The next time Willow dares to look up, there a rainbow painted across the sky.
It is a strange sight— the girl could have sworn that it hasn’t rained here in a while; the air is as dry as a crisp, midsummer day— but the rainbow is bright and clear and so vividly colourful that Willow cannot help but stare with transfixed eyes.
A tiny part of her wavering heart dares her to reach out a hand and grab hold of it.
And predictably, her fist merely closes in on empty air.
Well, that was embarrassing. Willow shakes her head vigorously like a drenched dog— before these whimsical desires can latch onto her and drive her insane. Talking about insanity feels like a moot point right now, but the ground beneath her feet is as real as the gently swaying Emerald forest around her, so the girl does the only thing she seems to be capable of doing— keep walking ahead.
The parting words of the harpy begin to make to make more sense now.
“Do not wander about in the forest aimlessly, human.” Aeon had warned her airily. She’d pointed a clawed finger across the trees. “Follow the rainbow towards the north— and keep walking until you reach the Misty mound of Moonfaire. There lies the pot of treasure, guarded by its nasty keepers. A word of advice, human— you may fool the keepers, but you may never fool the nightly beasts of the Emerald forest.”
Willow had to swallow a lump of dread rising in her throat. “The nightly b-beasts?”
“Leave the forest before nightfall, ye mortal creature of the most pitiful kind.” The harpy had merely waved away her question, as if she was just talking about the weather. “Unless of course, you really wish to die, hmm?”
As if!
“Excuse me?!” Willow had blurted out before she could stop herself. “Which kind of an idiot would want to die?!”
Aeon the harpy grinned, all sharp fangs and slanted eyes, before springing from the branches with the most graceful jump one could ever imagine. “You would not wish to know, human. Dying might just be a much kinder fate in this world of ours.”
----------------------------------------------
Willow does not know how long she has walked. She only knows that the rainbow, the beautiful fucking rainbow shows no sign of ending. It stretches across the sky like a solid strip of colours, looking a tad too bold and entirely too real. As if she might really get a smudge of wet paint on her fingers if her hands reach out far enough.
The thought slips away as soon as it forms.
Willow grits her teeth and steers her focus back on the road. Her head is pounding like a blacksmith’s hammer and the pangs of hunger are becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. The girl vaguely wishes that she could find a way to separate her feet from the rest of the body— they hurt like hell. There is no end in sight. Nothing in this godforsaken forest looks like a Misty mound of Moonfaire— whatever that might mean.
For a brief heartbeat, Willow fears the worst. Maybe the harpy was pulling her leg. Maybe there is no way out of this forest. Maybe this is all a fever dream.
Maybe— maybe she can never make out of here alive.
The bar of chocolate in her pocket is becoming too tempting by the minute. “Ten more minutes.” The girl tells herself firmly. The longer I can make it last, the better. She doesn’t know how she will bring herself to finish off her last ration after that, but she does know that it will happen sooner or later. There is nothing that looks quite edible in this forest. Sometimes, Willow catches vague glimpses of glowing orbs hanging low from the branches, looking suspiciously like floating lanterns. Strange smells waft in and out between those trees, like a perfectly concocted brew that will lure you further into the damned forest.
Eating them is certainly out of question.
Just as Willow begins to entertain tiny thoughts of burrowing herself into one of the tree hollows for the night (because she’d tried climbing one of the said trees, only to spectacularly slip down from the branches again and again), the heady scent returns with a vengeance. There is a brief lull in the air— exactly like the time when Aeon had chosen make her grand appearance. Willow is startled by the familiarity of the feeling— a heaviness in the limbs, a shift in the breeze, a sense of urgency that makes you want to hold your breath and hide behind the trees.
Something is bound to pop out from the woods once again.
The forest has taken a strangely dark appearance. As if the distance between midday and twilight is only a few steps away. Willow stares at the swirling darkness warily, but then her eyes catch glimpse of small, semi-circular— no, crescent shaped fruits glowing in branches. The whole scene is surreal, as if some whimsical universal power has plucked the moons from several odd worlds and hung them from the trees of Emerald Forest.
Wait— moons?!
