Windmane had just sold one of the larger tapestries to a human who could barely carry it when a dryad popped up from the wooden floor. The human kept to a courteous distance as the dryad announced that the festival was ending, and the marketplace stalls should begin their breakdown process. Windmane heard other dryads make similar announcements farther along. Punctual as ever, they left nothing to chance.
“Overhead performances will start soon, to make departure more pleasant,” the dryad said. Her voice was as smooth as the others from this vast grove, and her skin as dark as the wood she had formed from. She’d taken the humanlike shape that the dryads favored, which Windmane privately had opinions about. Centaur form would clearly have been a better choice. The dryad finished her announcement with “Thank you for making this festival one we can all enjoy! See you next year.” She then disappeared into the root system that made up the sprawling wooden floor of the festival grounds.
The marketplace instantly turned loud and chaotic. Windmane hurried to roll up the other tapestries hung at her portion of the stall, while staying out of the way of her herdmates tasked with gathering the money and disassembling the stall itself. She had been to the annual Dryad Forest Festival before, and she knew the dance. If there were no interruptions, the eight of them would have the stall reassembled into their personal pull-carts and be ready to go before the worst of the traffic blocked the lanes.
I wonder if the dryads will open more lanes through the forest this year, Windmane thought. Probably not. The plants are more important than the impatience of outsiders. She covered the tapestry bundles and strapped them together firmly while her thoughts wandered to the fool newcomers who’d braved a shortcut off the wooden paths last year. Dryad law was strict, and their branches sharp. And aside from the painful death, you don’t want to get the rest of your herd banned from selling here next year.
Something brushed her ear, causing it to flick in irritation.
“Oh, catch it!” exclaimed a tiny voice.
Windmane leaned back to see a floating blue fruit bobbing skyward. She grabbed it and looked around for the voice, unsurprised to see one of the pixies from the next stall over.
“Thank you!” the tiny fellow said, taking it from her hand. It was bigger than he was, but he carried it easily enough, his wings an iridescent blur behind him. “These things get away so easily!”
“I bet,” Windmane said, going back to work. “At least they won’t get stepped on.”
“Very true!” the pixie agreed. He made no move to rejoin his own swarm, who were wrangling a variety of skymelons and airberries. “I’d hoped we would have sold all of them, but at least we’ll have a snack for the flight home! How’d you folks make out?”
“Pretty well,” Windmane said with a glance at the remaining sculptures and paintings that were being packed away with the sketchbooks. “A lot of artistic types this year.”
“That’s good! Hey, nice charcoal sticks. Trade one for a skyfruit?”
Windmane started to do the mental math, then gave up and grabbed one while her herdmate’s back was turned. Faster than having a proper conversation about it. “Sure,” she said. “Why not.”
The pixie happily traded one oversized item for another, and zipped off to pack the charcoal stick. “Thank you!”
“No problem,” Windmane said. She gave the skyfruit a quick once-over, then took a bite. It wasn’t bad. Good enough to eat one-handed while she worked, which was fortunate. She’d had a passing thought about chucking it into the sky if it tasted foul, but she realized now that that could possibly get the pixies in trouble for littering.
A many-voiced “Ooh” told Windmane that the performances had started. She glanced up to see whorls of color glowing against the blue of the late-afternoon sky. It was nice enough to be worth a pause in the stall breakdown, with her herdmates doing the same, before unanimously getting back to it. Windmane’s portion was properly bundled just before her cart was made ready, which made her quietly proud. The others hadn’t had a chatty pixie interrupting them, brief though that was.
“Hey, got any more of those charcoal sticks?” asked a voice.
Windmane sighed. There he was, holding a cluster of yellow airberries this time. “Gimme a sec,” she said as she lifted her bundle of tapestries to press it snugly into its designated corner of the cart. The charcoal sticks were gone from the flat surface that was now a cart side, but she was reasonably sure she knew where they’d been stored.
With a glance at the flow of passersby that was increasing with every passing moment, Windmane stepped out past her two closest herdmates who were busy with a stuck hinge. The pixie followed her, a glittery presence that whirred faintly.
As Windmane was reaching up to undo the laces of the pack that should hold charcoal sticks, she heard new exclamations from the crowd. She didn’t bother to look until the pixie commented on it.
“That’s weird. I thought all the entertainment was supposed to be up in the sky.”
Ears flat, Windmane whirled. Thoughts of malfunctioning magic filled her head. But instead of some dire calamity, all she saw was a handful of golden trails wandering through the air.
