Regina glanced up, meeting her gaze squarely. “I was born and raised here. So, it is easy to understand them. Besides, I know what most do not.”
Elara felt a subtle shift in the air, as if a door had cracked open.
“There is a history to the Hunters,” Regina continued, her voice lower now, careful. “One few speak of. Fewer still remember clearly. It’s easier to believe we were always as we are now—the fearful sound of drums, endless hunts, obedience to the king.”
“But that was not always so?” Elara asked, her fingers curling around the handle of the basket.
Regina met her eyes again, something earnest there, something weighing on her. “You should know that truth has many layers… among the Hunters.”
Elara understood that she would not speak of it now. “Perhaps one day you will tell me.”
Regina’s smile returned, softer now. “Perhaps. For now, take what you need, and know this. Whatever else they are, Hunters protect what is theirs.”
Elara thought of Dar, already gone to prepare for their departure, eager and restless, purpose guiding his every step.
“I am beginning to understand that,” she said, and she suspected there was far more yet to learn.
Elara left Regina’s cottage with the basket tucked securely over her arm, but she did not return immediately to Dar’s cottage or to look for him.
How could she, when the woods called to her?
They always had.
The trees stood just beyond Regina’s cottage, their trunks dark and planted deep, their branches lifting like welcoming arms. The moment her boots crossed from packed earth to uneven, leaf-strewn ground, something inside her eased. Her shoulders relaxed. Her breathing slowed. The air itself felt different—alive in a way stone walls and hearth smoke never were.
She slipped between the trees without thought, following no path, only instinct.
This was home.
Not the cottage. Not the village. This.
Sunlight filtered through thinning leaves, scattering gold across moss and bark. A bird flitted overhead, its wings whispering. Somewhere deeper in the woods, something small scurried and paused, watching her. She felt it—felt them all—without seeing.
Elara stopped near an old oak whose roots rose like knotted fingers from the earth. She set Regina’s basket down and rested her palm against the bark.
Warm.
Not from sun, but from something older.
“You feel it too.”
The voice was light, lilting—and entirely unexpected.
Elara spun.
A tiny figure hovered just beyond the oak’s trunk, smaller than a young bairn’s hand. Gossamer wings shimmered behind her, catching the light in impossible hues—blue, silver, green all at once. Red curls framed a round face dusted with freckles, and sharp, curious eyes studied Elara with open interest.
Elara grinned. “I am so pleased to finally see you and I want to thank you for your help, and your warnings.”
“You can see me,” the little creature said, shocked but delighted.
“Aye, I can see you clearly,” Elara said then thought of what it might mean, the danger of it, having not only visions but the ability to see magical forest creatures. And she wondered over her newfound abilities. “How is it I can see you when others can’t?”
The fairy flitted closer, circling her slowly. “Most humans can’t see us. Not unless we want them to. And even then, attempts can prove futile. Fear prevents most from catching even a small glimpse of us.” She stopped directly in front of Elara’s face, hovering eye to eye. “You have an inherent connection with the forest and all in it, and you embrace it, and the forest embraces you.” She smiled wide. “I am pleased to finally meet you, Elara. I am Amelia.”
“I am pleased to meet you, Amelia. I have felt you near for some time and was hoping to meet you.”
Amelia’s smile softened. “It was inevitable with the forest being your home.”