“Don’t give up,” Sissy said. She held out her offering to the old forest god, a part of her trembling inside, both in fear and anticipation. Every day, she’d come to encourage the god, to remind him that there were still people who not only believed, but needed for him to be real. He didn’t reach out and accept her gift, he never did, but Sissy bent down and placed the flower on the alter between his legs.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” she promised, and then she hopped down and skipped off through the cold, wet grass, occasionally kicking melted chunks of snow and watching them skid through the wakening blades.
