The forest sprites chirped insistently again, and Alora smiled. “Do you come for another song?”
Their wings fluttered excitedly, ringing like little bells.
Reaching for her pail, Alora walked to the stone well at the front of her cottage as she sang a few trilling notes, her voice carrying through the trees. The fairies followed, echoing in turn. They sang together, the high lyrical notes blending into a lilting warble, calling for the birdsong to join in next.
Her gaze lifted to the distant gray peak, veiled in mist and nearly hidden among the clouds, and she found herself singing an eerie lullaby.
Tread not the path where the black winds bite
Beneath the peak where sun meets night
For there he waits with eyes of flame
The hollow shadow with many names
The breeze caught the melody and carried it through the trees beyond. In a sudden high-pitch chitter, the sprites cut her off, tossing walnuts and acorns at her head.
Alora ducked. “I-I’m sorry?—”
They wagged their fingers at her angrily before darting away in a streak of gold-green light.
Alora sighed. Why had she the urge to sing about the fabled shadow that lurked within Karag Dûr?
The hollow mountain rose high in therange, jagged like a broken crown against the sky. It was said to have been formed in the shadow of the first dawn, when the gods warred and the earth cracked open to swallow the first people whole.
Alora shivered.
She must have heard the bard singing those eerie words in town… or was it her mother?
It had been so long since her mother passed, Alora could hardly recall her voice, or the exact shade of her eyes.
But she remembered dancing with her in front of the stained-glass windows.
And how colorless they became once her mother was gone.
Alora dipped the pail into the well, drawing up fresh water. The walk to the cottage was short. A worn path wound through tall grass and scattered wildflowers, leading to a crooked thatch roof draped in ivy, nestled between two oak trees. The sweet scent of her briar rose bushes filled the air.
It was quiet here. Snug, in a way, though it was always a bit too empty.
Her cottage sat on the edge of the Midlands. It wasn’t a realm, or a kingdom. But a hidden borough where odd things bloomed and stranger things watched, raised under the care of her godmother.
Well, perhaps “raised” was a generous word.
Lady Zinnia was simply... indifferent.
Alora’s leather slippers padded across the wooden floor as she set the pail near the hearth.
“A cup of nettle tea would do nicely,” she said aloud.
Though no one ever answered back.
A soft, insistent tap at the door drew her attention. She turned, eyebrows lifting at the prospect of a rare guest.
Alora rushed to open the door exaltedly, seeing no one until she glanced down at the creature standing at the threshold with a scowl.
The hedge goblin was scarcely taller than her knees. Bristled like a hedgehog with wiry fur and clothed in tatters of brown-colored cloth. His enormous, pointed ears twitched as though they caught secrets from the wind, and his round belly sagged beneath a necklace of crude stones. His small eyes, too blue and too stern for such a strange face, regarded her with wariness.
“Oh, hello there, Bramble?—”
