The few people there trickled out of the small courtroom that doubled as the church on Sundays.  Anette dodged past the small town lawyers and police men, catching Erik’s elbow.  He turned at her touch, near colorless grey eyes widening a little in surprise.  She caught his face between her hands and he smiled down at her.  Closing her eyes, she breathed in the clean scent of him as he bowed his head, one hand resting on her cheek briefly as their foreheads touched.  He smelled like disturbed earth after a cool spring rain, and she could almost imagine the breeze.  It was like so many times before, so many memories. 

            She remembered everything, and the images came in a rush, as if a picture book of her life was flipped through backwards until landing on the last image which in this case, was really her first memory.  Her first memory of this, and her first really clear memory.  Anette had been four years old, and it was night.  The full moon was rising, and she’d wandered out to see it, sliding out of the nest of blankets that was her bed to creep past her sleeping parents’ bedroom.  The last of winter was fading away, she could smell it in the air.  Dark, velvety clouds scudded across the sky, throwing ephemeral shadows over the dark, moist earth.

            The stars were blotted out and she scuffed a bare foot through the dirt, squatting down when she saw that she’d unearthed a worm in the light of the moon.  Her oversized nightshirt pooled over her feet as she scooped up the worm and a handful of dirt with a delighted giggle. 

            “You’re scaring him, you know.”  Anette peered up at the figure sillougheted against the moon above her, smile faltering. 

            “Really?”  Worriedly, she gently put the worm down.  The man knelt down next to her, carefully mounding a little loose earth over it.  She watched his hands curiously- she’d never seen hands like that before.  Fingers so long and thin, almost painfully straight except for his pinkies which were crooked unnaturally.  One of those fascinating hands lifted and brushed back the volumous hood of his cloak, revealing a sharp featured face crowned by copper red hair pulled back tightly.  “I’m Anette.”

            “I know, sweetling.  I’ve come to take you away.  Is that alright?”  He sounded sad, even as he offered her his hand.  She watched him soberly, little hands clasped in front of her now, dark eyes wide and solemn.

            “Forever?”  He nodded.  “Why?” 

            “I can’t tell you now.  Please come?”  He pleaded, glancing over his shoulder back towards her small house.  No sound, no movement, her parents blissfully unaware of her absence.  Finally, Anette nodded and placed on of her small hands in his.

            “Alright.”  As soon as the word left her mouth she was off the ground, cradled in the stranger’s arms.  There was a sense of movement, but not the normal running motion she was used to.  With a frightened squeak, she squeezed her eyes closed, and buried her hands in his shirt.  It was the softest fabric she’d ever felt, even softer than her mother’s old down quilt.  And suddenly, cradled there against his chest, it no longer felt like spring on the verge of winter.  It was more like spring pouring itself into summer, bursting with life, warm and rich and beautiful.