"Legend of the Whisper Wood, Ch. 1.1" by Jon Midget

Paladin looked out the window, even though he knew he would see nothing but the giant branches twisting up and up toward the giant canopy of the Whisper Wood. Shadows, from the leaves far above, shifted and swayed across the bark. Insects chirped, birds called, and somewhere in the distance a squirrel was cracking nuts.

She might as well not even be here, Paladin thought.

But, of course, she was. Even if she hadn't stayed in his cottage for more than a few hours. Even if she was far, far below, sitting or dancing or wandering along the forest bed.

Fauna had arrived two days earlier. As was always the case, she had not let him know she was coming, but Paladin had somehow known. He had made tea and set out an extra cup for her. It was still warm when she had burst through his door.

Her unannounced visits had not really shocked him in years. They just made him unable to concentrate on the task at hand, which right now was stirring the herbs and roots and leaves boiling in the kettle over the fire.

But no matter how strongly he intuited her visits, no matter how well he planned their upcoming conversations, they never knew what to say to each other. What does a farmer say to a princess? Paladin had often chided himself. And then, when the long stretches of anxious silence became unbearable, she would be gone. Down to the forest bed, thousands of feet below. And there she would stay until she was ready to come back to the cottage and the highest branches of the giant mallorn trees.

And after a few more words the silence would return, and they would spend another day trying to fight off the awkward quiet with mundane words — both of them afraid to say anything that really mattered — until she would say goodbye, stand at the edge of the branch outside the cottage, spread her beautiful wings, and launch herself into the air. To the sky above the giant leaves a hundred feet overhead, where the winds would carry her back to her city and her people and her palace and her father's empty throne.

The boiling mixture splattered on the wall. A small bit of root slid down the kettles edge into the fire and popped. Paladin hadn't been stirring consistently.

He tipped pot away from the fire and squinted into the steam and smoke. It was done. Which meant there was no more putting it off — the merdona vines had to be salved before the mixture fermented.

It doesn't even matter that she isn't here, Paladin thought. Even if this had been the one visit that she wanted to really talk, he couldn't. If he didn't spend the day salving the vines he could lose the entire crop to the late-summer crickets.

He pulled the kettle off the fire and placed it on a wet cloth outside the cottage. Inside, he put out the fire and wiped the splatters off the walls. What was she doing right now? The sun had risen about two hours earlier, and Paladin had always heard that the dryads disappeared with the sunrise.

So Fauna was probably alone. Probably sleeping. Maybe she hadn't come to run away from her duties at the palace. Maybe she hadn't come to lose herself in the wild, late-night, frenzied dances of the dryads. Maybe she had simply come for a tuft of grass on the forest bed and the chance to sleep, alone with only the still air for a blanket

Paladin had watched her sleep once before. She had arrived early in the evening, her eyes red and glazed over. She had been unable to walk without bracing herself against the door frame. It had been the only time Paladin had ever seen her slouch — her movement was usually so precise, so strong, and so crisp. And her eyes — her icy green eyes were usually so intense and fierce.

But on that evening, nearly two years earlier, she couldn't even stand without help. Paladin didn't try to speak. He took her by the shoulder and led her to his bed. She had been asleep even before he had laid her down.

Her eyes and cheeks had been wet, and he had reached to her face to dry them off. But, just inches away from her, his hand had stopped. He had held it there, had felt her deep, even breaths push against his skin. And then he had pulled away. At the bedroom door, he had paused, but it had only been a pause. He had never turned back.

And so, as he pulled the pot of salve toward the merdona vines, his memories told their stories again and again. The chore was an ordeal &mdash so much so that nobody within a day's flight grew the crop. But the fruit was a delicacy, and it fetched a good price. There were few delicacies in any village along the foothills of the great northern mountains. Not since the dragon attack six years earlier. So many had fled to the towns further into the heart of the Wood, and those who remained had little time for anything besides necessities.

But Paladin always found time — time for the merdona crop, time for day-long flights to the magnificent gorges and waterfalls in the nearby mountains, time for long, quiet nights composing poetry and music. And time for entertaining a princess who dropped by every six months or so, unannounced and without explanation.

Time, he supposed, comes from living alone. From having nobody else depending on you.

He reached the merdona crop, a mass of yellow-green vines clinging and twisting around one of the merdona branch offshoots. Holding the pot of salve with one hand, he started applying the salve. He wondered if Fauna would have kept coming if his parents and sisters were still alive. As always, he quickly shook the thought off. It made him uncomfortable.

Instead, he wondered what color the meadow flowers at Fauna's feet were. Like nearly all the People of the Wood, Paladin had spent his entire life either in the giant branches thousands of feet above the ground or flying above the trees. He had never been to the forest bed. The risk of falling in love with the dryads' realm was too great. Were there flowers there as beautiful as the violets that grew in the bark of the younger mallorn branches? He would have to ask Fauna when she came back up.

The sun was high overhead, and sweat beaded at the roots of his brown head-feathers. Nearly half the vines had been taken care of, and despite the ordeal — he had to crawl and climb along the vines in order to ensure all the nodes were salved — the morning had passed quickly. He rubbed his arms, now covered with almost as many scratches as brown, downy feathers. He let his wings stretch out for a few moments. It was never comfortable keeping them so tightly pressed against his back so he could climb easier.

"You look worn out."

Fauna stood next to the front door of Paladin's cottage, leaning on a twisting branch that rose from the base to far above the roof. Paladin had grown used to her appearance, but it was still always slightly jolting to see her — light skin, white feathers with streaks of green, green eyes. Her dress &mdash short, light brown, and sleeveless — rustled with the breeze, and her wings drifted slowly back and forth Like sunlight passing through a fern, he thought.

"How long have you been standing there?" Paladin asked.

Long enough to have seen why you look worn out," she said. "Do all farmers have to do that? Climb up and down the branches, letting the bark beat your body up?"

"Only those that grow certain crops."

"And why would anyone want to grow those crops?"

"Because merdona fruit tastes so good that people are willing to pay me enough to make the ordeal worth it. There's enough money growing right there," Paladin said, pointing to the vines, "to pay for my trip to the Harvest Festival in Lamorra. Nobody offers to me the chance to stay at an inn for free. And nobody gives me free meals every day."

Fauna ignored the taunt. She walked toward Paladin, hesitating between each step and looking straight into his eyes. A few birds flew overhead, landing near a cluster of nests they had built on the roof of Paladin's cottage. She reached out and held one of Paladin's arms, hands grazing through the brown feathers and over the scrapes.

"You should probably have these dressed," she said. "Or at least wash the blood off."

"And ... do you know how?"

"Well, no," Fauna admitted, shifting her eyes away and laughing softly. "We have servants to take care of that sort of thing." She let go of his arm and took a step back.

"Who knew there were such different worlds in one small forest," he said, stepping past her, brushing against her wings, and walked back toward his cottage.