Music of the Day
Eyes of the Forest by Brandon Fiechter
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CYNTHIA'S heart was pounding. She burst through the tree line north of her cottage, tip toeing closer to her picket fence. As she inched closer to her lattice archway, she took the time to admire the new blooms. Vines had grown through the lattice, braiding themselves in a beautiful design. The new blooms were fresh, they weren't there yesterday. This was definitely the work of Faelynn.
Just as she passed under the archway, the culprit plopped down on her head. His small body latched onto the top of her head, shouting in victory.
"Gotcha!"
Cynthia squealed playfully, throwing herself to the stone path. She pretended to groan in agonizing pain. "Man, down! Man, down!" She reached for Edgar, the culprit, who had jumped off to the path. He stared at her with a bored expression. Her eyes had a misty look to them. She continued in a whisper. "This is it, this is how I die."
"Why are you like this?" Edgar's deep baritone was filled with ironic monotony.
Cynthia feigned a hurt expression, her hand flying over her heart. "I'm playing with you."
Edgar crossed his tiny arms. "You're depressing me."
Edgar's height reached no higher than Cynthia's calf, gnomes only grew to 14 inches tall. His hair and beard were a bright, apple red, disheveled and unkempt. Even though he looked done with her at the moment, his sky blue eyes still twinkled with mischief. He wore a forest green shirt, the fabric tough and worn from years of travel. His brown trousers in the same condition. His most remarkable feature were his suspenders. They were white with orange polka dots. Cynthia had found them in the little boutique in town one of the few times she went there. Edgar hadn't taken them off in two years.
Gnomes are deeply earthy creatures, they inhabit underground- especially in mines or caves- where raw garnet and other gemstones may be. They have a temper, they can be fierce and irate, and should be approached with caution and sincerity.
"Fine, you, party pooper," Cynthia drawled out. "How 'bouts you an' me make some supper?"
Edgar rolled his eyes, leaping up into her arms as she stood from the ground. He nestled in the crook of her elbow, bouncing as she trotted inside.
The cottage was a decent size. The front door was wider than your normal door, made of pine. There was one window, taking up the majority of the top half of the door. Bells hung on the doorknob, jingling loudly as the door was opened and closed. The loud noises keep the negative spirits away. Upon entering the kitchen, there was a small, wooden island that was covered in home grown herbs and flowers. Straight ahead, she had a one compartment sink. There was a small casement window just above the sink, with grill design. It was an extremely old cottage; every hinge squeaked, every floor board creaked. Cynthia turned to the left of the island, pulling the previously thawed chicken from the fridge. Edgar bounded across the island, landing lightly on the window sill. He pushed open the window, signaling to his Fae brethren that it was time to help.
Wisps flew through the window, barreling about the house. As Cynthia was preparing the chicken, she heard a tiny giggle behind her. "Is that Faelynn I hear?"
A tiny pixie flitted into Cynthia's line of sight, she was no taller than two thumbs. She blew at her lilac colored hair, excitement shining in her piercing green eyes. Faeylnn's iridescent, dragonfly wings fluttered. A substance that could only be described as 'pixie dust' fell from her wings. She wore a covering made from tulip petals today; she loved creating clothes out of flowers. She wiggled her pointed ears.
Spontaneous and childlike creatures the pixies are. It's easy to miss their tiny, guile figures bounding among the vegetation. They love to dance and rough play among gardens, encouraging us to grow food, vegetables, herbs and fruit. Pixies can sense, see and hear just about everything. They can sense human emotions, mental energy, and intentions. As well as human thoughts. What you think are your most inner and private thoughts, is like broadcast news to pixies.
"What's for supper tonight?" Faelynn squeaked.
"Chicken stew. Mind getting the cauldron ready?"
Faelynn flitted behind Cynthia, whistling for the fire faeries. Two, red glowing faeries zipped through the open window, headed to the hearth in the far side in the kitchen. Their glowing aura combusted into flames, the logs caught easily. Cynthia owned a stove, of course. She just preferred to use her cauldron for soups and stews. She fetched the chicken stock from the pantry, and snagged a few herbs that grew underneath the window above the sink. Cynthia added the herbs and other seasonings while the chicken steams on the stove.
