Bernadette’s hair stood like harvest day. Her forester training kicking in, she dashed her foot from stepping into the clear meadow and compassed herself behind one giant tree. Peering an eye at the field, Bernadette and Allura emptied their thoughts in the hopes to find their singer.

The girl wondered whatever could the fae be. As she was informed, the Gates were no mere egress for the kind fae folk, regardless of the euphonious song that may easily lure normal humans to their deaths. But she was special, Bernadette reaffirmed herself. She will not be tricked by acapella and hum alone.

The forester was but gripping the growing shudder of her fingers upon bark when her footing slipped from the root she stood. Stumbling to earth, “oof,” she cried quietly.

On her back, Bernadette stared daggers at the tree before she realized the line of red within it’s dry shadowed tissues. It was a small drag and was hardly permeable if not of the large berth the tree was groaning as it sipped the blood to its skin.

Appalled, Bernadette slowly drew her hand to view shakily and almost lost her senses when her sore thumb had the same crimson like waterfall. A red gash had torn through tendon until there was the smallest tint of bone. Her breathe had left her for seconds before the toad ushered in.

It has become a chorus. Singers, Barn.

Trapped between the staggering injury and her friend, Bernadette barely peered at her friend, who had magically sprouted to her side and the field beyond. It took too much of her strength just by looking over.

The toad must have been oblivious of her current pain growing from the limb as Allura hobbled over and jumped towards the echoing cacophony. Towards the Meadow.

Fear stammering against concern, Bernadette immediately blurted, “Allura,” in a hiss. “Don’t go!”

Her friend was paralyzed within their power as it ignored the call. The amphibian was nearing thistle when Bernadette caught on over her own predicament and floundered, slip, and rise from the confines of sickness and bounded for the lady. She was but an at arm’s length when Bernadette was not sure if she could find the toad in the buzzing grass, so the forested plunged for the hopper. And it was but a second, a blink, a spatter of rain on soil before the toad disappeared and teleported out of place.  

Her medium chest kissed rock and Bernadette grumbled through the failure. The forester hugged empty air before patronizing the cunning magically beings, “damn fae!” She took a glimpse at her still bleeding thumb, ignoring its burn and patted herself to ascent. Bernadette was not giving up her friend nor upon the unknown faes at the empty meadow.

After checking upon her ragged pants, Bernadette slipped out her tanto from the strapped leg beneath. It was her mother’s gift, the acacia handle etched with the untold story of a forester was smooth on her bleeding hand. Her first weapon to protect her sister. Her only weapon for the matter to rescue her friend.

Aleisten and his father dart through the forest. The strength and elegance of their hinds flying them through faeries, hungry trees, and into the Gates. But his attention was not onto the journey but for the power of his father stampeding and yet flowing like river across the height and traps of roots. When they had reached the edge of the meadow, Warrior shot his nose to the wind. Observed by the example, Aleisten followed suit.

Nose to the sky, Aleisten could only imagine how much they can know with smelling when the headache clam into his throat and he visibly gagged at the caught rot. It was the death of whatever unfinished beast, blurring his senses as his breakfast stirred to exit his stomach. The fawn was basically clamoring backwards and was aching to scratch his nose when his father warned.

Harpies. At least a dozen. Aleisten knew the stag was looking at his suffering as he sneezed and bleated like a goat throughout the catastrophe. I can chase them away, the stag outlined.

The plan caught a dust of Aleisten’s attention as his father went on. They are near the Gates. I will circle to the west and gain their attention. Once they follow me, there are some who will be left behind. Avoid them as possible. Aleisten finally sobered and stared at his father. Their claws burn like fire. Do not use magic against them. Faerian against faerian will bring more chaos. Get Barn and take her north. Towards her home. I will meet you at the border once I’m done with them. Do you understand?

Yes, father. The fawn finally said. Aleisten finally thought to it. To be a giant as him, it worried Aleisten when the warrior had tired eyes upon the field. To reassure him, he said what he could offer, I will father. I will not disappoint you.

Not as a disappointment, his father positioned himself towards the west, a trajectory to the sinking lady light above. But do your best, that is what I only ask of you, the Warrior clarified, his black eyes clear now and fierce on Aleisten’s little self. Go after a hundred breathes. The flock have caught their prey, their song will only snag at the unhurt. Be safe.

I will. As Aleisten thought this, his father snapped like a hunters bow. His travel however was that of a quiet deerstalker, a snake amongst the speed of sky’s hawker. Immediately, Aleisten counted what was a single normal breathe to him. One, two, three…

There was an amicable dread when you count upon a thundering heart and cold ick wind. These harpies smelled awful and Aleisten was not excited to arrange himself to launch after a bit of three delphiniums, four delphiniums… The silence went on a little longer before the still horrible odor turned sourer. The tang was pestering his nerves, agitation rendering him jitters on his hoovers. However, he went on, Eight sativas, nine sativas… Drupe! And the fawn burst forth.