“Lost?” I repeat, and then shake my head with amusement. Not at Fern, but at the possibility and at the good-heartedness that the query represents. “No, I am not lost. I am on a Quest, actually.” There is emphasis on that word – quest – a reverence to the way I say it. The same emotion appears as I glance back over my shoulder, toward the tall peak. Its tip is lost in the clouds, and for a moment my mind, too, wanders toward the Fae.
I imagine the flowers that they’d given me the first time, and at my feet they appear, growing from the earth at an impossible speed. They are joined by long frond ferns when the green mare says my name, and I see them as perfectly crafted images.
(The ferns at Asena’s feet look alive, but closer inspection by someone more knowledgeable about plants would reveal they’ve not truly ferns. Rather, they’re what Asena thinks are ferns. Her gift is bringing her imagination to life, but she cannot spin what she doesn’t understand.)
“Are you a fairy?” I ask, eyeing the wildflowers and the soft green of her coat. “Are you here to give me a clue about where to find a rare flower for the Fairy on the Mountain?” My voices rises in excitement as I speak, and my purple hooves tap in excitement.
@[Fern]
A S E N A
i’d rather run the other way
than stay and see the smoke and who’s still standing when it clears