The stew was almost ready, Cynthia was waiting at the small, round table with some freshly brewed tea. The sun had just set, and she could easily see the thousands of stars that littered the ebony canvas. What she didn't see was a particularly rambunctious fae barreling toward the open window. The little creature's foot caught the sill, sending him tumbling into Cynthia's hanging herbs and pots. Cynthia jolted in her seat, chuckling when she realized who it was. She stood up, making her way toward the rowdy faery.
"What are we going to do with you, Bayard?"
Bayard grinned sheepishly up at her.
Bayard was the same size as Faelynn. This mischievous, capering little risk-taker was a Sweet William faery (formerly known as Brownies). Cynthia had immediately fallen in love with his tiny, precious curls. His hair was vividly blond, shining in such an other-worldly way, Cynthia was entranced for 45 minutes. His unusually beautiful, dark skin complemented his hair wonderfully. He wore a simple shirt with brown trousers, his little hat had fallen over his eyes. Sweet William faeries are our little helpers. You may hear things in the house moving or shifting - that would be a Sweet William trying to help you out while you're asleep. And you may wake up to see a favor that they've done for you. Cynthia loves having Bayard around, she guessed it's as close to having a little boy as she's going to get.
Cynthia reached down and scooped him up, wondering how she was going to coax him into cleaning it up. Bayard looked down, avoiding eye contact. He peeked up through his frustratingly long eyelashes, trying to look as innocent as possible. Which was terrifyingly easy for the Fae.
"You know what? I wanna see how fast you can clean it up. I'll time you!" Cynthia grinned.
Bayard let out an excited squeak, scrambling out of her cupped hands and got to work. It took him no more than one minute; he had fae magic at his finger tips. Cynthia clapped, earning a proud grin from the little rascal. Cynthia went to her bedroom to change into her night gown, throwing on her favorite shawl. It belonged to Alice. She came back to fix herself a bowl, relaxing at her small kitchen table. A soft groaning interrupted her meal, she looked up to see her wooden wall stretching in an unusual way. A figured melded out from the wood, forming into a humanoid shape. The figure was made entirely of bark. A few twigs here and there jutted out, covered in leaves and moss. The figure groaned again, the sound of whistling wind emitted from its aura.
"Hello, Hadassah, " Cynthia greeted softly.
Hadassah was a local Dryad. She had quickly become comfortable with Cynthia, just like the rest of the Fae. The Dryad was silent, barely said anything. When she did speak, you don't really hear a voice. It sounds of light breezes, whispy and soothing. Hadassah respected Cynthia's privacy, weening her exploration to just the main rooms of the house. She never goes into Cynthia's room, except for one time. It was one night that Cynthia had had a nightmare, and Hadassah had been around for just a few months. The dryad feared for the girls safety, and inspected her room that night. Cynthia had been startled awake by the dryad.
"I just had a bad dream. I'm not in danger," Cynthia had explained.
Hadassah nodded slowly, her arms outstretched. The branches slithered out longer, pulling Cynthia in for what she assumed was a comforting hug.
Hadassah acknowledged the greeting and started to glide about the house, humming softly. Dryads are indwelling spirits of trees. They are kind, gentle and grandfatherly/grandmotherly.
Cynthia was rinsing out her bowl when the sudden concern in the Fae hummed all around.
"Lost girl!"
"She's lost! She needs help!"
"She's hurt!"
Cynthia didn't think twice about shoving on her boots and running outside in nothing but her nightgown and shawl. She clamored down her stone path, passing under the arch.
"Show me," she breathed, her breath clearly visible in the September night air.
Wisps appeared to her right, beckoning. She ran after the trail they created. She ran for what seemed like hours, until she came to a circle of wisps. They were hovering around the lost girl. The girl was shivering violently, mumbling something Cynthia couldn't understand. Cynthia rushed to the girls' side, she started to hear her words more clearly.
"He's gone, he's gone."
"Hello? Are you okay?" Cynthia didn't get an answer.
The girl kept chanting the same thing over and over. Cynthia gently put her hand on the girl's shoulder, trying to gain her attention. "Do you have a name?"
The girl groaned. "Bella."
Then, she went back to chanting. Cynthia whispered to the wisps, asking them to carry Bella. They obliged, lifting Bella off the ground easily. Bella's limp body hovered just above the wisps as they carried her back to the cottage. Cynthia inspected the area around them, she had a strange feeling that they were being watched. She followed the wisps back home, glancing behind her.