Lysandra
The forest keeps her secrets in bloom
The Wildwood held its breath.
Lysandra watched him through a veil of drifting flakes, the faintest smile curving her lips. Poor, unsuspecting Liam—so serious in the quiet, trudging along as if the forest weren’t alive with eyes and laughter. She could almost hear the trees conspiring with her, their branches creaking in encouragement.
“Shhh,” she whispered to the nearest trunk, and brushed her gloved hand along the bark. A soft glow shimmered in response. The Will-o-Wisps had always liked her little games, and a few of them drifted closer now, swaying in lazy, secret arcs.
She gestured once.
The lights winked—and then darted off the path ahead of Liam, weaving in playful spirals between the trees. A faint sound followed them, the distant echo of a tune that didn’t seem to come from any single direction. Something bright and teasing, like wind chimes made of laughter.
Lysandra slipped from her hiding place and circled wide, her cloak a dark flicker among the snow. The melody twined closer to him, settling like a spell in the air before it faded into nothing. When she finally spoke, her voice came from somewhere behind him—soft, lilting, full of the grin he couldn’t yet see.
“Careful, hunter. The forest’s in a mood today.”
By the time he turned [if he did], she was already leaning lightly against a nearby tree, one brow raised, that smile she always wore plain to see.
Lysandra watched him through a veil of drifting flakes, the faintest smile curving her lips. Poor, unsuspecting Liam—so serious in the quiet, trudging along as if the forest weren’t alive with eyes and laughter. She could almost hear the trees conspiring with her, their branches creaking in encouragement.
“Shhh,” she whispered to the nearest trunk, and brushed her gloved hand along the bark. A soft glow shimmered in response. The Will-o-Wisps had always liked her little games, and a few of them drifted closer now, swaying in lazy, secret arcs.
She gestured once.
The lights winked—and then darted off the path ahead of Liam, weaving in playful spirals between the trees. A faint sound followed them, the distant echo of a tune that didn’t seem to come from any single direction. Something bright and teasing, like wind chimes made of laughter.
Lysandra slipped from her hiding place and circled wide, her cloak a dark flicker among the snow. The melody twined closer to him, settling like a spell in the air before it faded into nothing. When she finally spoke, her voice came from somewhere behind him—soft, lilting, full of the grin he couldn’t yet see.
“Careful, hunter. The forest’s in a mood today.”
By the time he turned [if he did], she was already leaning lightly against a nearby tree, one brow raised, that smile she always wore plain to see.
