Writing: Home Before Dark

Hello Friends!

I am back for the summer! (I might be a bit inconsistent, though. :) )

In any case, here is my story for the Penprints 2019 #flashficdash. I hope you like it! :)

Prompt: My prompt will be posted on Penprints (https://rosalievalentine.wordpress.com/) in a few days for the wrap-up post. It is a picture, so I do not want to post it on my blog because I am unsure of whether it's copyrighted.

They were dead. They shall remain dead. The butterflies knew that. Of all the creatures in the wild world, only the butterflies were trusted with the knowledge of the Grounds, the intention behind them, the comfort they offered. For, here, the butterflies had a job to do.

* * *

“Remember, child,” Adana's grandmother smiled gently, but her eye was scrutinizing.

“Don't get caught. I know,” Adana scurried out the door before her grandmother could respond.

Today, where to today? Adana pondered as she made her way through the woods. Not the Road again, or Stream; the Eagle's nest she visited yesterday. . . Adana closed her eyes, spun, and began walking in the direction she faced once she opened her eyes.

Adana and her grandmother lived in an ornery hut in the middle of the forest. They were not fairies, Adana knew that, but they were not common folk either. Somehow, Adana had the feeling most normal cottages did not choose who inhabited them. Grandmama had told Adana the story many times: when she was young, she often collected herbs in the woods. One day she came across an abandoned cottage. She went inside, and a scroll lay on the counter. The scroll cordially invited Grandmama to make the cottage her home. As she had no home at the time, she happily agreed.

Every day, Adana was allowed to explore, as long as she did not get caught. That was Grandmama's only rule. Adana thought the rule peculiar, though, because Grandmama never specified what could catch her. She did not know if Grandmama meant she should not get caught by an eagle, or a wolf, for food, or if she was not to get caught by humans, or if her grandmother meant be wary of the Stream, for he could make his waters seem enticing. Or, if she was supposed to avoid the magic folk.

Whatever the case, Adana ensured she was never caught. Adana's path led her over the crumbling remains of a bridge, that had once crossed the Stream. On the other side, she found herself in Oaks Grove, the guardian of the Graveyards. Why it was here, when it had never been here for as long as Adana had been exploring, Adana did not know. However, the Grove was on her path, and once she chose a path to follow, she did not waver. Even though her path led straight to the Graveyards.

When Adana stepped into the Grove, silence fell like a heavy blanket. No birds, no plants, no wind. But it did not feel dead, only expectant. The trees seemed to draw closer, the silence like a thick woolen cloak. It muffled every aspect of the woods; no friends of the air, no companions on the ground. Everywhere Adana turned trees towered, inching closer and closer, imposing their convictions on her. Adana ran frantically from tree to tree, trying to get out. Finally, she slipped through the crack across from the bridge, the doorway that whispered of death.

Adana halted, staring. The Graveyards had the aura of a field, but did not appear as one. Ancient trees stood tall like scholarly wizards, with each branch carefully assembled, and did not deem it necessary to move themselves around the Grounds. Light filtered in with the luminescence of spiderwebs spun of ancient moss, and the trees were muted and grey. The longer Adana stared, the more the light glimmered and shifted. She suddenly remembered the Graveyards was the place the fairies were laid to rest and their magic was taken away.

Adana took a few hesitant steps. All around her, fairies looked as if they were peacefully sleeping, with their wings spread out carefully and their hands crossed over their chests. Glimmers of light danced across them, and as she watched, the hue of the fairies' skin and wings slowly faded until Adana could not see them anymore. Then, the earth seemed to sigh, and the place where the fairy had been sank into the ground. One fairy in particular caught Adana's eye. Her skin was pale with a hint of purple, and frost danced across her eyelashes. Adana sat, crossing her legs, and watched as the soft light made patterns across the fairy's face. Of course! The light wasn't light: it was butterflies! The mythical butterflies that tended the Graveyards! She watched the butterflies work now, the grass kissing her toes.

The fairy's vibrant purple wings faded until Adana couldn't see them anymore, but as the earth sighed, a shimmer arose from the fairy's body. The likeness of the fairy stood again, staring at Adana with eyes like crystals and intricate wings imbued with all the hues of amethyst. Then the spirit vanished. Adana stood and realized butterflies were clinging to her: her hair, her hands, her shoulders. For the first time in her life, Adana was caught. Oh well, she thought. Nothing to do about that now. Thus, she did the only thing she could do. She whispered, “I greet thee in the name of Morwen,” to each butterfly, letting each one crawl onto her hand and setting each one carefully onto a branch. Then she left the Graveyards.

Oaks Grove bowed for her and let her pass back to the crumbling bridge. Dusk was nearing. Adana wandered absentmindedly back home. She had broken her grandmother's only rule, she was certain of it. But she did not suffer for it. Rather, the butterflies listened to her and the Grove respected her. Why, then, did Grandmama warn her so persistently? Adana opened the door of the hut to the wonderful smell of potato and lemon stew.

* * *

Adana's grandmother had just finished the stew. She had felt Adana's capture immediately. After all this time, Adana had finally slipped. Adana had finally been caught. But she was not kept. Adana's grandmother smiled. Adana had respected the butterflies; yes, she chose guardians wisely.

“Well.” Her grandmother looked up. “Took you long enough.”

Spruce Nogard