Balloons

The town pulsed with the heartbeat of spring, fresh and vibrant and alive.

The festival that marked the advent of spring was in full force, and half the magical world, it seemed, had arrived at the village to partake in the festivities.

The marketplaces and shops were bustling with business as children dragged hapless but merry and willing parents from one purchase and amusement to another.

In the corner, away from the busy line of shops, stood a haggard, older man selling balloons, hundreds of them, tied securely to his small cart. Poor he may have been, but poverty did not preclude shrewdness, and the man knew how to sell. Taking two balloons, one of a unicorn and another of a puffskein, he released them, and as they rose into the air, he allowed himself a self-satisfied smile as the children rushed forth and surrounded him, holding their money high. He earned plenty of money, and even obliged his young crowd by again releasing two more balloons, this time a witch and a wizard, and watched as they too rose high into the clouds.

Some time later, when the children had left for another spectacle that had amused their short-lived attention spans, the balloon seller jingled his fattened money purse happily as he tied down the only balloon that had not sold. As he started to count his money, a movement from the corner of his eye made him look up. There, away from main body of celebrators, stood a young boy, watching him intently. The man scowled irritably, and continued to count his money.

When he completed the task, he looked up to find the boy still there, still regarding him carefully with light brown eyes. Before the man could open his mouth to shoo the child away with a few harsh words, the child took a few tentative steps towards him.

With one more timid glance at the balloon seller, the boy pointed at the last balloon left, the only one that had not been sold. "That one, sir," he said softly, a trace of unidentifiable emotion in his voice. "I...I have no money, but if there were some way...some way I could....see it go...."

The balloon seller looked at his unsold balloon, and looked back again at the young boy. A shiver of understanding spliced through him, and with deft fingers, he untied it from his cart.

"You see, kid," said the seller, looking at the child with an expression of intermingled sadness and understanding. "It ain t the shape or size o' the thing that matters."

He opened his fingers, and both watched as the werewolf rose high into the sky, just as all the others had.

"It's what's inside that makes it rise."