“Yes, strange,” was all she managed to get out before one of them picked up speed in her direction. Windmane ducked, bending all four knees and leaning forward in the hopes that it would miss her. But instead it dipped lower too. She flinched as golden light blasted her in the face, turning the world into starshine and the feeling of poor circulation. She was distantly aware of her legs collapsing underneath her.
Only a moment passed before her vision cleared to show the concerned faces of her herdmates, with no glowy magic to be seen.
“Are you okay?”
“What happened?”
“I saw something bright; what was that?”
Windmane got to her hooves unsteadily, doing her best to explain what had happened when she herself had no idea. Whatever it had been, it didn’t seem to have done any damage.
“Let us know if anything feels out of the ordinary,” said Stormteeth, the sub-alpha in charge of the trip. “We’ll declare it to the dryads on our way out.”
Windmane nodded. She opened her mouth to say something, but was distracted by the cluster of pixies on the floor next to her. They were gathered around the one who’d been holding the berries earlier.
She pushed between herdmates. “Hey, did it get you too?” she asked.
The pixie zipped up to her head height, looking cheerful enough. The others rose in a cloud around him. “Yeah, weirdest thing!” he said. “Pretty, though. I wonder who else was lucky enough to get a faceful of color!”
The dread in Windmane’s core only grew. “You don’t feel any effects?” Pixies were highly attuned to magic.
He waved a hand that had the same faint glow as usual. “Nah, all good now. Well, back to it I guess! Oh hey, where did my berries go? Did you find that charcoal stick?”
Windmane reluctantly put the experience from her mind, asking the herdmate whose cart it was to kindly retrieve a charcoal stick for the pixie. The other centaurs were all clearly on edge, judging by ear position and the terse tone to everyone’s voice, but no one spoke further of it. The pixies as a whole seemed to have forgotten it entirely.
“Thanks a bunch! Enjoy your berries!”
The pixie fluttered off. Still feeling an unsteadiness that could have been caused by nerves as much as anything, Windmane stood out of everyone’s way and began eating the berries. No one objected. Stormteeth made sure that her cart was prepared for her.
Some minutes later, when the last cart was nearly ready, Windmane found herself falling bonelessly toward the wooden floor again. She managed a short squeal of alarm, but didn’t even see the ground hit.
* * * * *
When she opened her eyes this time, the colors were wrong. Sharper, and … hotter somehow. Windmane blinked, but the view of the treetops didn’t change. She tried to roll to her feet. It didn’t work.
What is… Windmane thought vaguely as she braced her hands on the ground and bent to look down at what appeared to be two outsized arms instead of proper forelegs. Her hind legs, tail, and everything between were gone. Where is the rest of me??
She looked up, trying not to hyperventilate, and saw her herdmates standing a few steps back. “What happened?” Windmane asked. “Where’s — What happened??”
Stormteeth shook herself and stepped forward, directing the others to keep the crowds back. “Change of plan,” she said to Windmane. “We’re contacting the dryads right now.”
“Okay,” Windmane said weakly. She realized that her ears weren’t responding when she tried to move them, and tentative fingertips found them similarly missing. But there were other, smaller ears lower on her head, and that was when she realized the obvious. “Human? Am I a human somehow?” That explained the arm-legs.
Stormteeth snorted. “It appears so,” she said. While the others formed a protective wall that made Windmane feel marginally better, Stormteeth held out both hands. “Can you stand?”
Windmane took her hands, and attempted the most difficult balancing act since she’d learned to walk the first time. Her clothes got in the way. The tunic still fit, though it draped to nearly her knees, but the caparison was a flowing mess behind her. Her shoes lay empty on the floor, still laced. Stormteeth helped her remove the caparison, then supported her weight while Windmane swayed like a sapling.
“These feet are so soft!” she exclaimed, shifting her weight further. “The floor is cold. And hard. How do humans keep their balance like this? And the colors! What is wrong with the colors??” The treetops had been solid green before, but they were full of scattered yellows and oranges now. And some of the passersby that she caught glimpses of wore clothes that were shockingly vibrant.
“We’ll get this straightened out,” Stormteeth said. “If you lean on me, can you walk?”
The herdmates parted to let her try. It was decidedly iffy. Windmane clutched Stormteeth’s caparison and apologized for pulling it sideways when she almost fell.
Then she saw something that the others hadn’t noticed yet: a naked human sitting on the ground, surrounded by pixies.