She runs past the trees as if her life depended on it (in this case— it certainly did), and finally skids to a stop in front of a giant lump of dirt. There is a clearing in the middle of the Emerald forest, and smack in its centre lies the Misty mound of Moonfaire. Willow barely registers the mound of dirt, or the sudden wave of fine mist creeping and receding stealthily through the trees, because her eyes are transfixed on something that should not have existed in any corner of the world.
It is a sight too fantastical, too ethereal that she almost forgets how to breathe.
The rainbow has dipped down gracefully from the sky, almost within her hands’ reach. At the end of the rainbow— literal end, there is a giant earthen pot sitting atop the Misty mound, filled to the brim with gleaming golden coins.
There is a literal pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
I-Is this even legal?!
Willow doesn’t dare rub her eyes for confirmation— or the pot might disappear from the sight. But she blinks, once and twice and then thrice— because this might as well be a hallucination, and Willow doesn’t think that hungry people hallucinate about golden coins in earthen pots. This could also be a trap— but Aeon, the harpy didn’t look like the kind that would derive any amusement from leading an unsuspecting ‘nobody’ into such elaborate traps.
Or maybe she had underestimated the harpy from the beginning.
“….It’s a trap.” Willow mumbles in a daze, because she doesn’t quite know what she would do if this gold turns out to be as real as it looks.
I want to touch that rainbow. Comes the first thought in her mind. And then: No wait— ! I want to touch those coins!
Despite herself, the girl takes a tentative step forward, fingers outstretched towards the heap of glittering gold.
“Hands off the treasure…. Little intruder!”
The sound of a reedy voice, almost like an old man’s, startles Willow out of her thoughts. She whips around to the direction of the sound. The sun is steadily sinking further down the summer sky, dragging her remaining shred of courage along with it. There is a sudden chill in the air, and the girl is seized by an irrational fear in her heart— because twilight is fast approaching and she can’t do jack diddly squat about it.
And the source of the sound is nowhere to be found.
Is that another one of those talking cats?
Willow doesn’t dare to open her mouth. Whatever it is, the voice undoubtedly belongs to an inhabitant of the Emerald Forest. After her first encounter with a harpy, she knows better than to foolishly announce her presence to the unknown beings lurking deep within the darkness of these enchanting woods.
As if emboldened by her hesitation, more voices start piping in.
“A human. How curious!”
“Curious?” Chimes in another. “More like dangerous!”
“How’d thiiiiis one fiiiiind its way to heeeere?!” A fourth voice joins the ensemble, his words dragged out like an opera singer. “Iiiiiiintruders aren’t allowed to step a siiiiiingle foot iiiiinto the forest!”
Within minutes, the place is swamped with pandemonium. Shrill voices overlap and separate, like haphazard melodies coming together to merge into a whimsical song. They come from all directions, as if the entirety of the Emerald Forest has descended down on the earth to interrogate her. Even the birds have stopped their noisy chitters, almost like they are valiantly holding their breaths for the inevitable to come.
Willow swallows the dread coiling up in her throat. Fear gnaws into her mind like vicious snake. She can already imagine the words on her grave: “Willow Whitman, why didst thou follow that talking cat?”
Before she can weigh the pros and cons of grabbing a few gold coins and making a run for it, Willow spots a tiny green figure emerging from the mist. It is a small human, even smaller than a dwarf, with a pudgy nose and beady eyes, a pair of pointy ears and a crooked smile. A frayed green scarf flutters from its shoulders, looking like tufts of grass swaying in the wind.
The creature wears rather large leather shoes— several sizes bigger than its tiny feet, and walks forward with a swagger that screams authority.
That face reminds her of the colourful illustrations in her old book of fairytales.
The little fellow somehow manages to look down on Willow even though it is five heads shorter than her. “State your purpose, greedy human!”
Willow puckers up her face in embarrassment. It’s quite pointless to hide her feelings right now— especially when there is a giant hoard of treasure sitting smack before the eyes. And all of a sudden, her precious books don’t quite make sense anymore— the stories that always sing praises of the destined heroes and heroines, of how they hold their resolve even in most dire situations, of how they are all strong, honest people without a speck of envy in their unwavering hearts.
And how they remain unfazed even in the face of the tempting pleasures and worldly riches— like all good heroes and heroines should be.
