The forest was bathed in moonlight. It was a magical forest, but it looked especially magical that morning.

It might have been the pixies. The uninitiated might mistake a pixie for a large bug flying in the distance, but Rowan knew better. They kept far away but were always watching. Drones were no use to Rowan. She needed a guide, but those pixies would take no action unless directed by their queen.

So Rowan continued deeper and deeper into the forest. There were few trails, but Rowan had no trouble leaping from tree to tree branch or clearing.

Suddenly the ground trembled. A loud thumping coming from up ahead. Rowan hurried towards it until she came upon a clearing. In the middle, surrounded by wild flowers, was the Lord of Prey.

Jack resembled a rabbit the size of a bear. Antlers crowned his head, and he was thumping his foot on the ground, causing the tremors. His thumping stopped as Rowan arrived with a smile.

“Hello, Jack. I trust you’ve been well.”

Jack bowed his horned head in greeting. His voice was deep and playful. “Well enough, m’dear. I heard the wind whispering ye were back. Shall we go for a stroll, like we used to?”

“Thank you kindly. I hoped I might find you. Can you lead me to Drya?”

“Why, of course, darlin. For the price of a story. Ye’ll tell me what brings ye back this way, and how long ye’ll be stayin.”

“Naturally,” answered Rowan with a grin.

They set off and Rowan told Jack the whole story. There was no sense keeping secrets. Jack could suss them out. Besides, there were few beings Rowan had the pleasure to confide in.

She enjoyed the irony of their friendship, a fox and a rabbit. Of course, Jack was no simple rabbit, less than Rowan was a simple fox. Like Rowan, Jack was ageless, but he was older than Rowan. Much older.

Jack was there at the dawn of Eden. Crafted by God to help set and keep the balance between predator and prey, Jack was the spirit of mercy and slaughter. He’d fled Garden back when Adam betrayed the five Ikons, took their powers, and began his crusade on ageless beings.

Both of them were refugees of time and circumstance. But for Jack, survival was enough. He could stay content in this forest forever. Rowan had grander ambitions. So they were old friends with many differences of opinion. And Jack was always happy to share his opinions.

“The dreams ain’t making Gwen sick,” he declared with gruff. “She weren’t meant to be ageless. Her brain weren’t built for it. She’s starting over. Burning the field to plant new memories, as it were.”

Rowan considered his explanation. She didn’t like it, but Jack was rarely wrong.

“Even if the dreams aren’t causing her illness, they aren’t helping. She’s being traumatized again and again, night after night. Besides that, if Adam attacks Nohu Mangrove, I need to get Zeke out of there. But I don’t know when it will happen, and I can’t go back to warn him myself. Haven will kill him if I go back. So I need more information.”

“Aye, ye’re in a pinch. Can’t do anything, damned if ye do nothing. Maybe ye send a message.”

“Zeke isn’t a strong dreamer, and I don’t dare try to reach him now that Lilith is hunting for him. She might follow me, and I could lead her to him.”

“I meant send a messenger.”

“Haven is out in the deep ocean. A pixie wouldn’t survive the trip.”

“A selkie, then?”

“A what?”

“A selkie. Oh, ye’ve been gone a long time, haven’t ye? Ye weren’t here when the selkie came ashore. The seal-folk. Some of them get along nicely with yer human friends. I reckon they’d do ye a favor if’n ye asked politely. They seem a decent folk. Not too high on the food chain.”

Rowan smirked at Jack’s little dig. He had a predilection for prey animals, and Rowan was an apex predator. Jack felt it was his duty to take hunters down a peg. She let him have his jabs. She was still the fox in this relationship. Even though Jack was her guide.

They bounded through openings in the trees. Rowan heard the sound of running water and knew they were getting close. Soon they were splashing along a rocky beach, speeding upstream. The clean, misty open air was fragrant with pine and live fish. They rushed by bears, mountain lions, wolves, deer, boars, and endless clouds of bugs.

At last, they came upon a magnificent waterfall. Misty air sparkled in the sunlight. Pink and pale blue water lilies decorated the small lake. Flowering rhododendron trees dropped vibrant petals onto the water’s surface. Bird songs filled the air.

Near the shore was an enormous pine tree covered in whitecap mushrooms. Bushy green moss could be seen beneath the fungus. Its high branches were full of shining silver nettles. And beneath the shade of the silver pine sat a most bizarre-looking person.

Drya looked like a whitecap and a little human woman combined. Instead of hair, silky threads and little mushrooms crowned her head. Eight black eyes dotted her face. Her skin was white, firm, and dewy.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Drya was lounging on a mossy stone and gossiping with the Pixie Queen, herself perched on a low branch of the silver pine tree. The old queen must have died, because Rowan didn’t recognize this young, proud-looking pixie. She wore red rhododendron petals around her waist and thorax, a striking change from her predecessor’s choice of yellow sunflower. Rowan thought, perhaps this queen can be convinced to fight.

Drya rose and glided toward Rowan to embrace her friend and fellow refugee. Drya’s feet never fully touched the ground; instead, near-invisible strands of mycelium carried her wherever she wanted to go. A thin fungal layer covered every surface of the forest. No doubt, Drya knew Rowan had returned the instant she touched the forest floor. But Drya waited for Rowan to come to her. It was her way.

“My love, it’s so good to see you again! Come, you must meet the new pixie queen. Let me present, Queen Titania the Eighth. Long may she reign.”

