Wha’as this?” he asks, voice still muddy from sleep.
“Tradition,” Andrew replies. Neil hooks a finger through one of the straps and lets the outfit – although outfit is a generous term – tumble out in a jangle of buckles and strips of leather.