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Strange Relations

The silence of the cold, damp forest was ripped apart by a scream.  It was a woman’s scream and it came from an old log cabin in a clearing near the edge of the trees.  Nearby were a lake and a path that led into the nearest town. 
The log cabin had sprung a leak in its roof.  A simple tin bucket had been placed underneath to catch the raindrops.  Nevertheless the inside of the home was also quite damp and very cold.  Midwinter was past and the snows were thawing, bringing floods and washing away the debris from the forest.
Another scream resounded through the air.  A woman sat on a large bed.  The mattress was made of straw and the blanket was thin.  Yet it was not these factors that caused her discomfort.  Rather it was the fact that she was giving birth to her first baby.
There was no doctor, no mid-wife to help her through the ordeal.  She had just her loyal husband to nurse her through the night.

“Don’t give up now, Mina,” encouraged her husband.
The lengthy childbirth was almost at an end. 
Again a scream tore through the air.  And abruptly the birth of the child was over.  A new scream rent the air as the baby took his first breath.
“A son! Mina! You have given me the son I have dreamed of all my life!”  The new father almost danced with joy.  He set about severing the chord that linked the mother and child. 
As soon as the afterbirth was finished he placed the child in his mother’s arms.  She cooed and rocked her babe in the crook of her arms. 
“He is so beautiful,” she whispered, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.
The baby had startlingly green eyes and a seemingly perceptive gaze.  The two parents knew they would be happy for the rest of their lives.

“Gerhart it is time for your feeding,” whispered Mina as she moved towards her baby’s cot.  The shuttered window lay open beside it.  It was a warm day, unusual for Eastern Europe, and the newborn had been uncomfortably warm in the folds of his rough woollen blankets.
She began to unlace the bodice of her simple dress to feed her child.  Mina peered into the cot.
She gave a shriek of terror and jerked away.

Hans heard his wife’s cry and dropped the log he was carrying.  He raced inside to find her sobbing, seated in a chair at the table. 
“What is the matter?” he asked, anxiety covering his face.
She gave no intelligible answer but pointed to the cot as she wailed. 
A wave of pure dread washed through Hans’ heart as he walked over to the cot.
The babe lying swaddled in blankets had green skin, curly dark green locks and startlingly green eyes.
“Our baby is a special child Mina.  Nothing to be worried about.”
“What do you mean?” she sobbed.
“I have heard talk of them in town on market day.  They are called…mutants! 
There was one last year in town.  A girl they said.  They said she could fly!  The government came and took her away shortly after it was discovered.  We must not let that happen to Gerhart!”
“I want nothing to do with such a monster!” Mina yelled.  “This foul abomination did not spring from my womb!  The babe you call ‘son’ is a Changeling baby.  The fairy folk from the forest came and stole Gerhart away!  They left one of their own miserable runts in return!  I shall not love nor care for this child!”

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The years passed and young Gerhart grew.  At first his life was hard with no milk from his mother.  Hans boiled cow’s milk but it often made him sick.  He was always small and thin yet never fell ill.  His father would always say that it was because he had had his fair share of illness as a babe-in-arms.  He explained his height by saying his frail baby body had been stunted by the lack of milk.  But he would never blame his wife Mina. 
Although Hans and Mina still tried for a baby they were never successful.  To be honest Hans was happy with the child he had been given, even if Gerhart was a little different from normal children. 


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Thirteen Years Later


Gerhart sat staring at a small bird on his windowsill.  He was supposed to be studying.  His father had bought him a new book from town.  Although he could not read all of it his father had made sure that it had plenty of illustrations.  His father had only been able to teach him the little he knew of reading.  Hans had never learned much reading and was unable to write at all.
Gerhart had taught himself to write all the letters he knew and several words.  He enjoyed his work and usually applied himself to it enthusiastically but today something tugged at the back of his mind, diverting his concentration.
“How I would love to fly like the little birdie,” he mused to himself.
A tingling sensation filled his body and before he knew it he was the same size as the little bird.  He tried to move his arms but discovered that they had become wings. 
With a little noise of delighted birdsong he took off.  The little bird joined him, the pair delighting in the freedom of flight. 

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“Mina, Gerhart! I’m home!” cried Hans.  He had ventured into town and now had brought back gifts for each.  He had three coloured ribbons for Mina’s hair and a new mangle.  For Gerhart he had bought a sketchbook and charcoal pencils. 
Mina was sitting at the little desk by the window that Hans had fashioned for Gerhart to study at.
“He left us,” whispered Mina.  Her voice was barely audible.
Hans moved forward a concerned look spread over his face. 
“H…he has flown away like a little bird.  He has left us forever.”  She stood up and turned to Hans.  Breaking down in tears she buried her face in Hans’ shoulder.
“Oh Hans!  What have I done?” she sobbed.  “I have driven our son away!”
Hans found himself unable to comfort his grieving wife.  A strange coldness had settled on his heart and it would not leave…