The next time Red came to Oak Wood was on the night of the Oak Moon. Everywhere was covered in a white blanket of snow, though none fell past the tops of the tall forest trees. Red trudged through the snow, but found it easy to walk when she stepped onto the forest floor. And there, waiting for her, was Wild. They fell in step together again, seeking, as Red told Wild, more herbs for her mother. This was true, but Red knew better. And so did Wild.
On and on, for year upon year, Red visited Wild on bright, moonlit nights, and on each visit they learned more and more about each other and the worlds they came from. Wild even enlightened Red on some of the goings on in Oaken Vale that she did not even know. Red told Wild she was a gossip. Both bore mischievous grins.
Red learned of Wild’s true heritage in the forest. A human long ago, gone into the woods, never to return for the love of a faerie. Red knew this story well. Wild showed Red how she helped to make the herbs, the flowers, the trees grow, whispering the magic words. She learned of Wild’s days, her walks under the trees, finding new ways to understand the earth. She learned about the faeries. She learned how each came from a tree in the forest — there were the ash faeries, oak faeries, beech, chestnut, tall fir — and, though they had the powers of the wilds, each came with their own magics bestowed by their tree. Wild herself had the strength and endurance of an oak and the hardiness of youth.
When Red asked if her heritage diluted some of those powers, Wild shook her head. No indeed, the mix of humanity with fae made her connection to the earth all the more deep.
“You’ve got a bit of faerie heritage in you, I think,” said Wild.
“Nay, I have no special abilities, and I definitely didn’t come from a tree.”
Wild laughed and touched Red’s cheek. “Perhaps not, but you have no fear of the wilds. You come here eagerly. And your skills with faerie cures outmatches any human I’ve ever known.”
Red blushed. “Only because ye have taught me so well.”
She learned that, often, Wild could become lonely, the sole one balancing the threshold of the wilds. She, too, knew that sort of loneliness.
Wild learned of Red’s life in the town. Her mother was sick, and her overbearing father was in search of a husband for Red. Wild noted that she did not say “suitable husband.” She learned that Red wanted to become a woman of medicine, or even a tradeswoman. She didn’t know how she would, but she was determined. She learned that Red was a master of stealth from a very young age. That was how she was able to come to the forest, sneaking away in the twilight hours. She learned that Red’s mother taught her all about the faeries of the woods, and that was why she was not afraid when first she came.
They talked and learned of each other for all those years, into the time when Red became a young woman. She had become a woman of business as she had wished, selling herbs and tinctures she had learned to make from Wild, and was successful. Sometimes the townsfolk called her a witch, too, but if Wild didn’t mind it, then neither did she.
She grew tall, and was almost a match for Wild’s treelike stance. Her red hair fell more wildly about her, and she was lithe, graceful, walking confidently under the trees. Wild thought she could so easily fit in with the faeries of Oak Wood. And she wanted her to.
The first time they kissed was under the bright light of a Hunter’s Moon, ten years to the day since Red had first walked into the woods. Red’s hands were as soft as moonbeams held in Wild’s own, rough and strong. Red loved it, the feel of Wild’s rough hands in hers, then gripping her shoulders tightly, drawing her closer, deeper into the tender kiss. Wild knew then that she loved Red more than any creature she had come to know in the wilds. Kissing Red was like being enveloped by the glow of the Hunter’s Moon, soft, warm, almost set aflame.
They spent that night of all nights together, away from the town, the prying eyes of the faeries, under the shade of Wild’s favorite oak, and all nights after there or in the hidden glens and moss-covered ravines of the forest, relishing in each other, and talking of all and any thing. Wild nestled herself deeply into Red’s warmth.
Every time Red came to Oak Wood under the light of the full moon, their love grew. In time, Red felt herself truly becoming part of the wild woods.
Until, one day in Summer, Red came with news, tears streaming down her pale face.
“Mother’s dead. Me father forced me to take a husband.”
Red looked incensed, and forlorn, and Wild took her in her arms. Red sobbed and told Wild of the man she had married. He was a drunk, he wanted a housekeeper, and could barely tolerate Red’s independence. She would have to take care of both her husband and her father. Red missed her mother, knew that she would never have let this happen.
Wild wanted nothing more than to keep Red with her forever in her arms, but knew she had ties in the town, the rest of her family, her business; she could not leave yet.
Wild held Red for hours that night, hidden in the hollow of an oak, wishing to never let her go, her strong oaken arms holding the woman tightly. A few hours before dawn, Red reluctantly stood back and made to leave.
“There’s a storm coming,” said Wild. “It would be better for you to take shelter here.”
Red shook her head, releasing a few last unshed tears. “Nay, they’ll have me head if I’m not home in the morning.”
Wild squeezed Red’s hands. She wanted her to stay, to be safe. But it wasn’t time.
“Come back to me soon.”
“I will.”
They kissed once more, and Red stepped out of the woods. The sky was turning dark and foreboding, even though the dawn was just breaking. It would take Red some time to go over the hill to the town, and the storm would catch her on the way.
For the first time in her long life, Wild was afraid.
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