Maleficent(3)

            With a sigh, the boy stood up and began to walk away from the Moors, his mind racing with thoughts and questions. What kind of faerie had that been? Was she young or old? Was she nice or mean? Were there many more like her? And most important, where was she going?





                              THE BLUE DEW FAERIE FLEW QUICKLY AWAY FROM THE YOUNG BOY WITH HIS FRIGHTENING FURRY CREATURE. As she made her way farther and farther into the Moors, the sun set farther and farther into the horizon, releasing hues of brilliant pinks, purples, and blues. The sky grew darker, and the sounds of nature became louder. There were the hoots of owls, the cawing of crows, and the buzzing drone of bugs as they went from flower to flower. Behind her, the trees that provided a natural barrier to her world faded into the distance, but bigger, older ones came into view. Their trunks ranged in color from dark brown to light gray. They rose high into the sky, creating a canopy that provided a roof of sorts for the Moors below. Within the canopy, birds called to one another while squirrels raced from branch to branch, undaunted by the height.

            The faerie moved quickly along. She passed a large pond where a group of faeries splashed about, sending water droplets glittering into the air. Waving, she continued on, flying up over a hill and down through a small glen. She veered to the right at a large tree that was split in two, and made her way through a field of bright red flowers that stretched on for nearly ten tree lengths. Beyond that was another pond, this one murkier, with a dark cave at one end that was home to a family of mudgeons. She ducked her head so as not to make eye contact. The tiny creatures—with their big ears, and foreheads that were always wrinkled, as they tended to worry about everything—were sweet, but they were a bit too relaxed in their housekeeping for her taste. The dew faerie’s wings beat faster and faster.

            Finally, she arrived in a beautiful wooded grove, the Faerie Mound. In the very heart of the Moors, the Mound was a special place to all who lived there. Imbued with magic, the Faerie Mound practically pulsed with energy drawn from the creatures and flora that inhabited it. Naturally circular, it consisted of large peat bogs, several small streams, and, taking up the most room, a large tree that sat perched above everything. Landing on a small rock on the edge of a bog, the dew faerie looked around and smiled, happy to be home and to see so many familiar faces.

            There was the grunt of a wallerbog as he sank his ungainly body into the muddy bog to join several others. The creatures all had long pointy ears that hung out from the sides of their heads and thick antennae fringed with pink. Together, they sat, their slobber dripping into the bog, creating more mud, which helped it survive.

            Farther down from the bog, purple fishlike creatures with huge eyes and large mouths filtered dirty water through their netlike fins, making it fresh and clean once more. Nearby, a group of stone faeries, gray hairless creatures that looked like the rocks they worked with, kept themselves busy arranging stones in the now clean stream to help the water flow. Everywhere in the wooded grove, the creatures worked together to keep nature balanced and in harmony.

            In the middle of it all sat the Rowan Tree. Enormous and stately, the tree’s trunk twisted up into thick, long branches and down into a mossy maze of perfectly curled roots. Shiny leaves covered the branches, and when the moon caught them just right, they cast a green light that shone through the grove. Sitting against the sturdy trunk was a beautiful human-sized faerie, her baby cradled in one arm. The faerie’s raven-colored hair shone in the moonlight, and her expansive wings gracefully rested over them both, like a feathered blanket. She hummed a lullaby and raised one hand above her, making night blossoms suddenly unfurl on the branches overhead. Then she made the leaves and flowers dance, swaying to the tune of her song, as her daughter was lulled to sleep.

            “Hermia,” called a warm voice behind her. Suddenly, a tall, handsome faerie appeared by her side. It was her husband, Lysander, his green eyes gleaming as brightly as the stars above them.

            “Shhh,” she chided gently. “She’s fast asleep.”

            “Ah, that she is.” He smiled and tilted his head, basking in the vision of his sleeping beauty. He bent down to kiss his daughter on the forehead and embrace his wife.