“And your first task as students shall be bringing yourselves home,” the witch ordered firmly. The croak of withering wood upon heavy weight grated her mischievous ascent. Aleisten could only punch his hooves to the wet soil. Again, and again. Harder and muddier. The clamming dirt echoing across the willow lake. He was angry.

“I will bring myself home, thank you very much,” the human declared. Much to the Warrior’s ire, Aleisten cared nothing of whatever the stump of the creature wanted to do. He heard the lumber leave, and as so, Aleisten huffed a storm through his nostrils. To the tall elf, he glared his contest. Backing a mound of his hind, he drove himself backward, promising retribution towards his oppressors. Aleisten was but a moment away on channeling his empty antlers at the leathered fighter, guardian, and teacher when the creature spoke at last, his throat a rumbling menace.          

“Go with her,” Warrior ordered. The warning made his fluffy ears wary. It made him pause. “It is time you learn to take responsibility of your actions.”

Aleisten’s head snapped into attention. Deer were not known for snarling, so he snarled. Oh, how he wished he can send his thoughts to the bully. But despite the enough magic beings such as him could manifest, Warrior could block such blight, and even his curses. So, he panted again, an extra stomp to express his ravening displeasure.

The Warrior tilted his jaw higher, neither threatened nor dismayed.

The witch snickered. “Then let us make sure you did buck. If she does not survive this evening,” the witch went on, her empty eyes following the disappearing back of the human traversing her previous steps. “I will not teach you.”

It was Warrior this time who spun to the witch, “What did you do?”

The witch sneered. Aleisten had not yet swallowed her previous contrition when she replied, “I have many pets, Warrior. Let it claw at her so golden heart that you all so love and adore. Let us see if she does have a forester’s conviction worthy to flourish even…” she slid her slits at their fawn, “even the driest of deserts.”  

“She is just a child!” The Warrior gripped his sword.

Without breaking contact, the witch acknowledged, “So is he. But my sister insisted their suffering, in perhaps escaping the fate her forest will be flaming into. Go, you stubborn mule of a child. I will not teach if you fail me this, ever!”

Aleisten staggered back upon the words she forewarned.

“Druid, this is not nece—ssary,” and the Warrior withered into bark before eventually branching horns, a snout, and tail.

Aleisten flew from his stupor as the Warrior lost his hands to hooves and his leather armor into a fluffy chest. Aleisten could feel then the air, strong fae breathe emanating from the former ranger now a great stag. His antlers may have weigh amazingly as he broke from his wooden form and bashing it against the willow. A little but petal to impaling the still cackling witch.

“And if you take your son’s lessons, Warrior,” the witch baled, “we will lengthen your form.”

The Warrior was already bucking for another launch when the laughing hag fizzled to gray ash and left her echoing curse in the willow lake. The trickling leave drops upon the water mesmerizing their peaceful predicament.

The stag was heaving. Limbs apart, his neck outstretched high almost reaching the willow branches. There was a pregnant silence after the hag’s wake. The tweeting of birds from above did not help the stunted Warrior and his new form.

We must move, there was a voice in Aleisten head. A familiar voice, one he hears in the physical realm.

But we must make careful trot, it went on. As he did, the adult stag turned and lumbered himself at his juvenile. Aleisten was but a quarter, he dared compare silently, when it sniffed the air above.

Aleisten was still admiring his form when the Warrior finally bent his hefty skull to him. Aleisten could only stare as the reflected light from the water flaked the stag’s dirty pale coat. A reflection indeed to his. As the older nuzzled his snoot and sniffed, Aleisten gave birth to glossy eyes.

Who… his mind whispered. Although he did ask, the stag but caressed Aleisten’s temples with his own and forgotten it.

Hurry!

I’m running with my best.

And Bernadette was running. Her wounds may have magically healed but her boots and pants were still battered and skewered. And time was ticking. Half the day it took them through the bundle of fae town, the dark woods, and then to long field. Half the day traveling swift and safe with the ranger by her side. And half the day or maybe more will it take these young friends through buzzing pixies, slippery night roots, and the Gate of danger.

Fortunately, Allura’s presence upon her head was enough to excuse her trappings from the talking insect-fae. She avoided their flight path as she ducked throughout their entire area. Bernadette sauntered out from their homes of mushrooms and bores and arrived at the emptying canopies. She was panting both because she was exhausted and that night was not long.

We have an accord? The toad asked, a surprisingly airy creature since their journey from the willow.

Accord to what? Bernadette paused at the edge of the Dark Firs. Without Tagrain’s light, she will be traveling blind.

That everyone of Aluwein are crazy and that witch is dangerous. Here. Their minds were aligned. Of Aluwein and the witch, and of Allura’s golden eyes now Bernadette’s, lightening the path like lamp fire the arm thick roots and monstrous woods.

The assistance was wonderfully encouraging. Spelled, it took Bernadette enough mind power to avoid bringing the thought thank you towards its correspondence.

Just go. We will deal with the witch and everything else once we reach home. And Bernadette did not hinder onward.

Hours seem to pass by as their path ranged from jumping from one trunk to another. Bernadette slamming herself atop its ridges, merely fleeting the void earth of Allura’s eyes. Despite being fae, Allura’s magic was not able to distinguish some pits and holes Bernadette earnestly escaped, hopped, and perilously tipped off. 

You could pass for a frog, Allura assured her as she crouched from one root, jumped, and crashed at the next bole. You will need to practice landing however.

Aren’t these trees too big? Bernadette pulled herself up, the thought of bruises were promising for a morrow.

Yes. And before you doubt your forester navigation, yes this was the same path we took. The trees are just alive and are getting comfy.

Getting comfy? With one last land, hard since her legs could not handle more of the torturous impacts. Did they eat? As she inquired, so did her stomach growled.  

Yes? The toad doubt thoughtfully.

A little further afar, Bernadette was finally able to see the break of brighter fine line light at the horizon. It would not matter right? Since Tagrain said as long am with someone from the forest, I’m safe.

Yes and no. And who’s this Tagrain?

And Bernadette froze. She was now at the boundary. The same invigorating meadow beckoning her to come home, the breaking illumination yearning. The field of flowers was but a river passing but she could not move. She wondered about what her friend said.

Allura?

Yes? The toad humbly replied.

Can fae be cursed too? Tagrain was the… Tagrain. Tagrain? Whoever was this Tagrain? Bernadette puzzled.

I don’t know either. You just mentioned this.

There was a breath of wonder. Seconds of the same question ringing between their minds before they heard the song.