Spanning ten mores times for each stretch of her limbs, the trunks spiked towards the endless sky and meeting its canopy brethren. The fir nimbus caved Aluwein into a darker horizon. Bernadette crabbed her narrow eyes to shadow barks. Greenish fog flew with the echo of the gust, the stench of mountain spring an inviting whisper to the haunting forest.

“Is it safe?” Bernadette voiced her worry. “Should I sing my song? I am not of this forest.”

“But a guest,” responded Tagrain, Bernadette neither guessing who it was that spoke. “There is no need, but remain wary. We may be under the high lady’s house but it does not mean she has full seer of what its inhabitants will do. Stay close to me and to my lights.”

“Lights?” as she inquired, the ranger gestured his hand and trickling globes bubbled from his fingertips. These orbs then swelled into large golden beacons, dozens stretching to the intervals of the lumbers, opening an illuminated path of bundling roots.

Tagrain nodded and Bernadette strode to where the ranger’s feet stepped. There was no relief to find when not a single insect crawled amongst the mossy barks. Barely of the shining circle up above pierced through the pines, many an oddity of mushrooms had sprung from corners but the forester had no knowledge of such jade fungi. But it was damp and Bernadette could not help herself from slipping from one bark to another.

“You may hold my hand,” fortunately, Tagrain offered. They traversed together for what could have been an eternity while the absence of wildlife poked on Bernadette’s nerves.

“Where are they?” she made an effort amidst her quavering thighs and the death grip she had on the ranger’s slender digits.

“This part of the forest was grown to wall intruders. We will find our Fae Folk once we can cross. It is important to travel here with those who are familiar. Alone, certainly a stranger, will lose their way.” It was rare to find someone who scarcely struggled beneath the pull of Bernadette’s weight—except for her father. As they head further in, so did the beckoning of a hoot pulse with the ranger’s words. The owl was a good sign.

“How should I greet her?” the girl fumbled for courtesies and the humble miss like her mother embraced.

She knew whose haughty tongue that responded but Bernadette contested to swallow her laugh at the stiff elf speaking. “Her High Lady Aluwein, most elegant, grandeurs, and cordial, so to be announced at every exchange. But High Lady is enough. And do not forget to bow.”

Bernadette crumpled at the sheer contrast of the voice and Tagrain’s stoic façade. But as the fir gently disappear in numbers, and in exchange, the familiar temperate forest wood, despite of Tagrain’s narrowed brows and Allura’s continued noble advices, Bernadette had found herself nodding. Not long, the singsong of birds and the buzz of the critters had finally arrived. Ferns and flora burst through the blushing afternoon and Bernadette was eagerly brave to let go of the ranger’s hand.

They walked on amongst the virgin forest, a hare at one berry shrub, a squirrel squirming towards the top of a chestnut, glanced at the pilgrims passing by. Their moment of travel wore on until Tagrain had led Bernadette to the calm placement of lilies upon a sleeping pond. She was not able to appreciate the rushes and reeds, the bevy of silver swans however when one of the largest insects crashed into Bernadette’s eye.

“Ow, what—the,” she cried before the aggravated dragonfly grumbled in a tiny voice, “watch where you’re going pea brain!” before buzzing away to a nearby elm.

“Was that…” Bernadette’s surprise fizzled away like the tiny person with halteres as she realize the arching willow tree encapsulating the entire pond beneath its golden silk hair. A mixture oddity of flowers bloomed within its somber and yet was expectant of its caress onto the water surrounding its helmed roots. From where she stood, the forester was stolen to the cool opening feathers that led into the foot of the tree. Her breathe leaving her lungs as Tagrain was sauntering upon the direction.

The willow was a palisade. Eerie but assaulting. Bernadette slammed her dropped mouth when Allura’s thoughts called out, come on. You need to see her!

Strangely, Bernadette found the anuran still at the ranger’s head comfortably, and she was endeavored to pursue her guides. Bernadette was halfway through seeking stable mud to clamber on when she rose her head onto the entity Tagrain has knightly knelt and addressed.

“High Lady, I bring you Barn Fegahum at your presence, for she has a message to your countenance,” the warrior gallantly sang.

Encouraged to be properly presented, Bernadette fought for balance and dignity as she creeped beside the ranger and toad. Bernadette hastily knelt, her knee kissing soft earth when she finally searched for the familiar allure and glamour. Her neck craned petrified as her vision fell upon the hooded scraps of a ligneous hag. Crimpling ice glaciered Bernadette’s limbs and she could not move.

“Took you long enough, warrior,” the witch said with a ghastly voice of a crow. “And that must be your greenhorn. I am already disappointed to find it frozen upon dirt and scratches after seeing this horrible face.”

The disdain was enough to tilt Bernadette’s thoughts but not enough to scratch the epiphany that raged within her mind and chest. Bernadette was questioning the cause of her current predicament and her birth as the witch’s pulsing black-husk eyes never lifted her spell.

“Naïve, but endearing,” the witched scoffed, her cloak waving like a river of tar as she maneuvered to the side of the tree. “A taste of withering will put the girl on her path. What say you, sister? You are the one who called for me.” Like a sickly patient, Bernadette was able to notice the pale smile the shrew gave her before it turned its attention to the core of the binding willow.

Bernadette felt another snap before blinking to the same Aluwein of her dreams, stood—floating afore the bent Tagrain. Bernadette may have lost it when the witch’s corpse complexion mirrored the High Lady in front of her.

“What I say matters not, dear sister. For it is with Fegahum to decide her fate,” Aluwein beamed at the young forester.