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t when Star beats me to it. He gets up and stands behind Bridge putting his arms around him. I can believe you’re a changeling, Bridge. There’s something so special about you it has to be magical. You cast a spell over everyone who comes anywhere near you. No one can help but smile when you’re smiling, to laugh when you’re laughing or to cry when you’re sad. You’re a walking love spell and the mo

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st beautiful creature I’ve ever set eyes on. Yep… you are definitely some creation of magic and mystery. But I can tell you something. What? Bridge murmurs dreamily, his voice betraying the emotion that’s always so close to the surface. If someone did give you away, they must be touched in the head and they’d be kicking themselves silly if they could see you now. In the silence, I can hear B

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ridge smile. Somewhere birds begin to sing as the sun sets. I have heard twilight called the time between times and that is nowhere more evident than here, in the place between places. The lawn stretches out towards the hedge marking the beginning of the formal garden. It is a wide, flat stretch of velvet that catches the last of the light making a carpet of stars that mirrors those lighting t

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he sky above. Gently, Bridge disentangles himself from Star and Sacha and walks down the steps onto the lawn. He is moving strangely, as if he is in a trance, mesmerised by the moonlight. I have heard it called moongazy. There is something almost holy in the silence he wraps around himself and no one makes a move to stop or follow him. When he reaches the middle of the lawn, Bridge starts to d

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ance and there is no longer a shred of doubt in my mind that he is fey. After a very short time, he pauses to strip off his clothes and dances naked in the twilight. I join Sacha and Star to watch him. He is unaware, his face lit up and ecstatic. He’s beautiful. Do you think he really is a faery? Sacha asks. What do you think? I think he must be. I think you’re right. Star remains silent, star

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ing at the pale, slender figure who leaps and spins, his face uplifted to the sky. What do you think ,Star? I think… he says in a distracted way. I think… Then suddenly he grins and runs for the steps, discarding his clothes as he does do. If Bridge was an insubstantial figure, fading into the twilight, Star is a candle flame, burning away the darkness. Together, they are perfect; yin and

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yang, dark and pale, positive and negative and their dance is one of magic and mystery. With more and more complexity they weave an intricate dance of carefully contained abandonment, faster and faster until it is difficult to see where one ends and the other begins. Sacha and I watch in wonderment and awe. Would you like to join them? I’d like to but I’ve no illusions I could. I know what you

mean. This is their dance. At last the spell breaks and they stand still, panting and laughing, embracing each other in the centre of a pool of moonlight. Even the birds have stopped singing and there is a hush over everything, as if the world is holding its breath. They turn and begin to walk back. Star has his arm around Bridge’s shoulders and Bridge has his around Star’s waist. Their faces

are turned towards each other, lit by a magical half light that makes their features blur and dace so they look more fey than human and yet… and yet with Star that feyness is more… fierce. I can see the dragon in him now too, its shadow hovers over him as they walk, fire sparking from his eyes and sparks dancing in his hair. What’s that? Sacha asks, more than a little alarm in his voice.

What’s what? There’s a… It’s like a shadow over Star. It’s making sparks, making his eyes glow. It… it’s scary. Star is a dragon. He doesn’t know it yet but the spirit is strong in him. A dragon? Sacha laughs. If you’d told me that before I saw the dance perhaps I wouldn’t have believed you. And now? How can I deny truth I’ve seen with my own eyes? The two boys reach the bottom step and Br

idge bounds up them, light spilling from his eyes. It’s a beautiful night. There’s magic everywhere. Come dance with me, Luma. I think you’ve danced enough for one night. You’ll wear yourself out and you don’t have enough energy to spare. Please, Luma, he begs. It doesn’t have to be like that. I’ll be gentle with you, I promise. Eat your supper and I’ll think about it. Oh please, Luma, stop being such a mother hen. Please… just one little dance. When he is looking at me with that look in his beautiful eyes, how can I say no

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