He had come seeking Arduinna , but that wasn't how the Wildwood worked. It had turned him around, spat him out, and made him struggle to empty his swirling thoughts of the beautiful, mysterious Fae woman before it let him get more than a few hundred yards beneath its branches. He walked with his harp in its case behind him, his flute tucked in to the pack at his side along with a pair of sweet seed loaves he had made on his own, practicing what Amalia had taught him, and a small bottle of Valair cider. His rapier hung at his side, as it always did when he went abroad in the woods, as much a part of him as the instruments, though the steel sang a different sort of song.
He didn't think he would need it today, but he was not fool enough to underestimate the Wildwood and its dangers, and there was no telling what he might run into as he went seeking--
Nothing. He was seeking nothing, he firmly reminded himself, and the trees seemed to imperceptibly relax around him as he walked silently beneath their cooling shade, gratefully breathing in the scent of the Green. Phoebe and Remi had mentioned something about a sickness of the Woods, but he had seen no sign of it yet. Perhaps, if today's search didn't pan out, he could investigate it more closely on the way back.
Eventually his rambling amble brought him to a part of the woods he had not been in before. There was a grand tree that rose above the rest of even those towering giants that made up the Wildwood, and the trees around it all seemed to give it respectful space and obeisance. The bard stopped and stared in awe for several minutes, trying to take in the beauty of the ancient bole and the majesty of its spreading boughs. He approached cautiously, but sensing no threat he laid an appreciative hand upon a great root that humped nearly to his waist. This tree had been around long before the Barrier had, he knew, just from the size of it. Beautiful and powerful, it reminded him of someone...
Ah, yes.
With a chuckle to himself he unslung his instruments and found a place to settle on soft moss, his back supported by the great tree's roots. He took his time in the early afternoon sunlight that occasionally trickled down like raindrops to scatter on and around him, tuning his harp and coaxing its tones to rich honey as the songbirds around him added their own music to the day. At last, when he was sure he was as ready as he could be, he licked his lips and began to sing to the tree and the forest around him, hoping they would carry his words to their lady.
"When in the springtime of the year
When the trees are crowned with leaves
When the ash and oak, and the birch and yew
Are dressed in ribbons fair..."
He didn't think he would need it today, but he was not fool enough to underestimate the Wildwood and its dangers, and there was no telling what he might run into as he went seeking--
Nothing. He was seeking nothing, he firmly reminded himself, and the trees seemed to imperceptibly relax around him as he walked silently beneath their cooling shade, gratefully breathing in the scent of the Green. Phoebe and Remi had mentioned something about a sickness of the Woods, but he had seen no sign of it yet. Perhaps, if today's search didn't pan out, he could investigate it more closely on the way back.
Eventually his rambling amble brought him to a part of the woods he had not been in before. There was a grand tree that rose above the rest of even those towering giants that made up the Wildwood, and the trees around it all seemed to give it respectful space and obeisance. The bard stopped and stared in awe for several minutes, trying to take in the beauty of the ancient bole and the majesty of its spreading boughs. He approached cautiously, but sensing no threat he laid an appreciative hand upon a great root that humped nearly to his waist. This tree had been around long before the Barrier had, he knew, just from the size of it. Beautiful and powerful, it reminded him of someone...
Ah, yes.
With a chuckle to himself he unslung his instruments and found a place to settle on soft moss, his back supported by the great tree's roots. He took his time in the early afternoon sunlight that occasionally trickled down like raindrops to scatter on and around him, tuning his harp and coaxing its tones to rich honey as the songbirds around him added their own music to the day. At last, when he was sure he was as ready as he could be, he licked his lips and began to sing to the tree and the forest around him, hoping they would carry his words to their lady.
"When in the springtime of the year
When the trees are crowned with leaves
When the ash and oak, and the birch and yew
Are dressed in ribbons fair..."