She has a small epiphany: none of those authors have ever seen a real pot of treasure in their boring, upstanding lives.
There is an unmistakable sliver of greed curling up in her stomach. Willow feels it like a slap across the face. It is stark reminder of the fact that she isn’t as perfect and as heroic as the protagonists of her books. Of course she isn’t the chosen one— because chosen ones don’t dawdle around in the middle of forbidden forests, staring greedily at giant pots of gold.
The pragmatic side of her brain has a different answer altogether. Willow is a stranger to these lands— a nobody, that has neither food nor shelter nor money. Especially money. What’s so wrong about wanting to make some quick cash from a secluded pot of gold lying abandoned in an ancient forest? What good would the gold be if it’s never spent at all?
‘But—' Willow has a brief internal battle in her heart. ‘But the books always say— ’
“Screw the books! Only a fool would pass up an opportunity like this!” The pragmatic part hisses back.
Her lack of response must have angered the residents of the mound. One of them holds out a hammer about twice his size, and menacingly waves it around for added effect. His pointy hat has a bell fastened at its end, which jingles like a Christmas chime as he hops from one tiny foot to another.
The sight, one must admit, looks far more ridiculous than intimidating. Willow sends the creature one of her patented looks of confusion.
“What, human? Cat got yer tongue?!”
Stolen story; please report.
The mention of cats brings out a new surge of irrational anger. That’s right— the dratted cat! She needs to find the dratted cat! She needs to find it and get the hell out this forest before nightfall!
Another creature steps forth from the shadows. His eyes are droopy and his beard thin, but his voice trembles like the chords of a violin.
“Some grow, some wither,
Some run and some slither,
Some stupid ones do neither…
Trespassing into our lands,
And vanish like a feather.”
Good lord! There’s a budding poet among them! Willow catches the sight of several more of these tiny humans— they pop out from behind the bushes and the hollows of tree trunks, as if awakening from deep slumber to defend their precious gold.
This must be the pot of treasure that Aeon was talking about. And the creatures are undoubtedly its nasty keepers. Willow puts on her most professional smile and faces the group, because there’s no telling what they would do to unsuspecting humans who intrude into their homes uninvited and ogle at their precious gold.
“My apologies for trespassing into your land.” It’s a miracle how steady her voice is. “I was merely following the Rainbow, and ended up here before I knew it.”
“Liar liar, greedy on fire!” Mr Pointy Hat mutters. His face is scary, but it’s hard to take him seriously with all that jingling behind his head. “You knew this place! Everyone and their undead forefathers in Emerald Forest know this place! We leprechauns have lived here for eons!”
E-Eh?!
For a solid fifteen seconds, Willow gapes at the creature like an idiot.
LEPRECHAUNS?!
Oh.
Ohhhh!!
It’s all coming together now!
Of fucking course, there’d be a colony of friggin’ leprechauns in this forest! After a talking cat, a harpy, several dozen glowing moons hanging from trees, and a giant pot of treasure— Willow must admit that leprechauns aren’t high up on the list of impossible things that could suddenly pop into existence right before her eyes .
She remembers the little fairytales from her childhood. The little green shoemakers that hide their pot of treasure at the end of the rainbow. When Willow was a wee little child, she would cocoon herself in the blankets and imagine the land of leprechauns. She would think of the rainbow, of its legendary pot of gold, and all clever things she would say to the tiny tricksters to get one coin all for herself.
The day Willow had finally learnt that there’s no end to a Rainbow, she had thrown the biggest tantrum in the history of tantrums. Her mother liked to joke that it had been worse than finding out that there was no Santa. Somehow, Willow remembers the details so clearly— her fat little tears, her throat raw from all the screaming and the torn pages of her precious picturebook. It’s right up there with the most embarrassing memories of her past, carefully hidden somewhere in the back of her mind— along with other mortifying ones that she intends to take straight to her grave.
To see those impossible tales coming to life right before her eyes is a surreal thing. Willow doesn’t quite know what to believe in anymore.
