Under The Greenwood Tree...

[Ióunn Ar-Olwa]

[SIZE=12pt]...Who loves to lie with me[/SIZE]​

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[SIZE=12pt]And turn his merry note[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=12pt]Unto the sweet bird’s throat,[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=12pt]Come hither, come hither, come hither:[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=12pt]Here shall he see[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=12pt]No enemy[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=12pt]But winter and rough weather.[/SIZE]​

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[SIZE=12pt]Who doth ambition shun[/SIZE]​

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[SIZE=12pt]And loves to live i’ the sun,[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=12pt]Seeking the food he eats,[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=12pt]And pleased with what he gets,[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=12pt]Come hither, come hither, come hither:[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=12pt]Here shall he see[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=12pt]No enemy[/SIZE]​

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[SIZE=12pt]But winter and rough weather.[/SIZE]​

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~Will Shakespeare​

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The mastery of the small spider had woven her web capturing nothing save the droplets of the mist which sat upon the threads of her art. One touch and it would break, frozen as the Frostvatn Lake. Yet the Sun would see to the thaw come the morning, the fair day would start. And stirring among the forest green, the creatures poked their heads out of burrows, and nests and began the journey of life once more. From behind leaves and twigs they watched a small girl walk among them, they held no fear of her for she, and her kin, had called Averlorn home long before them all.

They would watch as she stumbled like a fawn new unsure of its legs, she did not cry for there was no parent present to gain attention and this was not the will of the girl. Her morning clothes made of Aelvar weave, oak tree green and bracken bark brown, soiled with the damp of Midvinter gave protection to her keeping out the cold. Shoulder length red ringlets fell about her face, entwined with twigs gathered in her hair as the path seemed to bear down around her for one so tiny. Small pointed ears pricked up, the sound of footfalls coming her way caused her to scurry and hide among the bushes of the undergrowth. For what comes, seeks her ..

“Little Twig? I know you are here, come hither my child”. The voice of her father soft on the air. Yet, she did not but sat with her legs draw toward her body, arms holding them in place and blue eyes flecked with all the colours of the forest pierced through the leaves watched as her father’s feet passed her by. Ióunn, still as the air, remained with mischief.. under the greenwood tree.

 

[Ióunn Ar-Olwa]

Eight eyes watched her sitting among the turning leaves, long legs slowly creeping pulling its body out of its curled home and stopped, intrigued by the ways of these giants of the forest. For the small black spider, no bigger than a coin, drew upon courage to see. Ióunn turned to look back at her and raised her finger to shush her dare she make noise enough for father to hear them both. She was not afraid of the creatures of the forest, large or small. But she too crept forward as he had passed and could no longer been seen, her hands pushing into the damp earth and her neck craned, but a twig snapping cause both spider and girl to sit back and retreat within their hiding holes. And in that moment she felt something firm against her back, her head lifted tilting up as far as it could go only to find her father’s face looking down at her.

“Nicely done Little Twig”, he said with a smile and she returned it filled with pride. He had known of her presence, strongly connected to the energy of the Frostvatn and in time his daughter would learn the same and learn to ‘hide’. He did not take her up, rather offered a hand which she took and stood as now is the time for her to strengthen her legs. “You grow more curious, do you not?”, they walked the path leading to the edge of the forest. “Be mindful of it Little Twig, there is more under the dome of the sky, perilous”.

Of course this only fuelled her curiosity, what could possibly be out in the world that was such a threat? She had heard the others speak of Men. Were they the danger to them all, she had no way of knowing .. Not yet. They came to a clearing, a circle of oak trees, leaves turned to gold and red and under which grew the Hawthorn. Her father led her to the centre and sat on the grasses among the small snow flowers yet to open their petals. “Close your eyes my daughter and seek the power of the Frostvatn”.

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[Ióunn Ar-Olwa]

The circle of oak was one of Iounn favourite places in Averlorn, it was a pocket of the forest that allowed the sun to shine through the trees as the mists clung to the edges. She could see the sky more clear here, and at night the sparkling stars in the night. The stars were something from dreams, so mysterious they are to her and her mind would travel to them all, and wonder what one might find on each and every one of them. But they are just twinkling spots of light to her, in reality she did not know planets or sun or systems.

What was real, was the energy force of the Frostvatn.

She plucked idly at a blade of grass as her father spoke asking her to tap into it, another lesson was about to begin and her ‘schooling’ bored her as quickly as the wind picked up a turning leaf and flung it to the horizon. “Concentrate Little Twig”, came a soft rebuke from her father as her finger played with the meandering of a lady bird.

Iounn closed her eyes and sat listening to the wind, she could picture the Frostvatn easy enough as she sees it every day but coming on the wind is soft song whispered with words she did not know from an ancient language. They are soothing to her but yet they hold a sense of power in them, the words spoken as if in enchantment cast a cloak to veil true intent.

Her father watched, his daughters face seemed to shift features growing and changing before returning to their child like cut.

Around them the wind changed course, cupped the gathering leaves on its gentle current and sailed the air toward them both. They seemed to hang above them floating as weightless as a feather before they dropped over their heads like confetti in their hair.

“You have the wind at your command”, he said marvelling at her as she sat once more lost to distraction.