The Owls' Kiss

Chapter One

As Fauna reclined in the grassy knoll by the Great Tree, she felt her cheeks strain with a smile as the sun peered through the branches and left the ground in a crisp, spring warmth. The leaves were as vibrant as they were when they sprouted. The branches high above were sturdy and reluctant to fall, but when they did, the veiny roots stopped their rhythmic pulsing just long enough to mourn the loss before they continued unperturbed. Life was incredibly different being an adult than it was a child. When Fauna was younger, some things seemed important that now aren't, and the Valley had an outlook for children that resembled nonsense if looked upon closely.

It had been eight years since the tree had grown from nothing.

That first festival seems so far away now, almost a distant memory. One that fades in and out, the actual events buried by milestones and other insignificant happenstances. Yet, the main idea remains.

Elder Brunswick hasn't spoken in eight years.

No one could have guessed when she won that first festival with a seven-pointed lily that shimmered like the sunset that when she returned from the mountains now housing what they called "The Oracle," her voice would have been left behind in the journey back home. It was unclear what desire she had that he gifted her if what she paid in return was never to sing her grandchild to sleep. To tell stories of the old land before magic. The silence was deafening, but that did not deter the valley folk.

Every year, another branch fell from the tree growing out of the mountainside. Every year, the valley folk brought forth their creations, hoping that The Oracle would grant their deepest desire. No one has been unlucky enough to lose their voice as Elder Brunswick did, but even still, there was a lack of hesitancy that should have been there.

Fauna had not won anything.

Yet, she had not lost anything either.

She had grown quite a bit in the fifteen years since the valley opened to The Oracle, where Lillian would have remained stagnant if not for the thorn in her side, commonly referred to as an expected husband. Fauna knew that their mother had pressured the elder girl into marriage shortly after she was of age, and it was quite a shock to find one man, in particular, had chased off the other young suitors.

Sorrel Hensby. A man hated by Fauna and yet loved deeply by Lillian.

Fauna moved an arm underneath her neck to support her head as she played with a blade of grass with her other hand. If her mother saw her, she'd be disappointed. Lounging was unbecoming, even more so when the strawberries she had been sent to collect were still very much on the vines and her basket empty as it sat nestled between two larger, thrumming roots. It was exhausting; the last thing on Fauna's mind was collecting fruits for Lillian's betrothal cake. She could have been doing many things, and there were multiple reasons why Fauna hated the idea of Sorrel entering the family tree.

None of this would ever be voiced, at least not aloud, where people could hear and run straight to her mother and sister. There, they would offer all of Fauna's inward hatred of the young man, which, no doubt, would cause a rift between the three women of the Hallovale household.

Fauna moved to sit up and looked across the meadow of strawberries that stood between her and their family's cottage. Her mother had planted them soon after Aspen was born, as she had with her girls, but as he was the only son, her father snatched him up for lessons. Aspen would be thirteen this fall and more interested in catching frogs to release in the library than learning weaponry and battle tactics.

She released a sigh and pushed against the grass to stand up. Fauna plucked the woven basket from the tree's roots and made her way to the edge of the vibrant red berries to collect the amount her mother requested. Her dress swished against the ground as she bent to hold the stem and gently twisted a ripened fruit away from the vine. It fell into her basket with a small thud. One down, many to go.