AS THE FELIDRAGON’S HANDSOME tail disappeared beneath a boulder, Allory grinned wryly at Ashueli. “I think he’d make a good girl, don’t you?”

“Despite his being as subtle as a Giant’s boot?” she grinned back.

“Actual boot, or the smell inside the boot?”

“The latter. So, with all my subtle powers of feminine persuasion –” she made a droll face “– how do I coax a Scintillant Fae to strut her stuff?”

“Ah, not much of a strutter at the best of times.”

“More of a-flutter?”

Allory rolled her eyes, smiling, “Groan.”

“What would you suggest? Me being good with knives and somewhat less good with the numinous enchantments commonly wielded by tiny non-mythical blue people, I am open to suggestions.”

Making a decision that caused her heart to leap into her throat as if seeking a swift escape to jungles unknown, she winged over and perched upon Ashueli Sylvanchild’s left shoulder. “You know what, I happen to like you … as a royal footstool. So, here’s the plan –”

“Footstool? You rascal!”

The plan was that she snooped attentively while Ashueli did whatever Elves did to connect with their natural environment. It began with awkward laughter. For all her self-confidence, Ash betrayed a decent state of nervousness as she stood beside a pomegranate and placed her hands upon its trunk. It took over half an hour before Allory’s wing edges prickled and she realised that Ashueli’s innate Elven magic was at work, bringing to the forefront of her mind a hint of stately sylvan halls, wide sunlit meadows and a sense of airy openness that celebrated the whispering tongue of a wind-tossed forest, deep and hoary, heart and soul of a realm of unimaginable age and sentient presence …

“The Deepwoods are alive?” she squeaked.

“Of course they are,” Ashueli chuckled, as if disbelieving that a Faerie did not know such a thing. “The forest speaks to every Elf. It’s in our blood.”

The jungle was different. It was much more reticent, a vastly tangled realm of concealed secrets and widespread pockets of magic, quite unlike this Elven sense … this soul-deep veneration they experienced when connecting best with their world.

This insight triggered Allory’s voice.

Was it her own voice? Her own creation, or a response to what she sensed of the ariavana, of the infinite expression of the world’s soul incarnate in this place? Allory tried very hard to focus simply on being a conduit, but she realised that it was not all a journey in a single direction. Her will, her desire, the bourgeoning, unexpected effervescence of her joy mattered in ways she could not have articulated with the best will in all Spheris.

Her spirit soared in the discovery of a novel song.

An unknown time later, Allory returned from a faraway place, from a realm perhaps unknown beneath Middlesun, to find the darkness gently lit by a small fire of dry sticks Yaarah must have lit. The flickering firelight played off clusters of ruddy, juicy pomegranate fruit, thick and fine, and burnished the rippling waters of an upwelling so eager, the spring’s flow already spilled away between the boulders with a gurling like a nectar-drunk Faeling’s cheekiest laughter.

Yawn. Stretch. Greedily, the Fae inhaled the mouth-watering fragrances of creamy lily, the subtle peppery twist of pomegranate and bittersweet gourmand notes of tamarind. Delicious!

Oh, all laced with sizzling umami notes of chargrilled snake meat. Yuck.

Nonetheless, the oasis pulsed with life and for her part, rather than feeling as if she might fall over any moment, this girlfae felt energised and renewed. She’d be sparking off her own antennae in a moment.

Allory bounced to her feet. “Dinnertime!”

“Allory!” Ashueli nearly dropped the skewer she held above the flame. “I imagined we’d be scraping you off the floor again.”

“Nope. Full of pep.”

“I … see. Unrestrained pep and sparkle, is it? Well, I believe that dinner is definitely on the menu for you now. The plants will welcome you.”

The semi-naked girl gestured toward a low-hanging cluster of pomegranate flowers, slowly swelling with new growth in the same way as both of their eyes widened in wonder. Her resistance lasted about as long as it took her to inhale the fragrance of that bounty. Ashueli observed sidelong as she drank deeply. Why did people watch a Faerie? What did they think? Did they not understand the most basic facts about drinking nectar, or was it that her Fae-form manifested as butterfly-like in some respects? She scratched her neck self-consciously, wishing she could become invisible. It would make so many things so very much easier.

One never needed a great deal of nectar, so Allory moved over to a tamarind flower to try that out. Exotic flavours burst upon her tongue. Mmm! Curl her antennae, tamarind was tasty!

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

She peeked at the Elf. “Had a bath?”

“Thanks to you.” Ash pinched her nose delicately. Ah, she had washed her travel leathers and laid them out to dry. Good idea. “You might want to do the same.”

“How sensitive you are. Where’s Yaarah?”

“Off chasing another snake. Embarrassing incident regarding most of the first cobra visiting his digestive system before he remembered that he promised to bring me a bite. He offered to regurgitate a larger portion should I desire more. I declined with my usual excess of perfect-Princess politeness and booted his furry behind out to fetch me – well, us if I’m being honest – another whole snake.”

“I see!” Allory flushed as her bright laughter rang between the rocks. “Well, for your part, you might want to consider brushing out that tangle, especially around your left ear.”

“I forgot to pack that travel essential called a hairbrush. It’s a family heirloom, of course, totally priceless. All the rocks and dusty columns love to see a girl looking her very best.”

Allory giggled at the sarcasm. “No nudity taboos over there?”

“Please. I’m an Elf in my undies.”

“Making all the boys faint?”

