Ralph and the Pixie

‘Speaking of problems,’ said Ralph, ‘what about you? You’ve been pretty moody lately.’

Malina shrugged. ‘It’s hard coming back here to my world. Pran was right; I’m not like the other Pixies any more. It’s like remembering your childhood, but not being a child any more.’

‘That,’ Ralph told her, ‘is just part of growing up.’ In the dim light of the lantern which hung from the centre-pole, he could tell that she was not convinced of this; her visage was troubled, as though she were being forced to confront realizations that were painful to her.

‘It is not as simple as that,’ she told him, getting beneath her blankets, head propped up on one elbow. ‘It isn’t just that I’m growing. The truth is that I’m changing. And not just physically,’ she blurted, blushing, referring to an earlier observation by Deborah that Malina had put on just the right amount of weight in all the right places, where before she had been such a skinny little thing. It had been at that time that she finally understood the appraising way in which men stared at her, and she had been mortified, though strangely and confusingly pleased at the same time.