“Who are you?” A leprechaun snarls, and this one has its own custom-made hammer. If Willow wasn’t still reeling from shock, she would have taken time to admire their little clothes and their giant leather shoes. Their fashion sense is quite dull, but if you lived in an enchanting forest all your life and owned a pot full of gold— you wouldn’t quite care for fashion either.
But this isn’t the time for those things. Not when an entire community of— ahem, leprechauns are glaring at you with eyes full of hostility. Willow valiantly rearranges her expression into one of polite interest, and speaks like a bonafide protagonist who has somehow stumbled into the right place at the right time.
Fake it till you make it!
“I am called Willy.” Her voice is full of confidence that she cannot quite feel yet. “The chosen one.”
For a heartbeat, none of them speak.
And then, Willow begins to see the small changes in their demeanor. Weapons are lowered, the shoulders droop, the whispers begin and their gazes turn from hostile to shocked to strangely curious.
The chosen one seems to be well known around these parts. Willow silently congratulates herself for the quick thinking.
“Feh!” Mr. Pointy Hat spits and curses in a language she doesn’t understand. “Ya should’ve said so earlier! We don’t get many chosen ones around here— the last one that came waltzing into the Emerald Forest was almost three centuries ago!”
There’s too much information in that last sentence. Willow is amazed by her own composure, because the inside her mind is a whirlwind of confusion and fear. She must not be seen as a vulnerable human, she must not— because ‘chosen ones’ are supposed to be brave and confident and oh so ready to tackle whatever glorious challenge their destiny throws at them.
If Willow is going to be a fake ‘chosen one’, she might as well act like it.
“Excuse me.” She says with a smile, and plops down gracelessly near one of the maple trees.
Her feet are hurting like crazy. Between the cat and the Harpy and the Misty mound of Moonfaire, there’s been an awful lot of walking today. Willow hasn’t walked so much in her entire life. She is scared and confused and tired and hungry, and a bunch of other complicated emotions that won’t do her much good in this situation. By now, her mother must have started to search the streets frantically— unaware of the fact that her daughter has already disappeared from the town.
I need to survive. Willow fishes out the Cadbury from her pocket. She stares at it forlornly before tearing off the purple wrapper with trembling hands. I need to survive and return back home.
Home.
Clocktown.
Tears prickle behind her eyes as the girl takes her first reluctant bite into the chocolate. For a horrible gut-wrenching moment, Willow is afraid that she might actually start bawling in this godforsaken forest, right in front of these leprechauns. But you won’t. The pragmatic voice in her mind— her mother’s voice, stubbornly snaps back. As if it knows with a bone deep certainty that her little girl will find a way.
Come hell or high water, Willow Whitman will find a way back home.
But first, she will have to escape this damned Emerald Forest before nightfall.
She will have to reach the Capital City of the humans in this place. Willows chews distractedly, thinking of all possible ways to exploit the status of a chosen one. The beings of the Emerald Forest may hold some semblance of reluctant acceptance for this person, but it is far from respect. The books are dead wrong— chosen ones have a fair share their work cut out for them, dammit! She might have gotten the leprechauns to lower their guard around her, but there’s still a sense of wariness in their eyes.
Willow needs their help to get to the human Capital, but there’s no way they’d do it for free.
“An’ what’s that yer eatin’, Willy the human?” A particularly young leprechaun pokes its tiny head from behind a giant mushroom. Her squinting eyes bulge at the sight of the golden wrapper around the chocolate. “A-Are you possibly eating— gold?”
The words are so unexpected that Willow abruptly stops mid-bite.
Did this dimwit— somehow mistake the Cadbury’s golden wrapper for— gold?!
She licks her lips in anticipation.
About 80 percent of their minds are preoccupied about gold— and anything golden, for that matter. The rest 19 percent is somehow divided between how to guard the gold and how to obtain more gold. Willow suspects that 1 percent is reserved for their contempt for humans— but that is not important right now.
What is important, is that she could use their greediness to get what she wants.
Willow holds out the gleaming yellow wrapper against the setting sun. From the distance, she can already see more curious heads turning. The older ones are skeptical (and more troublesome to boot), but a handful of younger ones can no longer resist the charm of the crinkling plastic that sparkles intermittently in the human hands.