Ash sniffed at her left armpit and made a hilarious face. “Thought I’d just fixed that problem. You’d tell me, right?”

“Right!”

How oddly stirring to experience such an exchange with an Elven royal. Even a few days back she would never have imagined such a happenstance, a miniature Faerie becoming friends with someone who to her was effectively a giant, perhaps six and a half times her height and from an unimaginably different background.

The nectars of life could be strange indeed.

Stripping down, Allory dipped her feet into the freshly filled pool and sighed in delight. Faerie made a habit of bathing once or twice a day in the sweltering jungle, depending on the season. This coating of fine reddish dust upon her skin was another matter entirely. Accepting a nugget of herbal soap which Her Highness had indeed bothered to pack, she cleaned up with zeal. Then, she popped over to the Princess, despite the proximity to the stench of charred meat, and used her tiny fingers to brush out the tangled parts – ignoring a jibe about the royal personage most certainly being able to find her gainful employment as a picayune detangler of braids.

Not a terrible idea. While Ash finished burning her disgusting hunk of animal flesh, Allory sneakily used her fingers and all her toes in concert to braid her hair into a coronet. They had a good laugh over that.

“So, the fabled Scintillant magic lives?” the Elf prompted.

“Seems so.”

It’s fickle and finicky, but … can I imagine I’m starting to discover some form of control? Allory thought to herself. Why now? Could it have been the Dryad? The trauma? The Pixies … or – her mind leaped in another direction – the fact that I’m no longer being force-dosed with amsinthe nectar?

No gambler was she, but Allory knew exactly where she would place her bet. Why her? Could Yaarah’s whiskers-sense about her somehow, against all the odds be right? Surely not.

While she ruminated, Ashueli continued, “It’s interesting, because in our legends – the Elven ones – Scintillant Fae magic is referred to in the highest terms. I mean, roll back slightly, Elves and Faerie have always been great friends. During the pogroms, I understand that the Elves took in and sheltered many Fae creatures, at no small cost to themselves. Yaarah made it sound as if your people had become very isolated, fleeing due to terrible loss and duress, and had since forgotten much of what makes you unique.”

“Attempted genocide can do that to a people.”

Allory winced in concert with the twitch of a muscle in the Elven girl’s jawline.

Leaning forward, she kissed the spot. “Sorry. Misplaced blame.”

“I – I was just about to wax lyrical about how wonderful we Elves are and how there’s an Elven King and a Faerie King, and we live together in glorious peace and harmony. La la.” She poked wrathfully at the small blaze. “Clearly, we’ve forgotten a few things, too.”

“What do you mean, Ash?”

“I mean that we’ve become lazy and complacent. The very fact that you had to cook up a minor miracle to restore this place, that the Dryads had become extinct – look, I’m not big on the mystical malarkey, but I do sense there’s a problem and it goes beyond a wobbling Middlesun. The wildfires in the Chemgor Forests beyond the Deepwoods have been terrible over the last decade. The Suylas Deepwoods no longer speak to us Elves as they once did. Elven Seers like my great-grandfather Amazas have been issuing warnings for decades, but I fear they have largely been ignored. My generation despises or at least, disregards the old ways.”

Yaarah purred quietly, “And that standpoint is said by some to originate with the Elven King himself, but please don’t repeat that.”

Allory jumped at his silent arrival, but Ashueli only smiled, “Good hunting?”

“The last cobra’s brother, I believe,” he said, showing her the spoils, a fat eight-foot cobra of greyish-tan colouration meant to camouflage it from predators. Not protection enough from hungry Felidragons, clearly. “Take as much as you’d like, brrr-trrrt. We should prepare meat for a few days as you suggested. Allory! Lost our clothing, I see?”

“Lost yours?” she spluttered, colouring nonetheless.

“I am simply resplendent in my natural form,” said he, preening immodestly and stretching his spine with that remarkable feline elasticity, “and so are you.”

“Yaarah!”

“What need to gild the lily, one must rightly inquire?”

“What need to shave the cheeky, inappropriate Felidragon’s whiskers?” she snorted, waving her hands to cool her face. Oh, never mind. “Second swim! Coming, Yaarah?”

With a throaty chuckle, he joined her in sporting in the pool. After a while, he emerged and vigorously shook up a massive shower of droplets, to the girls’ annoyance, before settling close to the fire with his long body curved about the warmth. He’d boil that ridiculous fur of his in a second – oh right, back to the fireproof discussion. He and the blaze appeared to want to become very well acquainted, so much so that the glorious golden sheen of the Felidragons’ coat appeared to draw the flame toward itself in a hypnotic effect of the light.

What a pretty boy you are. Snicker. Allory blushed at her own joke.

Flicking out a golden talon, Yaarah admired the play of the firelight upon its mirror-smooth surface for a moment before drawling, “So, Sparkles, frrr-ssst, allow me to describe where our travels shall take your lovely self. Did you know that you literally scintillate when you work your best magic?”

“Eep. Uh, that would be, no?”

Headshake.

“No to the scintillate? Let us not hesitate. My dear Fae, please do allow yourself to luxuriate and cogitate whilst I elucidate.”

“Yaarah, you are a hoot. How long have you been practising that line?”

He purred, “Weeks. Still fluffed it, however.”

“Aww, you sweet old reprobate.”

“Compliments, I will tolerate,” the Felidragon allowed graciously, “as long as you permit me to reciprocate.”

“Eh, I’m not going to win this word game, am I?”

“No.”