“The toad prince, bedecked with baubles aplenty, approaches with a courtly bow. ‘Ribbit’, he says to the fair lady all alone at the boisterous ball…” I pause in my declaration, contemplating. I watch the toad before me as it stares blankly at a particularly well bloomed lily pad. After a moment of thinking to myself, “Wait, do toads “ribbit”? Or is that just frogs? What even is the difference anyways? Agh! I’ve lost the script now.” A sonorous croak bleats from the toad in my general direction, clearly voicing his displeasure with my faux pas, “Fine, Mister Toad, if you’re going to be a prima donna about this, I’ll come back later with a revised script. But you’d better be ready!”

  I hop off the toadstool I’ve been balancing on(A bright red affair, stark white spots coating its cap, quite pretty!) and begin to hum a tune aloud; one of my favorites, The Trials of the Theatrical Traveller. It's a delightful little tale of one of my fathers earliest endeavors where he would travel with a close friend, ridding the world of evils big and small.

  Progressing onwards, I peer back over my shoulder to check if I’m being followed. I spy in the distance the shimmer indicating the border of fae lands but no other signs of life, and smile to myself mischievously.

  “Gave ya the slip, old man! You’ll never think to look for me out here!” I stick out my tongue indignantly before turning back around and smiling to myself. Us Fairfolk aren’t supposed to leave the homeland — the elders and Eldest Court say it’s too dangerous out here for most of us, but I’ve never taken that seriously. Who would attack such a little thing as me? The animals out here arebland and mundane — not like the interesting essentia-fueled beasts of the homeland, so even should one decide to be aggressive, I can handle it! Father is worried over nothing…

  I light upon the stem of a wildflower, pretty, purple, and fragrant, and draw in a deep breath, reveling in its smell. The plants out here are also quite different from those at home. This one smells of earthen soil, a subtle pollen, and…maybe berries? Definitely berries. A similar flower at home would smell of sugared sweets, sumptuous and savory. It would give you a burst of energy on scent, and might even fool you into staying a while if you’re not paying attention! Flowers like conversation, no different from anyone else and always have the most fascinating stories to tell — even if they may be a bit flowery at times. Eager storytellers seldom notice quite how purple their prose is!

  I shake my head then, breaking my momentary reverie as a small blue bird with wings flapping faster than I can track arrives and buries its face into one of the flowers I’m hanging off. I watch with interest until it pulls its head back, now entirely covered in pollen. It turns to face me, still hovering on its impossibly rapid wingbeats, considering me for a moment. I reach out a hand, and attempt to gently pat its head, but it abruptly flies away, leaving me feeling somewhat miffed! “Spurn me, will you, blue bird? Don’t you know who I am? I am Lilidh O’Ceilidh! The one destined to be the greatest playwright in the whole world, and I’m going to write such mean things about you!” I shake my fist at the departing bird with a performative scowl. “Ah well. Nothing to be done about it, some people just have no manners. Maybe that’s why the Fairfolk never leave home. These beasts out here are both mundane and terribly rude.”

  With a mild huff, I spread my wings with a spray of dust that shimmers into a pattern reminiscent of a musical stanza in my wake, each dust mote chiming pleasantly as they collide with one another or a nearby surface. With several wingbeats I propel myself to just below the lowest branches of this stand of trees and begin to glide along, drifting, diving, and dancing around branches and leaves as I move farther from home and toward my destination—The River Song. It’s about ten minutes of concentrated flight, but concentrating was never my strong suit, and it isn’t long before I come to a sudden halt in my flight in another puff of dust.

  I spy it then, my nemesis! My rival! My Arch Rivalsis! Nemeval? I need to workshop it.

  The long, lanky, beast of beasts. It has a lithe body that extends to be easily eight times my height in length, vicious claws and fangs, and a propensity for changing its coloration to blend in with its environment. Right now, taking on earthy brown hues (though with the season changing the first speckles of white are beginning to shine through) as it lies in wait for me to fly over its carefully lain trap, none the wiser. But I’ve known this was a possibility, it was one of its favored tactics. This creature is the one thing out here with the audacity to attack me outright. Our rivalry goes back years and while those years haven’t visibly aged me even a day, this monster had grown ever smarter, larger, and stronger.

  Once I had felt we might make amends—I’d even tried to offer it a gift of ambrosia once, but it had leapt at me instead — making me drop the leaf containing the priceless fluid! Unbelievable!

