Rion’s expression softened into a genuine smile. “Of course he can.”
As he crouched down again for the boys, I caught sight of Jeremy’s mother watching from a short distance away. She gave me a small, tentative smile, which I returned gratefully.
“Your boyfriend is very kind,” she said as she approached. “Most adults would have been annoyed by Jeremy’s questions.”
“Rion understands curiosity,” I told her. “He gets a lot of it.”
She nodded. “I can imagine. It’s… it’s good for the boys to learn that differences aren’t something to fear.” She hesitated. “Though I admit, I was surprised at first.”
“Most people are,” I acknowledged. “But he’s just a person, trying to live his life like anyone else.”
She considered this, then extended her hand. “I’m Laura, by the way. Laura Chen.”
“Clara Bellweather.” We shook hands. “And you’ve already met Rion.”
“Mom!” Jeremy called. “Rion says his horns grow like fingernails and he has to polish them! Isn’t that cool?”
“Very cool, honey,” Laura replied, her initial awkwardness giving way to something more genuine. “But I think we should let Rion enjoy the festival now.”
“Okay.” Jeremy looked up at Rion with undisguised admiration. “Will you be at the festival tomorrow too?”
Rion glanced at me, and I nodded encouragingly. “I think I might,” he told Jeremy. “Would you like to say hello if you see me?”
“Yeah!” both boys chorused.
After Laura led the children away, promising them a turn on the small Ferris wheel, Rion straightened and gave me a bemused look. “I appear to have fans.”
“Children recognize genuine kindness,” my mother said, rejoining us after having wandered a short distance to examine a display of handmade soaps. “They’re excellent judges of character.”
“And they haven’t yet learned to fear what’s different,” my father added. “That comes later, from adults.”
“Speaking of,” I said, nodding towards a group approaching us.
Three people were walking purposefully in our direction—a woman with the cat-like reflective eyes I’d noticed earlier, a tall man with what appeared to be small antlers partially concealed by his hair, and another woman whose fingertips seemed to emit a subtle glow when she gestured.
“Mr. Asterion?” The cat-eyed woman spoke first. “I’m Lydia Barnes. I own the bookshop on Maple Street.”
Rion nodded cautiously. “I know it. You have an excellent architecture section.”
She smiled, revealing slightly pointed canines. “Thank you. We… That is, some of us in the community wanted to introduce ourselves properly. Your presence today has been… significant.”
“The community?” I asked, though I already suspected the answer.
“Non-humans,” the man with the antlers clarified quietly. “We’ve maintained a low profile in town for generations. Some of us were born here, others moved here because it’s relatively accepting, as small towns go.”
“I had no idea there were so many of you,” my mother said, her academic interest clearly piqued. “How fascinating.”
The glowing woman laughed softly. “We’re everywhere, Mrs. Bellweather. Your impassioned defense earlier gave many of us the courage to be a little more visible today.”
“Oh.” My mother looked slightly embarrassed. “I was just doing what any decent person would do.”
“Nevertheless,” Lydia said, “it meant something to us. As does your willingness to be seen, Mr. Asterion.”
“Rion, please,” he said, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of their gratitude. “I’m not trying to be any kind of spokesperson or pioneer. I’m just… living my life.”
“Sometimes that’s revolutionary enough,” the antlered man replied with a knowing nod. “Especially for those of us who can’t pass as human, even temporarily.”
A silent understanding passed between them—the shared experience of being visibly “other” in a human-dominated world.
