A rare flower from a land I’ve never seen, the fairy had said.
At first I had thought the task a simple one, but by the time I climbed back down to the base of the mountain, the weight of it has set in. My journey is not destined to be so simple as a ‘there and back’ trip like I had assured my fathers it would be. The sun overhead is three-quarters into its journey across the sky, and I know that by the time I reach the beach of Tephra it will already be well into sunset.
I can’t complete my quest andget home by dark like I’d promised. Indecision weighs on me, and I glance over my shoulder where the tall peak of the Mountain I’d just ascended is now hidden by the clouds, and then once more to the west.
Surely Papa had only made me promise because he thought I was too young to be out after dark? But he was wrong, I think, I am nearly two years old. I will be just fine, and even if I am not, I have my four hooves and antlers, and surely that’ll be good enough to protect me. With that decision made, I nod my head as if to cement my decision, and take the branch in the trail that does not lead me toward Ischia.
I emerge in the Field just as the red sunlight begins to bathe the autumn-colored grasses. The place is wide and flat, the largest meadow I have ever seen, and I spend some time racing across the flatlands, kicking up my heels and my plumed tail. When I finally slow, my pale chest heaves rapidly and I wear and elated smile. I had passed other horses in my brief and harmless rampage, but had stopped for none of them. This is a transient place, with everyone on their way somewhere else. I do not expect to find my flower here, but rather – someone who might be able to tell me where to look. I know recruiters for lands come to this place, and in the hopes of drawing them toward me I do my best to stand up straight and look as impressive as possible.
After a few minutes, I lose focus, and meander toward the stream for a drink.
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
the sun is up, the sky is blue
 | fern.
The plant magicians had been good tutors. For that, Fern would forever be indebted to them. But now that she’d mastered her abilities, she found that this mastery didn’t bring with it the purpose she’d hoped.
So she’d taken to a nomadic lifestyle - giving back to the earth the gifts it had given to her. Vigilante gardening, basically. She healed patches of blight and disease when she found them. When she areas of particular beauty best left undisturbed and untainted, she surrounded them with thorns and other unpleasant surprises. It wasn’t much, but it suited her for the time being. She’d never been one who’d been tied to any place or any person for long.
But some things certainly hadn’t changed. Her coat was still dirt-smudged. Her mane and tail still hopelessly tangled. Only now she’d been able to adorn said matted tresses with vines and flowers. She wasn’t sure if that was an improvement, but she liked it and honestly, that’s all that mattered at the end of the day.
She let out a soft huff as she took stock of her surroundings. She wasn’t sure why she’d come to the Field of all places. She hadn’t even come here prior to showing up in Tephra - preferring to just show up on the border than wait for a formal invitation. Nevertheless, here she stood.
Her attention was drawn to a young girl streaking across the field. That was certainly enough to capture one’s attention. Fern certainly wasn’t going to lecture the girl on being out here alone, seeing as she raised herself. But she felt compelled to check on the girl nonetheless - a new and strange impulse.
She draws to a halt near the girl, wondering idly if she was running from something of looking for someone. ”Are you lost?” Fern asks, rather bluntly, but there’s an edge of concern in her voice too. Fern had never in her life been maternal, but the sight of one so young in a place like this put her insides on edge.
”I’m Fern.”
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@[Asena]
“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
the sun is up, the sky is blue
| fern.
Not lost. Well, that provided the painted green mare with a small dose of relief as she studied the youngster. But being out this late on a Quest doesn’t ensure the girl’s safety.
Fern watches with vested interest as the girl does, well, does something. The older mare knows implicitly that the plants that the girl has created aren’t real. If there’s anything Fern knows, it’s plants. And Fern can spot the tiny inconsistencies in the girl’s illusion. Still, the effect is certainly entertaining and the green mare finds the illusion quite amusing, given the circumstances. “That’s quite a talent,” she said as the flowers and ferns continued to grow around the girl.
“I’m not a fairy. But I do happen to love flowers,” Fern replied, and in response wildflowers sprung from the ground around the girl - very much real and alive - mixing with the flowers in Asena’s illusion.
“A clue,” Fern muses, thinking if there are any flowers considered rare anywhere in the vicinity - anywhere that could help speed the girl’s quest along. Unfortunately, there’d be significant travel for just about anything that fit the bill - especially this time of year. Fern took a moment to ponder this new dilemma, because she very obviously wasn’t going to let the girl go bounding off alone in the dark.
