A half-breed hidden deep within the thicket. Aspen, the child of a human and a fae, the bond of worlds that were to never be reunited. The world of the woods he once knew would soon grow much larger than anticipated. Will Aspen welcome the change of...
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A creature mixed of two worlds, intertwining fate like vines of ivy climbing the trunk of an old elm tree. The world of man, industrial craftsmen born of the struggle for the lack of magical capability. And the world of fae, creatures of the woods, and tricksters of nature blessed with characteristics worthy of wielding magic. The species greatly contrasted, yet the young boy was born creating a bond of secrecy that would be hidden deep within the thicket.
The young boy found himself yet again in the field of dandelion wisps. The fuzzy of the weeds tickled his ears, the same ears that could be recognized on a fawn. His hooved feet slid across flat rocks, as he balanced baskets upon baskets of fruits. He was practically skipping with the spring's fulfilling harvest. With the absence of any market, Aspen never had before seen pure sugar. But there was no need for it anyway, the sweet labor of nature was the purest form of delight for him- red delicious, honey crisps, yellow pairs, and varieties of vibrant berries practically spilled out of the weaved basket in his grip.
As the young half-fae made his way up the hill, he could make of the distant shape of the cottage, so neatly nestled in the towering trees and blankets of moss most would pass by it without even a blink. Aspen balanced the basket in his palm, holding the tight between his elbow and chest as he yanked up the strap of olive green overalls. Fishing out the ring of brass keys from the pants pocket.
At last, reaching the spruce door of his home, Aspen shoved the key into the hole, turning the piece of metal till a soft click was made. He kicked the slightly ajar door open with the base of his hoof, the wooden door ricocheting off the wall decorated in damaged floral wallpaper. His hooves gently clopped against the wooden floor, leaning his back on the door until, clack, and it was closed. With the loud thud, that echoed off the walls in the lengthy hallway, Aspen dropped the stacked basket. Giving his arms a good stretch after being relieved of such weight, He made his way down the hall, giving his routinely wave to the long once faded portrait of his father.
The frame browned around the edges, and peeling paint gave an almost ancient feeling to the artwork. All the decorative objects in the cottage had a feeling of longing and nostalgia. Aspen often found himself drifting from reality to the world in the paintings. Knock, knock, knock. The sound had awakened Aspen out of the trance, his head shooting to the direction of the door, and his ears raised like a deer after a twig snapped. His heart was beating as fast a beat of a hummingbird's wing. How, who, why- questions flooded Aspen's brain he stood locked into place as the knocking continued. No, no, no... Not now, this can't be-