“Titia, for short,” said the Pixie Queen. She had leafy green skin and human-like features.

“An honor to meet you, Titia,” said Rowan.

“Queen Titia,” the little regent corrected. Then she took to the air and flew around Rowan, sizing her up.

“So you’re the operative,” said the queen appraisingly. “Drya tells me you’re our best. What news do you bring?”

“Dire news, Queen Titia. Lilith has taken Samaal and she knows about Zeke. I thought I left him somewhere safe, but now I worry he is in danger. Morgan tells me of a Mothman in your court. A harbinger of dreams. I need to treat with this Mothman.”

Drya answered, puffing spores as she said, “You speak of visions, not dreams. The Mothman brings warning of the future.”

“I don’t believe that. No one can know the future. But if this… vision is going to happen, I need to know when. Is it imminent? Can it be stopped?” Rowan asked.

“The Mothman won’t answer questions. He doesn’t communicate directly. The only way to know more is to finish the vision.”

Rowan considered a moment. “So I have to sleep until the Mothman brings me a stronger vision?”

Queen Titia spoke in voice high and mighty, “There is another way. The Mothman’s visions are carried on the winds. You might go to the source and breathe in his dust directly.”

Sounds horrifying and gross, thought Rowan. But the Queen was testing her, daring her to do it.

“I’ll need a guide to the Mothman,” she said.

Drya cheered happily, “Of course, we’ll take you! But first, there’s another person you have to meet. Rowan, I have a daughter!”

Rowan was elated. The birth of a spirit was a rare miracle these days. A new forest could be planted anywhere, with a whole new generation of refugees. This was truly an event worth commemorating.

“I named her Nya. Look, she’s asleep in this lily.”

Nya’s water lily was large and white. Rowan peeled back petals to peek inside and saw a tiny glowing frog resting in a tiny pool of water. She still had her tadpole tail, which shimmered bright blue.

“She’s perfect, Drya,” Rowan said.

Drya’s smooth white face broke into happy spores. She then turned to face Jack. “Will you wait with Nya until we return?” she asked.

Jack nodded once. “Gladly, m’lady.”

Drya floated higher in the air on her mycelium strands. “We’ll be off at once. Titia, you will come with us, won’t you?”

“Of course! It was my suggestion, after all.” Queen Titia declared imperiously.

And together they went.

“There is more to report,” Rowan said as the three of them moved through the forest, Rowan leaping, Titia flying, and Drya floating. “Gwen has fallen ill. Jack believes she is resetting. Our chief illusionist is out of the fight, and Lilith has Morgan’s coinnigh in her sights. Lilith will attack soon. Your forest isn’t safe. Even Adam has noticed, and he wants to burn every tree on this island.”

Drya stopped midair. That would mean death for her and Nya.

Rowan and Titia waited.

Rowan continued, “It’s the Mothman’s dreams or visions or whatever. They’re too conspicuous. The Church is looking into it.”

“So if the visions stop, the Church will relent?” Queen Titia asked.

“I wouldn’t count on that. Adam’s eye is already on you. But it might buy you more time,” Rowan allowed.

Drya collected herself. “Then we should make haste. Come, the Mothman isn’t far.”

They hurried the rest of the way in relative silence, as the sounds of forest life surrounded them.

It was early sunrise by the time Drya stopped at a dying tree. At the foot of the tree was a mound of freshly excavated dirt. Something was eating the tree’s roots.

“He usually comes up at night,” said Drya. “But I can compel him to rise now.” She lifted a delicate white hand, and the ground spread apart. The dying tree fell over, ripping large roots into the air.

The Mothman was holding tight to a central root, mouth clamped tightly into it. He resembled a human man, if a human had thick plates of shiny, interlocking skin and red compound eyes that covered his entire head. His wings were fluffy and shimmered blue and grey with specks of white.

“Allow me,” said Queen Titia, who flew to the Mothman and whispered closely in a language Rowan didn’t understand.

He crawled out from between the roots and crouched on all fours. His wings fluttered and a small cloud of dust appeared. Then he crawled with astonishing speed up to Rowan and turned himself sideways.

“He invites you to breathe in understanding,” Queen Titia translated.

“Thank you,” Rowan said politely, but she didn’t like this. She had no idea what effect it would have, or what horrible truths she might discover. But it had to be done. She leaned over and inhaled a lungful of moth dust.

And then Rowan collapsed on a bed of moss Drya kindly summoned.

Patterns. That’s what the visions are, Rowan realized, the calculus of patterns. The Mothman collected patterns on the wind. His wings counted the signals and made suppositions. Adam was very likely to attack Haven, given the patterns on the wind.

Adam’s familiars. They’ve been migrating off-season in a steady progression. Methodical. And their paths would intersect with Haven. They would arrive in a matter of days.

Rowan got the information she came for, but the vision wasn’t done with her yet. She had to ride it out. She saw a seagull familiar spying on Haven. She saw Zeke sparring with a cthulian. He was wielding the Ivory Blade. She saw merfolk and otters and all the sea and island creatures that called Haven home. And Adam saw them, too. She saw him fly at terrible speed to Haven. She watched helplessly in the night as he erased countless lives, including Zeke’s. The Ivory Blade fell from his lifeless hands onto barren sands. Rowan could only watch as Adam took back the sword and raged at an empty shell. The Ikon’s soul was already gone.

Zeke was going to die.