A lantern of the woods

A Lantern of the Woods

I was walking through the bush when I stumbled upon a quaint fairy dwelling built into the surrounding oaks. The ivy-wrapped trees framed it; a perfectly whimsical house—its roof shaped like a cone, the walls seemingly carved out of a tree. Little inverted window frames outlined thick sheets of…it wasn’t glass. Ice! Seeking an explanation, I approached the entrance with caution. I reluctantly climbed the stairs leading up to the small door, small enough to fit me if I ducked down my head. I rapped on the solid door with caution, listening for a responding “Come in,” or the door to open. However, all I could hear was the songs of a million birds and the swaying branches.

Really, would it be such a bad idea to let myself in? I didn’t see a lock anywhere, and no-one was around. At least I thought no-one was around. Plus, I yearned to see what kept the ice frozen in the windows and what was inside the fairy house! (I knew it to be a fairy house after a unit in class on mythology back in my village.) I laid my hand on the wooden doorknob, and carefully turned it. As it hinged open, I was dumbstruck by the perfectness—handcrafted furniture, cozily-placed rugs woven from green grass, and warm candle lighting made the interior a lantern of the woods. I climbed inside, ducking my head to fit through the small opening until I was standing inside a common room-type section of the house. 

It was decorated with leaves and twigs that brought out the color in the wall’s oakwood. I glanced from one side of the room to the other, admiring the light dew on the leaves and branches, like diamonds that made the greenery shimmer. In one corner a bench made of small wooden panels sat awaiting my tired collapse. I obeyed it, noticing that when I sat down the small pieces shifted to fit my presence, making the bench feel like the world’s softest, most comfortable cushion. But before I could doze off, I heard a fluttering sound like that of a human-sized butterfly. 

Before I could scream, a shapeless being floated into the room. It had wings so delicate they could snap if touched, but they never did. I couldn’t define its color—it seemed to change too fast to comprehend. But its face, her face, was a million stars. Her smile lit up the room in a warm glow. She didn’t notice me at first. I was frozen in place, struck by the being’s overwhelming presence. I had never seen a fairy before, but for some reason I didn’t expect to see one in this fairy house. Everything seemed so—perfectly kept. It would take magic to make the dwelling so effortlessly clean and hospitable, but it also seemed untouched. “I’m sorry, I was just—” “No worries,” the fairy intercepted. “You’re welcome here.” Hearing her voice was like listening to the leaves rustling in a summer breeze or the water in a brook trickling through the rocks—easily natural and down-to-earth.

I stood up. “Thank you.” She smiled. “I am a wood fairy.” I smiled back, but no-one had taught me what a wood fairy was. Thankfully it wasn’t too hard to guess. “You may have only seen this house, but there are hundreds of wood fairies in this area.” she went on. “They are scattered around these woods, but unlike humans, we don’t build in villages. Wood fairies like solitude, and so each fairy house is separated by at least half a square mile.” “Hmm, and just you live here?” I asked. She looked around, then met my eyes. “Yes.” It would be a nightmare to live in complete solitude for a human. Yet I had heard tales of people who did. “How long can I stay?” I asked, the words sliding from my tongue unexpectedly. “Until sunset,” she responded.

About an hour later a fire crackled in the hearth and the fairy stirred porridge in a birch bark cup in boiling water. I gathered wood from the outside and brought it in to tend to the flames cooking our evening meal. It was very surreal, very whimsical, and very pleasant—an escape from bustling villages and trades in the human country. We talked. Her name was Faye. She had lived in this fairy house for three years, she had built it herself. “Us fairies are pushed out of our homes at 9 years of age.” “We must walk far away from where we were born and raised and build a home in the bush. Then we live there until we die. Wood fairies tend to live for fifty years, some can make sixty before they can no longer tend to themselves,” she said. 

I told her of my life in the village of Peltborrn; every day the boys must wake up and gather the herbs from the village garden, then go home and provide tea for the family. The women go work in the market selling seeds and grain, whatever the village mills and farms can’t provide. The youth are not permitted to marry or court—practically, love is prohibited. Faye listened, then showed me to the dinner table where she served porridge with mint leaves, rabbit, and sweet dew in a bark cup. “It’s time for you to go now,” she told me after we had eaten. “Goodbye.” I said. She smiled and waved, just as the sun set out the window. It was beautiful. But when I looked back, she was gone. I stood alone in the room for a few seconds, then I left, closing the oak door behind me. I drifted home with tears staining my face. That was the end.