  Ever since that day, we’ve been circling one another, laying traps and ambushes, dueling in the glades. Neither of us ever quite managing the upper hand, though. Perfectly matched, as all rivals must be. I often wondered if it would come to my aid in my time of direst need, not allowing me to fall to anything besides its own terrifying, vicious, claws.

  “Time will tell, you devious creature, but today, the ambusher will become the ambushee! …Ambushed?” Frustrated at the words, I toss a handful of dust into the air, saying a brief incantation.

  Silent shadows shroud my shape, see me slip from sight and sense.

  A glamour falls over me to render me nigh invisible. The dust clings to my wings and dress, and with each mote, I grow more and more transparent, until something would need to make a concerted effort to be able to spot me if I stood still.

  But I won’t be standing still. I lower myself to the ground and call my weapons to hand, conjured from my magicks and called from home. They appear, hovering and very gently spinning and bobbing in place until I reach for the rapier and buckler. The rapier is an enchanted needle from the bobbin of the best seamstress in the land, granted to me as a gift when I had my twentieth nameday. The entire rapier had been meticulously carved from the bone of a great and terrible dragon from tip to hilt and gleamed like metal in this midday sun. The shield, on the other hand, was a symbol of office, a golden plate upon which the tales of the royal family were embossed in exacting detail in text so small as to be illegible to the naked eye. At least, that’s what I’ve been told all the squiggles are, I’d never committed myself to studying them like I was told I should. I am and always will be far, far, more concerned with telling new tales, singing fresh songs, and adventuring abroad!

  The weapons jump readily to my hands, the rapier diving into my open left palm with a spinning flourish, and the buckler spinning over and sitting just above the skin of my arm, like it was trained to do. Each disappears the moment they enter the field of my spell, and I begin to creep along to blindside the creature.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  From down here, it looks ever bigger than it had when I was flying. It’s maybe ten, nay! Twenty times my size and I can see its ravening maw, dripping saliva, anticipating its next meal. As I sneak to its left side — the side I’ve long since learned it struggles to fight from due to an injury — I see its poisonous claws, dripping with ichor that is simultaneously poison, venom, toxin and a bunch of other terrible things! Many a near-death experience had been had at their tender ministrations.

  But not today! With a flourish, I come to my ready stance, with my elbow bent at a steep angle, and my wrist pointed outwards to hold the blade out directly away from my body, and my shield arm behind my back. I open my mouth to speak my challenge (It would be crass to attack out of the blue, after all), but realize there’s no way the monster would have seen my oh-so impressive twirl and been suitably awed and intimidated since I was invisible! That just wouldn’t do. With an uttered phrase, I dispel my glamour with a shimmer and spray of golden dust and a gentle chiming ring on the air.

  It instantly snakes around, its long, long, body moving like a serpent at the roots of an eldtree to look at me as I re-do my flourish before its now attentive eyes. It seems thoroughly impressed and rears back in surprise as I speak. “Hear me now! Today is your last day on the Lady’s green earth! And I will be the one to put yo- Hey! I wasn’t done!” I abruptly spin to the side as it dives at me, seeing easy prey and clearly having no appreciation for theatrics. That is why he’s my rivalsis. He’s a dangerous nihilist with no appreciation for tale and song!

  I feel its bulky, muscular, body scrape past me as I spin away. It quickly reorients itself, but not fast enough as I dive for the opening, driving my rapier clear through its side in what would surely be a telling blow. At the last moment, it wiggles (Really! Wiggles!) out of the way and then dances back a few strides to create some space, making use of its entirely unfair reach advantage on me to swipe at me a few times. I deftly knock aside the blows from its savage claws with shield and sword, and it snarls a frustrated cry and dives at me, aiming to engulf me whole in its cavernous maw.

  Where I’m positioned against a pair of trees, I realize I’ve been outmaneuvered and there’s nowhere to go. My counter ambush has failed and he knows it. He saw this opportunity coming and will capitalize on it. As he dives, I see a single chance. Fleeting, but a chance, so I have to take it. I call my shield forward and into its jaws as it goes to clamp down around me, only to hear a sickening crack, but not from my own bones, nor from the shield buckling.

  With a plaintive cry, my rival falls backwards, making a mewling noise of pain and distress. As he writhes on the ground, I see what happened. In my attempt to prevent it from closing its maw around me, I broke its tooth!