She angles the chocolate bar just so, in a way that the actual dark brown stuff is strategically hidden from their sight. “What else would this be?” The girl smirks with coy indulgence. “Haven’t you ever heard of edible gold?”
All movement in the clearing comes to a halt.
The tiny one with sparkling eyes and quivering lips takes a tentative step forward. “E-Edible gold?!”
There are various whispers of awe and distrust. Willow can see several more heads poking out from behind the bushes, and she can almost hear the gears collectively turning in their heads. These leprechauns, who live in gold and dream in gold, will never not be curious when it comes any gold that doesn’t belong to them.
“Slimy little liar!” An elder leprechaun sneers venomously. “I have been a gold keeper more than half of my life— that’s more than ten of your puny human lifetimes— and I have never ever heard of edible gold!”
A murmur of agreement ripples through the gathering. “This human is lying— as all humans are wont to do!” There is an old biddy among them, yelling obnoxiously. “Don’t ye believe a single word it says!”
Drats! Willow had underestimated these creatures. She valiantly holds down her smirk, already fully aware of the chocolate that is beginning to melt inside the golden wrapper. There is no way she could eat it now— not without losing her last bargaining chip.
Forget the golden pot, at this rate she won’t ever find a way out of this thrice damned forest.
The younger ones are still staring with mild envy, and Willow stares right back them. She slowly drags her tongue across the melting Cadbury inside the wrapper, right in front of their greedy eyes. A few of the leprechauns swallow at the blatant display of arrogance. A few others wipe their drools on their sleeves. “The gold itself is a sight to behold…!” Another whispers in awe. “…Just imagine how exquisite it would taste!”
Are they all idiots?!
“You are free to believe whatever you want.” Willow tries her best to look smug, even though her treacherous heart is still hammering away in fear. She gingerly reaches into her trousers’ pocket with her free hand and grabs hold of her cellphone. From a distance, she can see a few leprechauns are shuffling back warily, as if perfectly prepared to bash their tiny hammers into her head the moment their human intruder turns hostile.
Too bad, Willow has no intention of fighting these creatures in their own turf. She blindly gropes at the buttons of her cellphone before turning on its flashlight. Immediately, there is a bright glow of yellow-white light through the thin fabric of her pants, shining like a steady beacon in the darkening Emerald forest.
“I have more of that gold right here with me.”
The spot of glowing light does not evade the eyes of the leprechauns. Gasps are heard around the huddled groups, a few eyebrows are raised, and Willow can swear that she saw a flicker of indecision dancing in the elders’ eyes. All in all, it’s a rather nice reaction— the prospect of some mysterious, tantalizing gold that glows like a jewel in the dark— is too good of an opportunity to pass up.
The fact that a mere human is in possession of such a treasure, Willow suspects, must have rubbed them off in all the wrong ways.
“I want to taste that gold!” A female leprechaun declares boldly. Her red hair frames nicely around her chubby face, sticking out at the edges like stubborn vines. Some twenty others nod their heads in approval. No point in beating around the bush… if there’s gold to be had, then they would have it!
Willow scrambles up from her sitting spot in haste. This is good! This is getting really good! She resists the grin that is threatening to break into her face and stares down at them with an arrogance of a seasoned businesswoman.
“Ah. Now we are talking.”
Apparently, the elders— the only ones with any semblance of intelligence— are still opposed to the idea.
"What’re you iiiiidjiiiiits thiiiiinkiiiing?!" The leprechaun with the sing-song voice lashes out, but his words are so melodious that it’s impossible to tell if he is angry or not. Willow has privately dubbed him as ‘Mr. opera singer’. His long beard quivers in tandem with his voice. “You wiiiiill beliiiiieve a stranger iiiiiinstead of yer eeeeelders?!”
“Shut up, old man!” The redheaded female barks back. “Ya’ve gone senile with age! Just guard the gold an’ keep sittin’ on yer old arses. The young’uns aren’t just satisfied with that!”
‘Mr. opera singer’ goes as red as a tomato. Willow can almost hear the steam blowing out of his ears.
The redhead’s companions chime into the squabble with renewed vigour. “Aye that’s right! We want more an’ more! We’ve gotta collect more an’ more! This is the edible gold— a once in a lifetime of chance for us!”
