> She was alone in the ramshackle hut having a difficult birth, the last survivor of a caravan. Fortunately for her, the family of Brauniin heard her cries, and came to this woman in her hour of need. -- Anon Guest
The house barely had a roof left, more weeds and leaf litter than true thatch, nevertheless, it counted as a house. The Hidden Ones lingered there. A house wants its Faekindred. Brauniin or Nisse, some waited for the ruin to be a home again. Homes were where they did their best work.
There was no door. There were no windows. There was barely a hearth remaining in the ruin. Yet a stranger came to it in the midst of a wild storm. She used the door, more to keep her upright as she staggered to the vain shelter that the remains of the roof could provide. She was laboring, exhausted, and travelworn. Inches from her own demise.
If nobody acted, she could die. And yet... both Brauniin and Nisse prided themselves on remaining hidden. They had to make a choice.
"Breathe," whispered the Nisse, shaping the sound of the storm so they could be heard.
The Brauniin poked and prodded her into a better position. Some cast a little spell to give her strength. They made her resting place clean. One helped burst the amniotic sac that had been giving the woman so much trouble.
In amongst the howl of the wind and the roar of the thunder, one human voice in agony and pain was joined by another, brand new throat, complaining about its circumstances. Then... two.
There was soft, fragrant moss for her to lie on. A sudden blanket draped over her and her new little ones. There was soft music, and a fire in the remnants of the hearth.
The Nisse and the Brauniin exchanged looks. They were meant to help in houses, but this place was _barely_ a house. A Human who had just birthed could _not_ make this ruin into a home. She needed more help than most expected of household helpers.
Humans, and other creatures, built. The Nisse crept in by the forgotten spaces, and the Brauniin did little helpful things. They _cohabited_. They didn't build. Yet.
A younger Brauniin, who called hirself Switch, picked up a fallen stone from a crumbled wall and said, "It's helpful to make sure the walls are strong, and will shelter them from the weather."
The elder of the Brauniin, named Eaves, nodded and said, "So long as we are not seen, all is good."
When Willow awoke, there was more roof. There was more of the walls. There were sheets of bark that could do the work of shutters or a door. There were more walls standing than there had been when the storm began. There was even more roof. And branches of fruit and berries that 'accidentally' fell within reach of her bed.
There was no way in the world that it just happened like that. "Thank you, goodfolk," she said to the apparently thin air. "I will be needing a lot more than this generosity and this night. I will repay you as best I can when I have the capability."
There is a little cottage in the middle of nowhere, fully restored to its former glory. There is a tiny family, there. A mother named Willow and her twin children Sol and Luna. They make little things. Things to fit far, _far_ smaller bodies than their own. They leave offerings of milk and honey coloured yellow with marigold. All for the fair folk who helped them survive a cruel night.
Some say Willow is a witch. Some say Sol and Luna are sorcerers or warlocks. Some say that the little house and the woods around it are _infested_ with the Hidden Ones.
Some people will say anything.
[Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@perspektive?utm_content=creditCopyText&utm_medium=referral&utm_source=unsplash">Julian Nortoft</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/a-stone-house-in-the-woods-kODFkzBVMNQ?utm_content=creditCopyText&utm_medium=referral&utm_source=unsplash">Unsplash</a>]
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