I meandered along the now familiar path, admiring the glow of the flowering vines and crystals. The trees were thinning, a soft breeze rustling their leaves. Moonlight filtered through their branches, casting patterns on the dirt and tree bark. The soft lilt of a flute rang clear through the forest, mixing with the sounds of running water.
I paused as the trees stopped, a large clearing stretching out before me. A small waterfall and river cut across the space, the long grasses that surrounded it waving in the breeze. A large boulder was nestled among them, perched beside the bank. The fey I had met earlier sat on this boulder as if it was a throne. On her head was a crown made of living branches and flowering vines and smooth, glittering river rocks. In one hand she held a wooden staff, the wood smooth like driftwood, river rocks embedded into every knot and crevice as if they themselves were part of the wood. A flowering vine of white lilies wrapped around the staff, bits of glowing crystal embedded into the vines. In her other hand she held an orb of blue crystal covered in cracks and chips.
"Come, Wren. Come, Ronan," the fey said, her voice soft and indulging.
I glanced past the fey, spotting Ronan as he emerged from the forest. I was not sure why he was present in this strange dream, but I did not seem to care. Instead I made my way to the fey, as Ronan did.
When we approached the stone, the fey set her staff and crystal aside. She reached out her hands, one toward each of us. Without thinking, I took her hand in mine. Ronan did the same.
"You two must work together," the fey said, looking at Ronan, then me. "The path I have set you both on is not for the faint of heart. For the gifts I am about to give you are not understood by your kind any longer. But I will watch over you, as any mother ought to."
The fey closed her eyes as a warmth slammed into me through her hand, coursing through my body. I grimaced as the sensation settled over me, clouding my mind and my senses.
"Go forth with great confidence," the fey said. "For you are children of Sherwood."
YOU ARE READING
Wren of Sherwood
FantasyThe legend of Robin Hood only tells half the story... At sixteen, Wren isn't just Robin Hood's little sister-she's his eyes and ears beyond Sherwood, slipping into enemy strongholds and gathering secrets that fuel a brewing rebellion. But while Robi...