“Oh no,” Windmane said.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
Stormteeth followed her look, and clicked her tongue in disapproval. “I guess we’d better bring him along. The dryads will want to know.”
“Give him my cape,” Windmane suggested, nodding toward the discarded caparison. “The pixies won’t have anything big enough to cover him.”
Stormteeth snorted agreement, and directed the closest herdmate to do so. The former pixie was still looking at his hands in confusion when the large blue cloth appeared before him.
“Here. Wrap this around yourself, and come with us to see the dryads.”
“Oh,” he said, blinking. “Thanks!” He took the offered hand up, and managed to stand on his own with a minimum of wobbling.
Windmane was distinctly bitter about that.
With help from the many pixies, he got the caparison tied roughly about his midsection in the ugliest fashion statement Windmane’s clothes had ever been subjected to. But it covered him enough for human decency rules.
“Wow, everything looks so tiny!” he said. “Color’s a little weird, though.”
Windmane snorted, still leaning on Stormteeth. “Tell me about it.”
It was only now that the former pixie noticed her, and put two and two together. “Oh hey, you too?”
Windmane sighed. “Yes.”
“This is pretty wild, huh?”
“Yes.”
Stormteeth motioned for the pixie to move forward. “Can you walk, or will you need assistance?”
“I think I’ve got it. Everything’s heavier, and moves really slowly, but it’s not too bad.” To demonstrate, he took several steps, only to step on something unpleasant, flail about, and fall. “Ew ew ew! What was that — Aww, the airberries!”
Windmane stared at the bright splotch on the wood, and thought that there was no possible way it could be the last few she hadn’t eaten. True, the stems had weighed them down enough that they’d probably fallen when she did, but these weren’t the right color. The berries had been yellow. This was the brightest, hottest color she’d ever seen.
She squinted. “What color is that?” she asked.
The former pixie was wiping his foot on the wood. “Red?” he asked, his confusion evident. “Does it look different to you too? Seems more purple than before.”
“That’s red?” Windmane leaned forward until Stormteeth had to catch her. “It can’t be. I know red. It’s just a darker yellow. This is — I don’t know, the color of some magical fire that breaks reality.”
“Nope, definitely red,” the pixie said, getting unsteadily to his feet. “I guess your horsey-pupil eyes don’t see the full spectrum? Sorry; that’s got to be boring.”
Windmane opened and closed her mouth in outrage. “Humans can see more colors than we can? How come no one ever told me??”
The pixie shrugged. “Guess it never came up. Oh, my name’s Twig, by the way. Hey, we can even shake hands now! I’ve never gotten to do that with a big person!”
Windmane freed one hand to shake his, to his clear delight. “I’m Windmane,” she said, still leaning on her herdmate’s back.
“I am Stormteeth,” the sub-alpha broke in. “Let’s be going before the crowds get worse. Stay close, Twig.”
“Sure thing!” the former pixie said, taking deliberate steps until he stood at Windmane’s side. He looked much the same as before: spiky blonde hair, blue eyes, and golden-tan skin, just no longer glowing. Human ears. A grating sense of optimism. “Things smell a little different, but I can’t put my finger on it,” he said. “And wow, this floor is hard!”
Windmane snorted again. “Right?” Then Stormteeth urged them to move, and all her attention was spent on trying not to fall. She just couldn’t figure out how to move herself forward without clinging to Stormteeth’s clothes. After some rearrangement, several herdmates stayed behind to mind the carts, while two walked on either side, holding Windmane up by the arms. Stormteeth led the group. Windmane’s feet barely rested on the ground. It was incredibly embarrassing, but it was clearly the only way they would get anywhere.
Twig walked behind her, resting a hand on each back for balance and providing a running commentary. A handful of pixies flitted through the air around them, but none introduced themselves.
“The depth perception is screwy somehow,” Twig said. “Things move at a different speed than I’d expect. And I can’t get over how heavy everything is! Wow, I think my heart’s beating slower. Wild.”
Windmane kept her mouth shut and her eyes forward. Everyone was staring; she wasn’t imagining it. And bright red things were everywhere! That sign, those dresses, that apple — surely someone should have told her. This was unfair.
She kept her mind on righteous indignation instead of the creeping fear that this wouldn’t be fixable. Eventually they arrived. There was, of course, a line of people ahead of them. Windmane’s escorts set her down to wait. She decided that she didn’t like the cold of the wooden floor. Was this why humans wore shoes all the time? How terrible.
