Secrets of the Fae

It was an early summer day, and I was searching the river banks for herbs and plants to eat and use in my healing arts. A hermit by any definition and an outcast from the Fae kingdom, I spent my days hunting for anything to sustain my life's work in the forest. I heal the life forms in the forest, using the forest's magik and natural remedies to heal, repair, and ease the many small lives within. Many animals have learned to seek out my clearing and my hut, coming to me with injuries and sickness. Sometimes, they lead me to ones who can not make the trip and I follow them to their friends and protectors to heal and help in any way I can. I made my way towards the new stream, only a few decades old and unsettled in its path. It was often littered with forest debris and yet seemingly unused by any wildlife, as though tainted by its novelty. On this day, however, it carried a new scent that touched the main river I followed. It was the scent of blood, pain, death. I hurried toward the junction unsure of what I would find but determined to help if I could. As I neared I saw a figure, a fellow fae wrapped in its own ruddy brown and red wings, I was immediately confused. Only a fae child would use its wings to hide or protect itself, adults kept their wings sheathed in their hides, releasing them only to fly or prove their intentions in the rare disputes that occur within the kingdom. For though a Fae can not lie, the wings tell the unbent truth, to those with the skill to read them. Seeing such ruddy colored wings I would expect an excited adolescent with an aptitude for nature, flitting through the trees disturbing all sorts of little creatures. But this Fae was curled up at the edge of the stream, feet in the water, wrapped in its wings as though it were a coat and we were in mid-winter. As I came closer, my confusion and apprehension grew, the wings I thought were ruddy brown and red were, in truth, translucent. The color I had perceived at a distance now revealed to be the dirt of the stream and debris of the forest combined with the Fae's blood which was still oozing sluggishly from a mass of scrapes and lashes. The length of hair along the ground was a tangled mess of white and black strands with sticks, leaves, and clotted blood as ornamentation. The poor soul must have had a terrible run through thick woods to have become such a ravaged mess, and perhaps it scared a lone wolf or bear that created some of the deeper cuts. I lifted a section of matted hair to reveal my charge's face, and found a fresh angry welt across it, more confused with every discovery I was becoming apprehensive as to my charge's continued life. I set two fingers along the throat and my palm along the body feeling for even the slightest movement of breath. The rise and fall of shoulders were minute, and the pulse weak. I could smell the presence of death lingering around us, waiting eagerly for its next soul. I set my teeth and determined that death would not win this day. I stood and surveyed my surroundings, though I know the forest well, I doubted I could traverse the trees and trails with an unconscious Fae, even if I took the time to build a sled. Flight was my only real choice, my new charge was too near death to spend time with anything less. I turned back to my patient and knelt in the mud of the stream, I hesitated, unsure of how to proceed with the wings wrapped around my charge. One Fae does not touch another's wings, the instinct against the action is one of the most powerful conscious thoughts. Seeing no faster solution I took off my tunic, draping it across the shoulders and wings. I positioned my hands at the knee and wing joints, preparing to swiftly scoop up my ward. In one slightly awkward movement, I was able to position my charge in a tolerable cradle, where I realized that my charge was naked and female. She cried out when I moved her, and her eyes pierced through mine with pain and terror untold. I fought the urge to release her, and instead stood up and released my wings for flight, all the while making soothing sounds as though she were an infant.