I wrote this in the summer! I hope you enjoy! I am still working on part 2, it should be finished shortly.
Oh, how the times have changed as I revisit my childhood memories,the Woodlands echoes with thrilling bird songs and tinkling, childish laughter seem more vivid as time passes on. The trees remind me of inspirations I once had, the tough, rough bark, sticky with sap and soft with green, bushy moss. I remember the stories that filled my head, fantasies of a young girl, lulled by adventures and riches from the Good Folk, who are lovely in their otherworldly appearance with mystery tangled in those dark, pitiless eyes.
She left, eyes ablaze with wonder and a slight tremor of fear. What will transpire for the young girl with eyes as big as the moon and iris’s brown with hints of pure gold?
The sun brushes against her cheeks
A scenic environment that should invoke inner peace
As she foolishly gives in to pleasure,
That young people have a tendency to treasure–
Not the pleasure that we think of,
That speaks of passion and love
Absent of the wanton drives
No soft deliberate caresses and fervent cries–
No, it’s the pleasure of life that she obeyed,
To be free of the suffocating norm even for a day.
The young girl followed the Good Folk though the wild green,
Forgetting her family and obligations, like a passing daydream.
-The stroke of the clock is silent, seemingly timeless, in the soothing spring afternoon, wading through the dense grooves.
The wind brushes gently against her revealed flesh–as delicate as a newborns first breathe–the nape of her neck tender from the Sun’s arrogant rays, causing her to almost stumble in a daze.
The Good Folk pause, without any rational clause. But then ,the Wolves silently come, one was an elder dame slightly lame, yet she was regal with furs of silver and gold, and a younger wolf-boy followed, who never did what he was told. The dame greeted the young girl, the wolf-boy’s lips curled, a branch in one mouth and flowers in the other.
“Take this branch,” the older wolf growled,
“Suck the sap from these flowers” the young whelp howled.
The young girl did as she was told,oh, how very bold! The Good Folk, dressed in thorns and vines, braids covering their pointed ears, a delicate, otherworldly design, whispered behind her, telling her not to fear–the adventure is almost near!
So she took the branch, taking the advantageous chance,The sap sticking to her fingertips,The rich scent of pine and sugar overwhelming her–—her hand not losing its grip.
Taking the flowers, bright and foreign,she sucked the sap, her tongue coated in the sweetness, the petals becoming orange.
Oh, how the tastes collide, the flavor that is reluctant to subside
With each lap of the tongue, agony spread through her body and stung—-
Tears brought to her eyes, the girl erupts in shakes and quakes, that emphasizes her cries
But still the young girl sucked, Oh, how the unfortunate luck!
Licking her lips as ambrosia blessed her tongue. Each fresh breathe, rejuvenating her lungs
The wolves watch her with patience, perfuming the air with an amazing fragrance.
The Good Folk giggled behind their thin fingers,
The smell of cloves and honeysuckle faintly lingers.
——-And from the young girls back–the girl with large brown eyes that behold a hint of gold, that never does what she is told, grew delicate, gossamer wings.Wet with fluid and blood, the young girl shook from the winds caress, her wings unfurling becomingly like a flower, opening its blossom to the sun’s tentative rays.The wolves walked away-lhe elder wolf’s eyes filled with wisdom and respect.
The younger wolf, tougher, omega and forsaken, looks back, watching the young girl with butterfly wings and those big brown eyes with flecks of pure gold and says, “May I join you?”
The young girl with butterfly wings and big brown eyes, shifting with secrets and brazen with gold and a young reckless wolf, russet brown fur and a wicked grin, follow the Good Folk, who skip with their hands-linked
“A dance is what awaits,
A girl and wolf, tis their fates
For they will face a quest,
That will put their love to test
For he will learn to trust,
And all her fears will be turned to dust,
When paw becomes hand,
And she opens her heart to a man,
There love will have a chance,
As they meet at the Midsummer’s eve dance”
The Good Folk pause at a river. The forest is quiet, not even whisper, made from fresh leaves and twine, carrying a faint scent of brine. And as their feet and paws meet the edge, teetering as if on a unstable ledge a mermaid rises from the surface–with such great purpose!
Her Irish cream skin glowing under the sun and her dark, pitiless eyes stare blankly from a beautiful ageless face, shining with a blinding glare. The young girl with butterfly wings steps back in surprise and the wolf, who acts like a boy, hackles rise. The mermaid smirks and crosses her arms across her naked breasts, algae clinging to her flesh and her sharp teeth flash bright against her temptress–red stained lips, water running through her tresses.
——“A quest you seek” she sings.
“Oh, yes!” The girl and wolf howl.
“A quest is what you wish
And a quest is surely what you will receive.
They say a Giant lives at the end of the river,
Collecting the bones of the dead,
Those foolish enough to try to trick a mermaid.
The Giant takes the bones
And builds his house with them,
Sometimes there is flesh still clinging to the bones….
The quest that I speak of,
Demands that you go to the giant’s house of bones
And take the bone at the top, the first bone he ever stole from me.”
“How will we know which bone is the first one?” The young girl asks.
“Yeah, how the heck should we know?” The wolf impatiently growls.
The Good Folk behind them chitter, the pipe playing a soft, lulling tune, obvious to their dilemma, their voices as sweet and soft as a wind chime, delicately dancing in the wind. The mermaid reveals her sharp teeth, hissing like a great snake–
“The most brittle of bones,
Black as a raven’s wings
And the smell of the first breath of death,
That is the bone that you seek”
The young girl with butterfly wings and dazzling golden brown eyes looks down at the wolf-boy with a smile.
And off they go!–
Upstream as idly as a daydream, the wolf boy with russet hair howls to the tune of the Good Folk, as they compose a song for their doom, the delicate wings of the young girl’s tense, the haunting music feeding her fears.
The wolf boy smells the bone house before anyone else could, his black shiny nose twitches, making the brown eyed girl laugh as he sneezes, but he starts to growl as the scent becomes overpowering; the rotting meat and bones causing his stomach to turn.
The young girls butterfly wings freeze and the Good Folk halt their playing, their song absent, lost in the gentle breeze.
“Here it is” the young girl cries
“That smell!” The wolf-boy snarls.
The young girl looks back but Good Folk step back,
Slanted eyes clouded with mystery and a smile absent from their faces.
She sighs and look down at her wolf, his russet fur, brilliant red in the descending sunlight———-