If there was anything off about Mable’s demeanor, Malachi did not appear to notice. It did not even strike him as something to watch for – he just saw that she was cold, while he was a bit warmer.

“A fairy?” the priest inquired, smiling all the while. That was not one he heard often. If anything, he was meant to guide children away from such fantasies. It was not good for one’s spiritual health to play into the make-believe, but then, why did it really matter? If it amused them, and made them happier for it, then he did not see the issue.

If God was all-powerful, then no make-believe creatures could threaten that.

He felt an arm snake out from between them to hold onto him. Wished again that he had some sort of towel to wrap around her like a warm, fluffy cocoon.

The only holes he had ever dug had been graves. He supposed that, if he’d climbed down into them, they would have been just deep enough that he’d have had to stand on his toes to see out.

“Ah? I noticed those,” Malachi said in regards to the pebbles, “I’d say you managed it. It looked like a boulder to me. Or… a cat curled up in a ball.”

That was a bit of a stretch, but it wasn’t untrue. The shape had been there.

They passed by darkened buildings and alleys, and as they gradually got closer to the hotel, he could see the faint flicker of candles in the occasional window as they walked by.

“I think the local fishermen would be upset if we built a dam, but maybe… we can build our own little creek instead. On the beach,” he suggested. “And we’d be digging too.”