The atmosphere shifted subtly, the tension easing. Vivian's eyes followed her daughter's exit before returning to Stanley with a renewed focus.

"Stanley, I have a favor to ask of you," Vivian began, her voice taking on a serious tone. "There's a particular type of moss—Moonlight Moss—it's essential for a potion I'm currently crafting. It grows in a grove not far from here, about a two-hour walk following the stream northeast of my cottage."

Stanley listened intently, noting the change in her demeanor. The mention of a potion piqued his curiosity, but the request also stirred a mix of reluctance and determination within him.

"The moss is unique," Vivian continued, watching his reaction closely. "It looks quite ordinary during the day, but under the moonlight, it turns a bright white. It's beautiful, really, but also quite rare and necessary for my work."

"Why me?" Stanley asked, his eyebrows knitting together in slight confusion. "I mean, why not fetch it yourself, or ask Maria? She is more familiar with the area?!"

Vivian smiled faintly, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Nature is a good judge of character, Stanley. How you handle this will tell me a lot about you. Besides, consider it a trade. Help me, and I will provide you with the knowledge you seek about the Trials. It's only fair, don't you think?"

Stanley took a moment to consider her words. The task didn't seem particularly daunting, but the witch's intent to test him through it made him cautious. However, his desire to gain her trust and the information she held about the Trials outweighed his reservations.

"What does it look like, exactly?" Stanley inquired, his mind already gearing towards the details of the task. "And how much of this moss do you need?"

"It looks much like any other moss during the day, but slightly silkier, " Vivian explained, her tone turning instructive. "You'll want to gather a handful. But be careful, the grove is serene but can be deceiving. Look for the stones—they form a natural circle marking the perimeter of the grove. You will know when you come across them. Don't stray beyond them."

"Anything else I should watch out for?" Stanley asked, his voice steady despite the growing knot of anxiety about venturing into unknown territory.

"Just the usual forest dwellers," Vivian replied with a nonchalant shrug. "Oh, and make sure to be back before nightfall. The forest changes after dark, and not always for the better."

Stanley nodded, absorbing her warnings. He was not particularly thrilled about the errand, feeling it was more a distraction than a necessity. His willingness to assist reflected more on his wanting to move forward with his own goals. "I’ll do it," Stanley confirmed, his voice firmer than he felt. "I'll leave right away."

"Good," Vivian said, her expression softening. "Take the basket from the porch and follow the stream. It will lead you directly to the grove. And Stanley," she paused, her gaze intense, "thank you for being agreeable. It's a quality not to be underestimated."

Resigned to his fate, Stanley stood to leave. The task seemed simple enough, but the underlying test of his character and abilities was not lost on him. With a final nod to Vivian, Stanley left the cottage, the door closing softly behind him. He picked up the wicker basket from the porch, feeling its sturdy weave under his fingers. With a deep breath, he set out, following the stream's babbling currents that led away from the witch's cottage.

***

Stanley's journey into the forest was marked by a palpable shift from the familiar, well-trodden paths of his village to a realm where the air hummed with the untamed spirit of nature. As he followed the stream, the terrain grew wilder, the underbrush thicker, and the forest canopy so dense that it swallowed most of the daylight, casting the world in a perpetual dusky gloom. The air was fresh but heavy with the scent of earth and moss, vibrant and alive with the whispers of unseen creatures.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

Despite the beauty, there was an undeniable edge of danger. Vines curled like serpents across the path, tripping him more than once, and brambles with thorns sharp as needles clawed at his clothes, eager to hold him back. Every snapped twig under his boot seemed to echo through the vast, empty woods, and every rustle in the underbrush sent a jolt of adrenaline coursing through his veins. Stanley's senses were on high alert; he knew that in such wilderness, complacency could be as dangerous as the most venomous creature lurking in the shadows.

As he rounded a bend in the stream, Stanley came face-to-face with his first magical encounter: a cluster of luminescent fungi that emitted a soft, eerie glow, illuminating the surrounding area with an otherworldly light. As he stepped closer, the ground beneath him gave way slightly, vines shot out from the undergrowth, wrapping around his ankles with astonishing speed. Stanley's heart raced as he fought for balance, pulling his father’s knife with panicked clumsiness. With a few swift cuts, he freed himself, his breathing heavy with the exertion, letting a sense of relief wash over him. He wiped the blade clean, noting the acrid smell of the sap, and proceeded with heightened wariness.