When they finally reached the front of the line, Stormteeth explained the problem to the dryad representative. To Windmane’s mild surprise, the dryad appeared to already know about the incident.
“Is there anyone else in line,” she asked loudly, “Who has just been transformed into human shape against their will?”
“Yes,” said a sour male voice. Windmane craned her neck to see a pale man with dark hair going gray at the temples, piercing green eyes, and what might have been a flying carpet wrapped around him like a fashionable drape.
“Me too,” said a woman farther down the line, waving a muscular arm that was darker than the wooden floor. She wore proper clothes, though they were clearly loose on her, an impressive feat given her height. Her dark hair was cropped close to her skull; her eyes were brown and full of worry.
When the two minotaurs behind her put comforting hands on her shoulders, Windmane figured out why the clothes were so big.
“Please come forward,” the dryad said.
The two humans did, bringing the minotaurs and a deer-sized silver dragon with them. That explained the man.
No wonder he looks grumpy, Windmane thought as the former dragon crossed his arms in front of the dryad. At least it looks like he’s been on two legs before. Dragons are supposed to be good at all kinds of magic. I guess not good enough to turn himself back.
The dryad wasted no time. She explained what the dryads as a whole had observed — which, given their presence in the woodwork, was always a lot — and told the four victims what they had to do.
“The people who activated this spell were selling decorative illusions, and they have been detained outside the festival wall,” she said. “My sisters will make sure that no one interferes while you who were victimized settle your business with them.”
Twig spoke up from behind Windmane. “What if they refuse to fix it? How do we settle then?”
The dryad spread her hands. “That is up to you.”
Twig looked like he wanted to object, but the former dragon hissed at him to be silent. “Dryad law, boy. They’re impartial when it doesn’t affect them. Don’t get yourself in worse trouble.”
“That is correct,” the dryad said serenely. “You will need to collect the fifth victim of this spell on your way out. We observed there to be five impacts, and the fifth is not here.”
“Where, then?” asked the dragon.
“We will escort you to her, and then to the detainment site,” the dryad said. Two other dryads appeared out of the floor behind her, looking nearly identical. “Please step aside to settle with your associates, then prepare to be escorted.”
“Wait, settle with our what?” Twig asked as the centaurs ushered him along with Windmane. Pixies fluttered about him anxiously. “Do we have to go alone?”
“Yes,” said the former dragon.
“Oh,” Twig said in a small voice.
Windmane hoped that the dragon knew how to convince the people to reverse the spell, since the rest of them surely didn’t. She gritted her teeth and kept silent.
Once out of the way of the line, the group fell into multiple conversations at once. Windmane discovered that it was harder to keep track with ears that couldn’t swivel.
“We’ll wait for you at the gate we entered by,” Stormteeth told her. “Your cart and responsibilities will be portioned between the others in case you aren’t prepared to pull it afterward.”
Windmane agreed, heart in her throat. The carts were made for this sort of thing, easily disassembled and shared in case someone twisted an ankle on the trip. Windmane dearly hoped that it wouldn’t be necessary.
Stormteeth put a comforting hand on her head, which helped a bit. Windmane leaned against her herdmates, making fists in their clothes and trying to put on a brave smile.
She watched the other humans say their temporary goodbyes: Twig speaking quickly to the pixies, the former minotaur getting hugged tightly by her kin, and the former dragon giving instructions to his apprentice before demanding that the dryads provide clothes.
To Windmane’s surprise, they did. There was a lost-and-found maintained from previous festivals, with more than enough two-legger clothes left unclaimed. Windmane knew that she herself would be hesitant to bother the dryads about something left behind unless it was truly important. No great surprise that these people hadn’t come back.
As she picked through the selection, which held a large amount of complete outfits, Windmane started to suspect that some of these had actually come from outsiders who had violated the laws. Bodies go to fertilizer; clothes go to… here. Oh dear.
She decided not to say anything about it. Instead she picked a loose set of leg-coverings that looked like they wouldn’t add to her mobility problems. They were clearly made for a bigger person, but the drawstring at the top cinched close enough. And they were brown, which felt enough like the legs she was missing that she had to blink a tear from one eye.
Shoes, though…
“These all hurt,” she complained. “Are human shoes supposed to hurt?” Everyone nearby had hooves, and couldn’t tell her. Finally Twig surfaced from digging through the shirts to help her out.
“Shoes should be comfortable, just like any clothes,” he asserted. “Though these all have far more… armor on the bottom than any pixie shoe I’ve ever worn. I’ve never seen a human block a sword with their foot, but I guess they must. Or they walk over a lot of rough things.”
