William stared stupidly at the little faerie creature.

"That's a what?" He squeaked.

"A sprite, silly," Tamara chimed back. "Isn't it beautiful?"

"Beautiful?" William blustered. "I think not. Frightening more like it. Are you sure it's not some kind of bizarre, exotic bird?"

The sprite had regained consciousness and now at this criticism she sat up and stuck her tongue out at William.

"I am not a bird!" The sprite's voice was squeaky and shrill. It flew up into the air, its tiny, colourful wings beating like a hummingbird's, and tried to escape through the carriage window.