Stort Stories

The Song of the Trees

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The Writer's Cramp - Poetry Week  (13+) Write the best poem in 24 hours or less and win 10K GPS!

1000 word - Fantasy Setting, Forbidden Forest, Full Moon

The witching hour – that time of night just after midnight is my favourite. It is when the darkness is at its thickest and wraps around everything like a warm blanket. Smothering the waning light. It is when predators come out to play. And that is what I am tonight. Cruel and dark. And dedicated to my mission.

April’s pink moon hangs high in the sky, marking the beginning of springtime, and baths the forbidden forest in a cool, silvery light that breaks through the burgeoning canopy giving everything a mystical edge.

The nightly chorus of nightjars, mockingbirds, and the occasional robin echo through the trees, carrying their songs far and wide. It’s a good sign.

I have been perched high in an old oak tree since dusk, biding my time. My lithe body is wound tight. A chill set in about an hour ago, but it hasn’t yet reached by bones. Bless Circe for small blessings. The leather from my vest keeps the wind off my chest. The thick pair of woollen trousers, and my tunic and calf wraps help to keep the cold at bay.

“Come on, come on.” I mutter to myself.

I know the chances of me catching a glimpse of the silver hare is a long shot. The ground beneath me is overgrown, hiding the game pathways craved by fallow deer and wild boar. But I have tracked its spoor to this trail.

A twig snaps below. A soft rustling of fern leaves follows. Something small. I hold my breath.

Two long silver ears breach the top of the undergrowth briefly before disappearing back into the foliage. It’s enough to get me moving.

I drop to the ground and lower myself to a crouch. The soft earth absorbing my impact silently. I dare not move. I can hear it close by. It’s not fleeing. Another good sign.

It leaps forward on the path in front of me and rears tall on it hind legs. Its black eyes fixed on mine. Its nose twitching, sniffing the air to decern if I’m a threat. The silver of its coat seems the glow iridescent.

It turns and runs. Its powerful hind legs pushing off the ground, propelling it forward as is bounds over the tree roots that litter the trail.

“Crap,” I breath out as I give chase.

My lungs ache and my legs burn as I desperately try to keep pace. My momentum keeps me upright, moving forward. My feet doing their best to avoid the footholds and loose bracken that threaten to trip me. Thin branches whip against my face as I run. Cuts sting my cheeks, and blood warms my skin. My mother is going to be so angry.

Her voice reprimands me in my head, “This isn’t how young ladies behave Wren.” I can’t help the smirk that graces my face at that thought.

The trees are dense in this part of the forest. Tall and unforgiving. A wall of hard bark tears at my sleaves as I ricochet off it. More bruises.

I skid to a stop as the path widens, falling over my feet and landing in an ungraceful heap of flesh and bones. It opens into a large circle of moss, edged with white capped mushrooms. It’s the fairy circle. And at its centre lies the hare. I sigh in relief.

I approach the circle’s edge slowly, careful not to break its perimeter. If I enter it now, I will be trapped. Just like Cassandra. I cannot afford to make mistakes now that I am so close to getting her back.

That night has haunted me for the past twelve months. We should have been more cautious, but we were naïve; believing they were just stories to keep children out on the woods on a full moon. Cassandra and I had followed the wisps as they lit the path away from the village into the meadow and she had walked straight into the centre of the circle. The moment she passed the mushroom boundary she disappeared. I was left standing alone, screaming her name. The sound of laughter resonating on the breeze.

The air is silent now. The breeze still.

Putting one foot in front of the other I begin to run. With each circumference of the circle the dancing and frolicking of the fairies becomes louder. On the ninth turn I step in to circle and approach the hare. Bending down to pick it up and clutch it to my chest.

The fairy chatter grows louder.

“You shouldn’t have come here mortal,” a lyric voice says. “How dare you enter our circle and take what’s our.”

“Please, I only came for my sister.” I beg. “You took her and I want her back.”

“What makes you think you can ask anything of us?” another voice chastises.

“Stupid mortals, always stepping where they should not tread.”

“Your sister is ours now. You cannot have her back.”

“No,” I say firmly, “You cannot deny my request.”

“Do not tell us what we can or cannot do child.”

I draw the iron dagger from its sheath and slice my palm.

“Blood has been shed in this circle. My Blood. Blood that I share with her. Your magic can not hold her past this night.”

“You dare to bring iron into our home” rage the Faries in unison.

I raise the dagger and swiftly plunge it into the hare’s rump, burying it deep within its flesh. It screeches in pain.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper to the frightened creature.

I kneel down and place the injured animal on the ground. The blood seeps into the dirt beneath it. My fingers stroke through its soft pelt and its breath becomes shallow.

“Please,” I breathe and close my eyes in prayer.

The rays of the full moon envelop us both, cocooning us in a warm, bright light. Fur becomes flesh. Limbs lengthen as bones are broken and reformed.

“You came back for me,” Cassandra gasps.

“Always,” I reply.