“Just pick something,” exclaimed the dragon man, already dressed in a silky black outfit patterned with flowers. He’d found boots that reached halfway to his knee and appeared to fit him perfectly. The carpet was rolled up under his arm. The young dragon was hurrying off with words about how fast they would be.
Twig helped Windmane find shoes that were comfortable enough: flat slabs of leather with a bunch of straps that adjusted to any foot. He claimed some of the armor-soled heavy boots for himself, visibly delighted by the idea of breaking things by stepping on them. Windmane thought they looked silly with the puffy-sleeved pink shirt and fuzzy green pants, but that was his problem.
The minotaur woman had kept her oversized shirt, but added a belt over it along with another pair of the drawstring pants and some of her own heavy boots. Windmane had considered boots herself, since she missed her hooves fiercely, but uncomfortable hooves were worse than fake hooves. At least the minotaur’s boots fit.
When the awkward foursome were dressed, the two dryads selected another outfit from the pile before leading the way to where the last “victim” apparently was.
The silver dragon caught up with them before they got far, handing a cloth bag to the elder. Windmane was curious, but busy trying to walk. She was no better at it this time, and still had to be half-carried.
When they approached the location of the fifth victim of the spell, it was clear where they were headed. This avenue of the festival ground had nearly emptied except for one tent, its stall front taken down but otherwise not prepared for departure. Several harpies hopped about anxiously outside. Swearing was audible from within.
“Wait here, please,” said one dryad, stopping on the pathway. The other glided forward with the clothes to greet the harpies. Then she vanished inside the tent.
After a lengthy wait, a scrawny human woman stepped out, wearing an off-white shirt, brown pants, loose slippers, and body language that said she would much rather be a bird right now, thank you. Her arms were held close like wings, and she stood hunched over.
“Great!” said the former dragon. “Let’s be off.”
The dryad ushered the harpy over to join the others. “Bid your companions farewell for now,” she said, “And we will guide you to those you quarrel with. It is a fair distance.”
“Wait!” Windmane exclaimed. “I can’t walk on my own!” To demonstrate the point, she stepped forward and overcalculated, pitching sideways against her herdmate.
Before the dryads could respond, the dragon made an exasperated noise and strode forward, unrolling the carpet with a snap. He said a word that was difficult to hear, then set it down in midair.
“Get on,” he instructed. “Guide it by leaning. Purely mental commands are more advanced.”
Twig thought this was the best thing, and wanted to ride it with her. The dragon confirmed that it was strong enough for two, and in moments the pair of them were perched on the flying carpet, with Twig in front and far too enthusiastic for Windmane’s peace of mind.
“May the luck of the herd be with you,” Stormteeth said, clasping Windmane’s forearm.
“Thank you. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Windmane bid her other herdmates farewell, and watched as the minotaur woman said similar goodbyes.
“I’ll be there in spirit,” the biggest minotaur was saying. “Just let me know when I can punch them for messing with my herd.” She smacked fist to palm to demonstrate, her hoof-tipped fingers curled into something that could do serious damage. Windmane reflected that this female bull was more imposing than some of the male bulls she’d met before. It was a shame was wasn’t allowed to protect her herd properly from this sneaky magic.
“I’ll be okay,” the former minotaur promised. “The worst part is the way I can’t see behind me now!” She shook her head, searching for a better range of vision. “It’s terrible!” The bull gave her another hug, and the other cow joined in.
Windmane called out to them. “We’ll watch her back! Herd solidarity!” When the minotaurs separated to look, she waved an arm. “Come walk with us. You can help keep this thing from tipping over. I have no idea what I’m doing.”
The former minotaur laughed weakly and gave a farewell caress, then took up a place beside the carpet. She moved reasonably well on two feet, though she kept trying to stand on her toes.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m Stomp.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Windmane, and this is Twig.”
The dragon spoke up from next to the dryads. “Can we go now?”
The two dryads moved together, gliding along the wood without ever manifesting proper feet. The dragon followed with a wave to his apprentice and a hiss at the carpet to follow him.
“I guess we’ll learn his name later,” Windmane said as the carpet moved under her. She clutched at the sides, then freed one hand to wave goodbye-for-now. Twig and Stomp did the same, while the harpy bounced along grumpily behind the dragon.
The bushes that lined the wooden path held the brightest red flowers Windmane had ever seen.