Finally, Fern settles upon an acceptable answer. She turned her full attention back to the girl. “I tell you what. Instead of going somewhere, what if I saved you the trip? What if I grew you your very own rare flower? Do you think that would work for your Quest?” Fern asked, with a slight incline of her painted head.
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@[Asena]
My usual audience of fathers and brother no longer find my illusions a novelty, and while they are still act appropriately impressed by them, the comment about my talent from the green mare feels rather like a glowing compliment.
It is emphasized by the profusion of real flowers that sprout up (and through) my floral illusion.
“Oh!” I exclaim, bending down to look more closely. They are lovely, and to emphasize that I illuminate them with a clear light. It shows them off better than the fading, red-tinted sunset, and I smile happily even as Fern admits that she is not, after all, a fairy with a clue. I am not disappointed – how can I be, with these lovely flowers she seems to have grown just for my benefit? – and wait patiently as she ponders. In the meantime, I add a small yellow frog to the heart of one of the flowers, and then a hummingbird with stripes like the mythical zebras my Papa has told me of.
The solution that Fern offers is met with a small frown. Not displeased, simply thoughtful, and even as the frown begins to from I am already nodding.
“I think it might!” I announce, and then, a little more slowly, “and even if it doesn’t I bet the fairies would still like the present of your flower. I am sure they like flowers. One gave me some flowers one time even if they didn’t give me exactly what I asked for.” Fairies are tricky that way, her winged father had said. It is best to be direct with them, just as direct as one would be with the ancestors.
@[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
the sun is up, the sky is blue
| fern.
To be honest, Fern knows very little of the fairies. She’s fully aware that there is an inherent magic in Beqanna, but Fern had never had much knowledge or involvement with the fairies. When she struggled with her magic when she was young – she had sought out those with magic greater than hers in order to learn to master her own, ever the independent little thing. That independent streak had only grown stronger as she aged. So she’d have to trust the world of the girl as she described her quest, having no experience with the mountain herself.
Fern didn’t know of the fickle nature of the fairies or that maybe she was overstepping in her offer, but she simply wanted to help one who was clearly too young to be out in the field at this hour expedite her trip out of here. And if the fairies had a problem with that well she’d finally have a reason to visit herself, she supposed.
She watched with vested interest as the girl added to her illusion – adding her own youthful adornments to the strange combination of real flowers and imagined ones they’d created together. But it was more than enough to drag a little smile onto the green mare’s face. She wasn’t sure if this was some long dormant maternal instinct she’d been suppressing or if there was just something in this girl that was particularly charming – but Fern genuinely did want to help her.
“Well, I’ll grow you something special that I’ve only seen once anywhere in Beqanna ever. I’m sure they’d like that,” Fern offers, hoping that her flower would be sufficient. And with that she focused her attention on a clear spot of earth between the two of them. She could feel the earth respond immediately – but though the task seemed simple, pulling something so precious from the earth was no easy task. Thankfully, she’d had the best teachers. A spindly flower began to take shape – a strange plant with few leaves and long green roots that climbed from the soil.
“There,” Fern declared, as the delicate flower seemed to quiver in the light breeze, “It’s called a Ghost Orchid. I think the Fairy will like it, don’t you?”
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@[Asena]
So I was very sure that I had already replied to you and had even checked it off on my list but apparently I never hit post so here is a poor recreation of the original
She holds her breath as Fern begins her magic, bending down as close to the earth as she dares. It feels risky, standing so close to such an arcane working, but the thrill it sends down Asena’s purple-blue spine is like no other she has ever felt.
“Oh,” she exhales softly in wonder, unable to think of any words good enough to describe it. The flowers are very small but strongly scented, and Asena is sure that the Fairy will love them. Even if the Fairy does not, she thinks, she will treasure this strange plant, and perhaps even return with it to Ischia.
“Thank you Fern. Thank you so much!” A Ghost Orchid. Even the name seems appropriate, and Asena leans forward carefully for a better look.
“I could probably carry it in my teeth, don’t you think?” She muses aloud, as much to herself as to her green and white companion. “If I were very careful and didn’t drop it?”
@[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
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