Page 8 of Must Love Moss and Moonshine
Looking around, I discovered I was in a small cottage.A fire burned brightly in a stone fireplace, copper pots hanging by the flame.Over the fire, a small cauldron bubbled.I could smell the scents of an earthy stew cooking, and from the small oven at the side of the fire came the aroma of baking bread.On the counter below the lattice-glass window were a dozen or so potted plants and some loose soil.Someone had recently been working there.The pungent scent of rosemary lingered in the air.
There was a small table with benches at the center of the room.Baskets of herbs, mushrooms, and roots sat thereon.I saw a flicker of movement on the table, then a fluffy red Mesmer squirrel appeared from behind a jar, looking at me curiously as it munched on an acorn.Was his foot bandaged?On one side of the room, a cupboard sat, its door ajar, revealing row upon row of baskets of dried herbs and clay crocks and jars.Bundles of herbs hung from the wide wooden beams overhead.
Moving slowly, I tried to sit up, but my head swam.
“Oh,” I breathed heavily, my hand going to my head.
The squirrel paused his chewing, took his nut in his mouth, and rushed out the slightly ajar door to the forest outside, limping as he went.
I took two deep breaths then tried again, reluctantly pushing aside the quilt that had covered me.When my feet touched the stone floor, I realized someone had removed my boots.I also realized my traveling clothes had been partially removed—my leather vest, belt, and outer long blue riding tunic lay neatly folded on a nearby chair, leaving me in just my leather breeches and the thin white cotton shirt I wore underneath.Catching a glimpse of myself in a copper pot’s polished surface, I saw my black hair had come loose from its usual traveling braid, falling in waves around my pale face.But it didn’t take long to figure out why some of my clothes had been removed.One deep breath, and I felt it.Lifting my shirt, I discovered my ribs had been wrapped.Broken?
I tenderly touched the wrappings, wincing when I felt the bones.
“Not broken,” a male voice said from the door.
I turned to see a man standing there.He was tall and muscularly built with long hair the shade of deepest green, a green so dark it almost looked black.He wore woven trousers and a tunic, its laces undone, revealing a muscular chest.I could see the markings on his skin—on his neck, chest, and arms, the swirling green vines hinting at what he was.But there was no confusing him when I saw the horns protruding from his head.Like the branches of a young tree, bark-covered horns grew from his head, including a single amber-colored leaf.
“Dryad,” I whispered.
He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned at me.“Sylvan.”
“I’m sorry.That was very rude of me.I was just… I’ve never met a dryad before.My apologies.”Not only had I never seen a dryad before, but almostno oneever saw a dryad.They were notoriously reclusive, living alone for hundreds of years in the forest as their guardians.Even in my home of Greenspire, deep in the Sylvan forest, the dryads were mythical creatures who guarded the deep woods in the mist.Most humans thought we Sylvans were big on trees.We were nothing compared to dryads.Either way, I had been rude and felt sorry for it.I set my hand on my ribs.“Not broken?”
He paused, as if deciding whether or not to accept my apology, then nodded.“Bruised,” he told me, removing the squirrel from his shoulder and setting him back on the table where acorns lay piled.“Go slow, Marvelle.Your foot is still healing,” he told the small creature then turned back to me.“You have been unconscious for two days.The trees tell me you were thrown.A branch dislodged you from your horse—the oak is very sorry about that—which is how you bruised your ribs.I placed a healing salve thereon and bandaged them.The tonics I’ve given you have helped as well.They should feel better soon, but after that fall, I’d guess you have a bit of a headache.”
“I… You have been looking after me?”
He inclined his head.
“Thank you.And, yes, my head does ache.”
He went to his table and began working, plucking various roots, mushrooms, and herbs from the baskets before placing them into a mortar.He ground the mixture then put the concoction into a mug and poured hot water over it.He set the mug on the table beside me.
The woodsy and earthy scents, rosemary and sassafras, effervesced from the mug.For a brief moment, the smell reminded me of my childhood.
“Let it steep,” the dryad told me.
I smiled hesitantly.“Thank you, again.You have done so much for me.I’m very grateful.I don’t even know your name.”
He smiled lightly.“I am Kellen, guardian of Silver Vale.And you are?”
“I’m… I’m…” The same feeling rushed over me that I got when I walked into a room to fetch something then forgot why I was there.“Well, Iama Sylvan.”
Kellen’s brows furrowed.“And your name?”
“My name…” Such a basic question.Why could my lips not form the answer?“I…” I looked at the dryad.Had I ever seen a more perfectly handsome man in all my life?His eyes were the color of the forest.Not green, exactly, but more like a kaleidoscope of shifting tones of browns, golds, greens, and grays.It was like the forest itself.I shook my head.
Kellen sat on the stool near my bed—no, wait, this was his bed.He had given me his bed and had been caring for me, a stranger, all these days.He studied my eyes, looking at me with a depth beyond mere sight, and asked again, “What is your name?”
“My name is…” But my name escaped me.How was that possible?I stared at him.“Kellen, I don’t know.I am a Sylvan, but…”
“May I?”he asked, reaching toward me, but paused as he waited for permission.
I nodded.
“Close your eyes.Reach into the seed of forest within you.That magic is there—always.Let it whisper to you, and we will both try to hear what it says.”He set his thumb on my temple, his hand gently cradling my head, and closed his eyes.
I did as he asked.He was right that we Sylvans all carried magic.I knew that.Some skills were common to us all, but each of us carried a special magic.Try as I might, however, I could not recall what form mine took.When I went to reach for it, everything felt…confused.There were flashes of images: people laughing at taverns, bards playing at markets, villagers dancing around bonfires, the crackle of a campfire, but nothing more.Nothing specific.My name… Who was I?Where was I from?What came back to me was nothing more than a feeling.And more, I was distracted by the soft and gentle touch of the dryad, his large hand gently cradling my face.When was the last time someone had held me so softly?
