The first real rain after Spring and on the edge of summer triples the green overnight. The earth seems to sigh out a long held breath, finally warmed after the cold dark of winter, and breathes out a stunning wealth of green. On cue, the butterflies, birds, and all manner of critters come alive, and the once quiet garden is bursting with life. A seasonal party dances under the treetops.
In the lush shadows, where afternoon sunlight creeps in with delicate golden puddles of light, Dren the Dear Deer elf bounds from each sunny spot to the next. Her turquoise vest a blur of colour, her bustle fluttering behind her as she kicks and prances her way about the flowers with delicate precision. The music of the garden, baby birds squawking, leaves fluttering, the wind scraping the rose bush branches against each other, a low whine of fat bumblebees laden with pollen, a cacophony of sound reaches Dren’s doe like ears as pure music.
She hums and twirls, energized by the magic of summer on the cusp. Her black nose twitches, catching the last scent of lilacs, now heavy and thick with the overly sweet scent of late blooms fading. Dren bobs her head and leaps over a stone, dizzy with the delight of it all. Gazing up at the treetops as they seem to mirror her movements, swaying, branches outstretched as she reaches back with her arms, hugging the world around her in an open embrace, pure love of the earth and its magic energizing her.
A sound, a call, heard amidst the music of the garden, caught on the wind, carried on the tail of a robin, drifts down as a gentle reminder, tickling her horns with the whisper of power. The season of the fae court and her duties quiets her tapping feet. She listens, calls out in a musical tone humans will wonder at, birds will admire, answering the summons.
Tomorrow there’ll be time for order and purpose, but for the moment Dren is as wild and free as the non-fae deer kin who meander through the garden delicately chewing hostas.
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