"The Folk are already watching you."

 

Farsinger hopped off his shoulder and walked among the forest floor's shadows. "The trees are whispering," she growled in Ravenspeech.

The bard gripped his little wood chopper as if it could offer any protection from the horrors known so well by the village grannies. He had grown up with their stories of pixies that stole your memories and fairies that enticed and enchanted the unwary.

"They say the forest has grown darker," Farsinger said. "They don't like it."

"My Nan said to sit quietly at sunset of the full moon to see the fairy people. If you were worthy, they might grant a wish."

Farsinger croaked in laughter. "The Folk are already watching you. The trees have already announced our visit."

The bard sat still anyway, still gripping his hatchet. Maybe the fairies would visit him.

"Your Nan was not wrong," Farsinger said. "But the Folk will not give you a boon without something in return."

"Like what?" The bard could not imagine what he had that would pay for the kind of wish he needed. What would suffice to stop his child's death?

"Like your name."

He snorted, thinking back to the beatings from his drunken father. "It's worthless. They can have it."

That's when the first fairy appeared before him.

///

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