  My stomach drops and my face pales, “Oh, n-no no, no, that wasn’t supposed to happen! It was just supposed to hold your mouth open, so I could reposition!” I run forward to the agonized stoat, dismissing my weapon and raising my hands to cast a handful of dust forward with a flutter of my wings and speak another incantation,

  Soothe, sweet stoat, sleep sound and still, slumber soft, 'til sun does spill!

  The dust settles around the pained creature, and it swiftly drifts off to sleep. Having no natural resistances to Elysian essence, fae essentia, the effect takes hold quickly and renders it calm and pain free. A simple spell for pain relief and sleep.

  “I’m so sorry, dear friend. I’ll fix this, no rivalry should end in such an inglorious way,” I say, internally scolding myself for harming the weasel while I was merely playing. “Immature! Stupid! I’m so dumb! This wasn’t even a fair fight.” I chastise myself glumly as I walk over and kneel next to the lightly bloodied tooth with a deep frown. Hefting the thing in both hands, I stand and walk back over to the now soundly sleeping creature, setting the tooth down next to its head.

  I gently caress its soft fur, speckled with gray, and a spike of disgust rises in me as I remember that I've heard that the mortal kyn hunt creatures like him for their pelts. I run my fingers through its fur soothingly, and it seems to wiggle appreciatively. Reaching for its lips, I try to open its mouth, but its head is too heavy for me to lift. My shield manifests once more at my call, and I bid it help me. It carefully pries open the stoat's mouth and lifts its head, the floating motions looking almost as forlorn as I feel. But there’s a duty to be done, and a debt to be paid. I reach inside its mouth and conjure a small orb of light, seeing that the tooth has cracked cleanly in half down to the root. With a grimace, and remembering a toothache I once was given as part of a scene, I inspect the rest of its mouth and see the other teeth aren’t looking great either, as though decayed by age.

  “Oh, you sweet thing, you were getting old, weren’t you? I’m sorry that I never realized…” I trail off but shake my head to regain focus. “I always considered you a dear friend despite our many battles, and I was never aware enough to realize you were slowing down. I’ll do what I can to help.” I hold the heavy tooth in place and begin a healing incantation.

  Spirits of soil, sky, and stream, save this one's smile!

  A warmth radiates from my wings to my heart and out to my hands holding the tooth. Channeling Elysian essence through my hands, I watch as light flashes at the points of contact, where new material rapidly grows to fill small gaps. The light spreads through its mouth, turning the aged, worn teeth into sharp, pristine white fangs, as they had been in their prime so few years ago.

  I slump backward into the dirt afterward, feeling dizzy from the effort. I barely even register that falling there will surely dirty my dress. With my head swimming, I can’t bring myself to care. Despondent after hurting a helpless creature, I wrestle with what to do. After a few moments, my head clears, and I’m struck with an idea. An idea I know the elders, my guardian, and my father would surely take issue with… but they aren’t here, and I will write my own story!

  I climb forward onto my knees, dismissing my shield servant, which is still propping open the mouth, and place my hands on either side of the stoat’s head. I begin speaking a ritual I’ve known since birth--

  For you, Sir Stoat, I extend my bond, that you might live among the Fairfolk and feel our hospitality in the verdant lands of the Court of Tale and Song. I name you…

  I hesitate, for despite my storytelling skills, names have never been my forte. Pausing, I feel the energy of home reaching out to me at my behest.

  I name you… Henry Slinks, Sir Henry Slinks!

  I finish, placing a kiss on the stoat’s forehead. All the energy that had been building within me, suffusing me like the first warm sunrise after a long winter, releases on contact, transferring into the stoat and granting it a small mote of fae whimsy within its soul, supplanting some of its natural essence. The amount replaced will grow over time, but how it will affect the creature is unpredictable. Such is the nature of the essence of whimsy and creativity.

  I rock back on my knees and watch the energy pulse through the creature as it slumbers. Patches of its gray fur return to a more lustrous brown before my eyes. It brings me a smile for a few moments as I witness the process.

  This binding is something special, something no fae should do more than a few times in their life, and only with those, they’ve formed lasting stories with. Stories told over a long time, with anticipation of many more to come. Entering the Court of Tale and Song is no mean feat, but I’m happy to use my power to help this creature who gladly dueled me over the years. With this blessing, he might come to understand what it meant to me.

  I stand, knowing the sleep spell will last awhile and that he’ll be reasonably safe here under the brush where we fought. So I leave, heading toward the river full of mixed emotions, already dreading the talking-to I’ll surely receive when I return home.