away from her mouth. The shower rained on for several minutes, shocking her mind beyond recall. As she blinked through the film of water, she realized the source of her wet awakening was a thin little pixie of a man propelled by long, but skinny legs. He raced around her and sprayed off her lap before tending to her back. She tried to focus on him, and wondered if he wasn’t some hallucination or dream.
He paused, the water leaking out of his hose until it dribbled into a puddle in front of her. Meredith reached outward, sure that her hand would go right through the strange being in front of her, but he leaped backward in fear, crying out, “What’s it doing, milord?”
He was remarkable to behold, she realized, with a long face and sharp nose. His round, hazel eyes reminded her of stone under water. His silver hair was plaited in one long strand that fell down the length of his back and hung beside a small quiver of quail feather tipped arrows.
It startled her to note that he was naked, save for the ash leaf belt that hung about his waist.
Laughter, rich and sweet as molten honey, sounded behind her, and Meredith turned her head toward the sound, then darted her gaze back to the small man with the hose.
“It looks as though she’s coming around.”
Clean droplets of water dripped from the length of her lashes. She was still stunned, and wary, but took strange comfort when his hand met with her shoulder.
“Do you understand me?” He spoke in slow, deliberate tones.
Meredith lifted her cold hands to rub at bleary eyes.
In the same thoughtful tone, he went on to ask, “You’re from the Upland, aren’t you?” He pointed toward the sky, and Meredith followed the tip of his finger. “Could you tell me your name?”
Meredith’s eyes wavered between clarity and hazy blur. Beyond the small man with the hose she watched the lanterns sway, bathing them all in a sickly hue. She lifted her face, her gaze immediately trapped by the otherworldly green of his eyes. Head tilted, a thick lock of hair the color of oak bark fell across his olive-toned forehead, but did not disguise his curious, exotic stare. He wore a strange crown of golden oak leaves intertwined with silver maple, but the greatest surprise was the bud of antlers, like those on a young stag, sprouting from each side of that crown.
He cocked his head further, and in the silence they contemplated one another. Meredith felt no threat or fear in his company, but a great sense of serenity and security.
He was familiar to her, as though she had known him all her life, had heard the honey of his laughter, felt the warmth of his breath on her face. She did not need to be near him to know he smelled strongly of earth and wood—like the forest after a spring rain.
“Perhaps it does not speak,” the pixie mused.
“She speaks,” the green one replied. “She simply chooses not to at the moment.”
“You think her bewitched, milord?”
His soulful eyes shimmered as his mouth drew into grin, “My guess is she understands us perfectly well, but knows not quite what to make of us.”
Meredith looked between them and waited for the pixie’s reply, but the slender little thing only crossed his arms atop his belly and leaned in to further inspect her with wide, dark eyes.
“You don’t suppose she's affrighted?”
The stag-man stood up and Meredith focused on him in his entirety. He appeared human enough in body, save for the greenish hue to his flesh, which moments earlier she had attributed to the lights, but was surprised to find this coloring was natural. There were also the antlers, which made him everything but human, and Meredith didn’t know what to think.
He leaned toward her and with a mischievous grin asked, “Would you say you are affrighted, milady?”
The spiraling sickness from the poison fruit made this very extraordinary scene before her seem absurd, and though she couldn’t be wholly certain, she was almost positive she was dreaming.
He paused, the water leaking out of his hose until it dribbled into a puddle in front of her. Meredith reached outward, sure that her hand would go right through the strange being in front of her, but he leaped backward in fear, crying out, “What’s it doing, milord?”
He was remarkable to behold, she realized, with a long face and sharp nose. His round, hazel eyes reminded her of stone under water. His silver hair was plaited in one long strand that fell down the length of his back and hung beside a small quiver of quail feather tipped arrows.
It startled her to note that he was naked, save for the ash leaf belt that hung about his waist.
Laughter, rich and sweet as molten honey, sounded behind her, and Meredith turned her head toward the sound, then darted her gaze back to the small man with the hose.
“It looks as though she’s coming around.”
Clean droplets of water dripped from the length of her lashes. She was still stunned, and wary, but took strange comfort when his hand met with her shoulder.
“Do you understand me?” He spoke in slow, deliberate tones.
Meredith lifted her cold hands to rub at bleary eyes.
In the same thoughtful tone, he went on to ask, “You’re from the Upland, aren’t you?” He pointed toward the sky, and Meredith followed the tip of his finger. “Could you tell me your name?”
Meredith’s eyes wavered between clarity and hazy blur. Beyond the small man with the hose she watched the lanterns sway, bathing them all in a sickly hue. She lifted her face, her gaze immediately trapped by the otherworldly green of his eyes. Head tilted, a thick lock of hair the color of oak bark fell across his olive-toned forehead, but did not disguise his curious, exotic stare. He wore a strange crown of golden oak leaves intertwined with silver maple, but the greatest surprise was the bud of antlers, like those on a young stag, sprouting from each side of that crown.
He cocked his head further, and in the silence they contemplated one another. Meredith felt no threat or fear in his company, but a great sense of serenity and security.
He was familiar to her, as though she had known him all her life, had heard the honey of his laughter, felt the warmth of his breath on her face. She did not need to be near him to know he smelled strongly of earth and wood—like the forest after a spring rain.
“Perhaps it does not speak,” the pixie mused.
“She speaks,” the green one replied. “She simply chooses not to at the moment.”
“You think her bewitched, milord?”
His soulful eyes shimmered as his mouth drew into grin, “My guess is she understands us perfectly well, but knows not quite what to make of us.”
Meredith looked between them and waited for the pixie’s reply, but the slender little thing only crossed his arms atop his belly and leaned in to further inspect her with wide, dark eyes.
“You don’t suppose she's affrighted?”
The stag-man stood up and Meredith focused on him in his entirety. He appeared human enough in body, save for the greenish hue to his flesh, which moments earlier she had attributed to the lights, but was surprised to find this coloring was natural. There were also the antlers, which made him everything but human, and Meredith didn’t know what to think.
He leaned toward her and with a mischievous grin asked, “Would you say you are affrighted, milady?”
The spiraling sickness from the poison fruit made this very extraordinary scene before her seem absurd, and though she couldn’t be wholly certain, she was almost positive she was dreaming.
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