“There ain’t no edible gold in this miserable world, ye fools! Come to yer senses!”
“Shaddap! Chosen ones don’t lie! Ain’t no way we’re listening to you anymore!” This time, it’s a leprechaun with slanted eyes and braided beard. He hollers at the old biddy with a string of colourful words. “How’d you know that there aren’t any?! All you’ve been seeing is this rotting pot of gold yer entire lives!”
“You keep quiet, March! You an’ your bearded arse have been makin’ shoddy shoes till the last century! What would a shoe-maker know of gold, ye idjit?!”
“Don’t bring my shoes into this!”
Willow watches their heated arguments from a distance, worriedly glancing at the sky. Dusk has already descended into the Emerald Forest. Any more delay and it would be nigh impossible to escape from this place. The girl is suddenly more concerned about the nightly beasts than the damned pot of gold.
A tiny tug at her sleeves brings her thoughts to a halt. A child leprechaun, no taller than her knees, is looking up at her with innocent eyes. “May I have some of that edible gold? Pwease?”
The child has a cherub face with tiny dimples— he is a lethally adorable thing, the kind that Elsie and Serah would squeal and coo and gush over relentlessly. But Willow is neither of them, and adorable kids with adorable eyes do not appeal her in any kind of way. If the kiddo thinks that puppy faces would work on her, he is grossly mistaken.
She moves the Cadbury away from his grabby hands. “Only if I get something in return.”
The child blinks, and promptly kicks her in the ankles. But his legs are tiny and weak, so they barely graze Willow at all. The girl is startled momentarily. Kids will always be kids, it seems. She stares down at the leprechaun with the coldest glare she can muster at the moment.
“Do you think that throwing a tantrum will get you the choc— ahem, edible gold?”
The child has the gall to scowl. “Meanie!”
“Hmph! This is how the real world works.” Nevermind the fact that the Emerald Forest is far from what the real world actually looks like.
“What d’you want, human?” The little kid is adamant, and it reminds Willow of her own childhood— sneaking into the kitchen looking for cookie jars, negotiating with her mother for a measly bite of candy before dinner.
Willow clears her throat. “Twenty five gold coins. And the directions to reach the Capital city.”
She knows better than to ask for more. She doesn’t want to test the limits these creatures will go for a few bites of the ‘edible gold’.
There is a loud cry of outrage. “That’s preposterous!” One of the adults stomp their feet.
How utterly predictable. Willow hides a smirk. This is the exact reaction she’d expected.
“Then you can keep your rotten pot of gold— the one you can’t eat anyway.”
“Foolish human! You think that we will give away twenty five— twenty five of our precious gold coins for that tiny bar of edible gold?!”
“Yes.” Willow adds emphatically.
The poet leprechaun stares at her with something that can only be described as pity.
“Oh lords! This short-lived one…
Has lost its puny mind,
Drowning in the river of greed…
Like all of humankind.”
Willow scowls. Someone needs to tell that thing that all his poems suck copious amounts of arse.
A few young leprechauns have begun to eye her with distrust. But the girl doesn’t take her words back. She wants them to think. She needs them to squirm and worry their tiny little heads over how a bar ‘edible gold’ might be worth more than what they’d imagined.
The withered old biddy takes a tentative step forward. “Show us that thing, greedy human.”
Willow ignores the jab. “And give away my most treasured secret?” She scoffs. “Absolutely not!”
The word ‘treasure’ sends another ripple of enthusiasm through the scattered groups. But out of a corner of her eye, Willow spots some leprechauns inching closer to the pot of gold, as if entirely unwilling to part from their loot. Mr Pointy hat is also a part of that bunch, his bell jingling noisily with every shake of his head.
“You dare talk back!” The elderly female snarls, “You haven’t the slightest clue who dealing with, ye little git!”
Little git? Little git?! This old hag has some nerve mouthing off those words, as if she isn’t the tiniest creature in this crowd. Willow smiles down serenely, ignoring the angry twitch in her left eye.
“Oh, but I do know. Who hasn’t heard of the famed gold keepers in the Misty mound of Moonfaire?” She bats her eyelashes for good measure. “Aeon, the harpy of Emerald Forest has already told me all I need to know about you.”