The magical nature of the forest became increasingly evident as he delved deeper. Faint glows emanated from peculiar flowers that didn't seem to need sunlight to thrive, and at one point, a series of small lights flitted through the trees, too quick to be natural. Stanley paused, watching as the lights danced around a gnarled oak, their movements whimsical but precise. Recalling his past experiences, he carefully avoided disturbing them, choosing a wider berth around the oak.

Finally, as he approached a small clearing, the promised circle of rocks came into view. It was here, the witch had told him, that the Moonlight Moss would be found. The shadows grew longer; the forest seemed to hold its breath. Stanley felt a sudden chill that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He turned slowly.

Perched on a low branch was a magnificent white owl, its eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. The owl’s gaze was piercing, assessing Stanley’s every intention. The air around it thrummed with power, a clear sign of its significance in the hierarchy of the forest.

For a moment, Stanley stood frozen, caught in the creature’s scrutiny. Stanley, his heart pounding in his chest, approached.

The owl did not move or make a sound. Instead, it continued to watch him, its head tilting slightly to one side, as if curious about this human who dared venture so deep into its domain. A reminder that here, Stanley was not the hunter but a guest, perhaps even an intruder.

Stanley stopped a few paces away. He addressed the creature with a clear voice. "Great Spirit of the Forest, I mean no harm," he said, his words hanging in the still air. "I'm come seeking the Moonlight Moss, guided by the Witch of the woods. I ask for your permission to gather it."

***

The owl fixed Stanley with its gaze, its eyes glowing with a wisdom that seemed as old as the forest itself. "Mortal," it spoke, its voice a strange echo in Stanley's mind, "to take from the forest, you must give in return. Solve my riddles three, and the moss you may see."

"Alright." Stanley nodded, his mind racing with both anticipation and anxiety.

The guardian's eyes seemed to shimmer with an impish light as it delivered the first riddle. " I have roots that nobody sees. I am taller than trees. Up, up I go, yet I never grow. What am I?"

Stanley pretended to think for a little bit. He knew this one. He scratched his head and stroked his chin awhile longer. "It must be a mountain," he finally answered.

"Correct," the owl responded, its tone neutral yet somehow approving. The second riddle followed swiftly, "I am not seen but felt, not touched but sealed, I can break a heart or heal. What am I?"

This one made Stanley pause. He pondered. Love, time, memories, silence all came to mind but none of them fit just right. His gaze drifting to the late afternoon light around him, the serene beauty of the forest for some reason stirring memories of his mother. "Words," he guessed, more hopeful than certain.

A soft, almost imperceptible hoot came from the owl, and it nodded. "Indeed, human. Now, for your final test." The air seemed to thicken with tension as the guardian posed the last riddle, "I come as a pair, I am round and firm. Hanging high when I am young, but sagging as I age. What am I?”

Stanley's cheeks flushed a deep red. His thoughts stumbled, unsure, and time stretched painfully long. Finally, with a sheepish grin and a shrug of his shoulders, he replied, "Perhaps... a woman’s breasts?"

The clearing erupted into a series of soft, echoing hoots that seemed like laughter. The owl’s stern demeanor cracked, a twinkle of amusement in its glowing eyes. "Clever and bold, human. You have entertained me enough to earn your prize."

Relief washed over Stanley as the owl gestured gracefully with its wing the circle of rocks where the Moonlight Moss gleamed. Stanley approached the moss, each step careful and reverent. As promised, the moss appeared nondescript in the waning light, but it had a silvery sheen to it, as if it were the condensed light of the moon itself.

He knelt, his fingers brushing against the delicate fronds, cool and slightly damp. As he carefully collected the moss, placing it into the small basket he had brought, he felt a profound sense of achievement. He couldn't help himself; he was beaming.

All done, he secured his pack. Stanley turned back to the owl, bowing deeply. "Thank you, Great Guardian. I am in your debt."

The owl gave a solemn nod, its eyes softening. "Go safely, human. And remember, the forest watches and remembers."

With the moss in hand, and the guardian's words etched deep in his heart, Stanley rushed back towards the cottage. The journey back seemed less daunting, the shadows less menacing, for he carried not just the Moonlight Moss but the knowledge and the confidence that he had just been tested and not found wanting.