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Short Story : ' The Boy Choked Out '

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Moments later, a gentle hand rested upon the boy’s shoulder, and he flinched instinctively. The naiad’s soft, cooing voice was like the burbling of a playful brook as she spoke to him. “Pardon me, dear, but are you alright?” “T-There is no time to explain,” the boy choked out. “The d-dryads’ homes are on fire, they n-need help!”
There was a quiet gasp, and then the comforting hand on his shoulder was gone. For a moment the boy was worried that his plea had fallen on deaf ears, that the naiads would ignore him and let the dryads combat the flames on their own. The frigid air was filled with a long suffering pause as the runaway knelt in the damp grass, chest stuttering and heaving to expel the last of the fumes from his lungs. Within the heavy silence his trepidation and anxiety began to brew like a thunderstorm, growing with each panicked gasp as he sat with his head bowed into the dew-slicked grass.
Then, like the first drop of rain disturbing the surface of a still pool, the river rippled quietly as other naiads began to emerge from it. There was a low gurgle as they dipped heavy jugs into the clear surface to draw up the clean river water, and then just as quickly as they had appeared, they swiftly ran in the direction he had come from. As curious as he was to see the naiads, the modest boy shyly kept his head down to avoid staring.
Eventually, when the last soft footfalls had faded away, he tentatively lifted his head and pried open his searing eyes. Despite the cool,

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