The name shuts up all of the remaining murmurs in the clearing. The old biddy stares back with widened eyes, a hint of awe flickering over them. “Aeon, the harpy?!”
“That’s what I said, yes.”
“Egad!” March, whispers to his companions. “Aeon, she says! How did a human meet an’ survive that thing?!”
Willow feels a bead of sweat trickle down her spine. Truth to be told, she isn’t quite sure herself.
She puts on a nonchalant face and holds up her Cadbury. “I thought— if I wanted to sell my best ‘edible gold’, what better to choose than the gold of Moonfaire? Who better to trust than the most hardworking, nay… the most skilled gold keepers of the Emerald Forest?”
A few of the young ‘keepers’ preen and flush at the unexpected compliment. A few other are still unperturbed. Willow remembers the harpy’s words to a tee. ‘You may fool the keepers--- but you may never fool the nightly beasts of Emerald Forest.’
Which means that even a human has what it takes to trick these leprechauns out of their greedy pants.
“But imagine, to my surprise…” Willow continues, dragging a hand through her hair oh so dramatically, “That even these brilliant minds cannot fathom the worth of my most prized possession— the legendary ‘edible gold’. How terribly tragic!”
She is well aware how ridiculous her words sound, but at this moment Willow shuts that part of her brain and just rolls with it.
‘Mr opera singer’ clicks his tongue. “There iiiiiiis no such thiiiiing as legendary ediiiiiible gold!”
“Oh?” Willow sends him a smug look. “How’d you know, sir? Have you lot ever tried to learn the secrets of us humans?”
His mouth snaps shut. The leprechaun looks like he cannot quite believe that he has just been talked down by a creature younger than one-third of his age.
There are no more murmurs in the clearing. The leprechauns all look as if they cannot quite decide what to do her anymore. Willow senses an air of hesitation, but the outcome looks far more favourable than what it had been before.
“Twenty gold coins only.” The red-headed young female is the first to speak up. The others whirl around to look at her, their beady eyes widened in shock. This community may have lived together to guard their gold, but they are far from a monolith. The youngsters are brash and bold and curious to see the world beyond— in a way, it reminds Willow of her own hometown.
“What?!” The poet promptly abandons his all poetry and angrily rounds at the young female leprechaun. Gone are his looks of pity. “Red! Don’t ye dare agree to these terms!”
The red-head is apparently called Red. Willow doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. These creatures are probably lazy with everything that doesn't concern with their precious gold.
But Willow still holds down her business-like smile. Time for the final blow. “Seventeen gold coins. And the directions to reach the capital.”
There is twitch of impatience in Red’s lips. As if she hadn’t anticipated a human to question her demands.
Willow jumps at this opportunity. “You will only get the edible gold after I get my first glimpse of the Capital City.” She refuses to give up the directions or the gold. In a way, she might as well have been the greediest person in this place.
‘Red’ is entirely unfazed.
“Deal.” She says, and Willow might have jumped three feet up in the air with joy if the entire community of leprechauns wasn’t staring at her with unblinking eyes. She will have to save the victory dance for later.
“You will exchange your ‘edible gold’ for seventeen gold coins right here, and one of our young’uns will guide you to the Capital City.”
The joy instantly sours into bitter suspicion.
“Now wait a minute!” Willow stomps the ground angrily. “That is not what I had proposed! Why should I believe empty words?! How shall I be sure that you would not lead me astray in the forest?!”
She could not, would not trust in these creatures! What do they take her for, dammit?! Is there an ‘idiot’ tattooed somewhere on her forehead?!
“Imbecile!” A voice booms in the clearing. Willow whirls around to find March glaring at her with bloodshot eyes. “The leprechauns always keep their promises! Words have names! Names have power! We of the Moonfaire do not dishonour bargains made in the name of gold!”
The declaration is so passionate that Willow almost feels bad for deceiving them with a bar of chocolate. But hey! It’s her life on the line! Besides, she is no grand heroine of an adventure novel. She is no special snowflake like the chosen one— or whatever that means. She is just ‘Willy, the human’ in this godforsaken forest, and she has one fucking job to do.
If a lie or two can serve that purpose, then so be it.