Bellamy smiled at Darrow's assessment. A fairy glen seemed the perfect description for it. Unlike pixies, fairies had a reputation for serenity and beauty, and Bell associated both with this location. And with Alistair Darrow a little bit, too. He watched the man choose a good location and dropped to a sitting position in the grass himself. "Perfect," he pronounced. His smile was lazy but his eyes were quick and bright. He pulled a long piece of grass out of the ground and rolled it into a loose ball. He moved it idly between his fingers and his palms while he watched the speckled sunlight move across Alistair's curls. There were birds chirping in the trees nearby, the last hangers-on before their species fled for the winter.

"This is a good birthday," he observed after several moments of quiet. He tossed the ball of grass in Darrow's direction, but it unfurled and fell to the ground far short of its target. "Let's go swimming."

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