The sun rises up from over the trees, showering the world with its sunshine. I had perched myself in a tall redwood tree for the night and as the light touches my red hair it shimmers like flames. I carefully open one eye, groaning at the sun, "Couldn't you have stayed down for five more minutes?" I plead into the sky. Stretching, I roll onto my stomach and rake my claws along the smooth wood. Some wind blows past, making my hair swirl and dance. I look down at my clothing and frown, I weaved my clothes out of a dark green moss a few days ago, but it's already starting to fall apart. It only covers under my armpits down to right under my small breasts. Then another piece down my thin lightly muscles body starting at my narrow hips and ending right below my bottom.
Still on my stomach, I slide off the tree head first. I let out a howl of excitement and flip myself so my feet are facing down. Raking my shimmering silver claws along the thick trunk, I slow to a stop two feet below the leaf littered ground.
Below the tree tops, very little light can filter through the tree high above, making for a perfect way of travel. Dark green vines flow from tree to tree, connecting them all in a chain. I tilt my thin angular face up to the redwood tree I was just in. I slowly follow the deep grooves I made down the trunk with my ice blue eyes. I have to keep moving, or these marks will lead the humans right to me.
Thousands of years ago, the fair folk were plentiful. We lived in large villages with our friends and family, we even lived in harmony with the humans. But as the fey were content in our villages, the humans craved more. They needed innovation, so they built big cities and powerful weapons. The tore down our forests and polluted our air. The fair folk revolted against the humans, but our claws and agility were no match for their weapons.
The few males that are left in the wild are worthless to the humans, they are not tame enough for pets, nor are their builds big enough for colosseum fighting. But the females, they are worth the largest sum of money known to man. You see, a female can only be born if the mother is in peak physical and mental condition, otherwise the baby will always be male. The fair folk are immortal creatures, we stop aging at the age of twenty. If humans were to breed fey in captivity they would have too many fey that they no longer want. The humans would murder most offspring and the few others would be abandoned into the wild to starve because they were not taught how to survive in the forest. To cope with this, the wild fey males will give their lives to any female in danger. If the fey are loosing the battle, the males will kill the female themselves. But if the males are killed before they can end the female, that female must take it upon herself to take her own life so that her offspring don't suffer. It is her duty to-
A screech from the distance rises me from my thoughts. I look toward the direction the noise came from and angle my pointed ears. Fair folk have many advantages the humans do not, our eyes can see in the dark, our pointed ears can pick up sounds from father away, our claws and elongated canines are built in weapons, and our tails balance us when we move from tree to tree.
There is another screech, after a minute I realize it's not human, but probably a screech owl. I turn on my heel causing the leaves under my feet to crackle loudly. My thin tail whips through the air behind me. My tail is a tan color and has no hair until the very tip, the tip is covered in flame colored hairs that match those on my head.
As silently as I can be, I leap onto the nearest vine. The smooth lush vine sags under my weight but manages not to snap. I leap onto the next vine, then the next, then the next, and so on. Using my claws and tail I swing from thick vine to thick vine.
At about midday I hear the gurgling of a nearby brook. Dropping onto the dry cracking dirt ground, I follow my ears to the brook. I claw myself over a humongous fallen rotting tree covered with spongy green gunk that gets all down the front of me. On the other side of the log there is a dense forest of weeping willows, their long drooping limbs absorbing all the sunlight so there is none left where I stand. Each limb is covered in neon green leaves so thin they look like pine needles, but as I reach out and stroke the nearest one with the back of my hand (so as to not cut them with my claws), they are as soft and silky as the hairs on my tail.
It would be dangerous to go in there, I could be caught off guard, ambushed even. But to tell the truth, I have not even seen another fey in over fifty years, let alone a human. Not to mention I haven't had anything to drink in three days. Taking a deep breath I push aside the curtain of silk leaves, a few falling to the ground as they touch my deadly silver claws.
After walking about five feet, the limbs clear out to reveal a small clearing completely covered in a dark blanket of night. I step into the circular clearing, the willows manage to block out every bit of sun. In the darkness lighting bugs that glow a pale blue, the color matches my eyes, mimic the Cosmos in the night sky. In the middle, is a small ringlet of crystal clear water. The water has bubbles on the surface, as if I could take a bubble bath right here and now. But what really catches my eye, is in the middle of the water a small plant grows. It reaches up to my knee and has a black stem and leaves. Perched on the plant is a big white flower the size of my hand. The middle of that flower shimmers like crystal and emits a faint glow.
I slowly approach the middle of the clearing, that flower, it marks this place as a grotto. A sacred place where, in ancient times, the fair folk would go to worship our gods. In the chaos of the war against the humans, all our gods were forgotten. I can still feel the peacefulness radiating through the place, the plants pulse with an energy directed toward the captivating white flower.
With a splashing sound my foot sinks into the water. I'd forgotten I was still walking forwards. The water is thin and warm to the touch, the heartbeat of the grotto beckons me to sink farther into the water. Slowly a peel my moss-clothes off of myself and toss them aside. Naked, I step into the lucid water, happy to wash the green spongey gunk and other things I've accumulated over the last few days, off of my body.
As soon as my skin touches the water, the dirt and grime instantly wash away. My olive skin becomes its natural pale color, once it's cleansed. Taking a deep breath I dunk my head under the tantalizing water. After a few seconds I rise my head back to the surface, splashing water outside the brook.
After I'm feeling water logged and my fingers look like an old mortal's, I climb out of the steaming water. I'm not at all surprised to find my moss-clothes missing, instead I walk over to the silk willows and begin cutting off limbs and leaves.
A few hours later, I've successfully weaved myself a soft, snug, and surprisingly durable, jumpsuit. The neon green leaves hug my body perfectly and start from the base of my neck, down to my wrists and ankles. It seems these particular willows were created to be durable and comfortable. I took several sharp stones and sticks and tried to cut myself but it doesn't rip, although my claws can rip through it as if it were nothing but water. I also took the time to make a cloak, this way I can stay warm during the winter and can camouflage more easily.
Just as I toss my new cloak on, my stomach rumbles. I haven't eaten all day and I highly doubt I should eat the grotto's flower or the blue lighting bugs, So my only option is to leave the grotto. I can't stay here forever anyway, although I'll definitely come back some day.
I walk to the edge of the clearing and push aside the silky leaves once again, as I hurry through the trees. Just as I'm about to reach the end of the willows, a pair of claws dig into my sides and fangs narrow as needles and twice as sharp, brush against my throat. Pain shoots up and down my spine, erupting into my whole body. A deep rough male voice whispers into my ear.
"Don't move,"
Try to get out of his grasp: turn to chapter 3
Wait and see what he wants: turn to chapter 2
YOU ARE READING
Undomesticated
FantasyIn the country of Azia, Creatures known as the fair folk lurk in the forests. They are a rare breed, being hunted almost to extinction, but now they are know as a status symbol upon the rich. They are kept as pets but are also used as entertainment...
