It was the morning of the next day and Luca trudged along the village pathway, the morning sun warm on his shoulders.
He had barely made it ten steps before he encountered the first elf of the day—a young elf carrying a basket of herbs, humming softly to herself.
When she saw him, her face lit up with her usual cheerful greeting.
"Good morning, He—!"
Then she saw his face.
Her mouth froze mid-smile. Her eyes shimmered in disbelief. Her basket tilted dangerously as her hands flew to cover her mouth, stifling what was obviously a desperate urge to burst out laughing.
"G-Good morning..."
She squeaked, before scurrying past him, her shoulders shaking with suppressed giggles.
Luca sighed.
He continued walking, and the scene repeated itself. Again. And again. And again.
Elves who had just woken up and were stretching outside their homes would spot him, their faces cycling through confusion, shock, and barely concealed amusement in the span of seconds.
