“Oh, my, it is so marvelous.”
In the angling light of the stars and the risen half-moon Chelle looked out over a burgeoning forest, a realm where the gentle air of midspring wafted among newly leafed-out trees, a place of color so vivid that even in the wan glow shed down from above still she could see new life agrowing.
Chelle stood on the crest of the knoll onto which the hidden door had opened, and she slowly turned and breathed in the scent of the woodland, some sproutlings fresh and full of new promise, some trees old, their roots reaching deep, their great girths moss-covered, their branches spread wide and interlacing with others. Oak, she could see, proud and majestic, and groves of birch, silver and white; maple and elm stood tall, with dogwood and apple and wild cherry blossoms filling the air with their delicate scents.
Borel led her downward and in among the boles of old growth and the reed-thin saplings of the new. And among the roots running across the soil, crocuses bloomed, as did small mossy flowers, yellow and lavender and white. As they passed among the trees, now and again Borel pointed above, and there aroost were drowsing birds-chickadees and finches and sparrows alike. Somewhere nearby and hidden in bracken, a small stream burbled and splashed, as if singing in the night as it danced on its way to the shores of a distant sea. And there was a nip in the air, as of snow hidden away ’neath enshadowed ledges, lingering, clinging, desperately resisting a final melt.
Hand in hand, Borel led Chelle past the great bole of a huge elm and over a series of stepping-stones across a brook, the bourne singing its rippling song as it tumbled o’er pebbles and rocks. Toward a crepuscular wall they went, the twilight looming upward in the night.
“I thought you might like a glimpse of the mortal world, Cherie,” Borel said as he came to the fringes of the marge.
“Will that not make us old and withered?” said Chelle, frowning but unhesitant.
Borel laughed. “Only if we stay overlong there. Yet I propose but a brief look.”
Into the twilight border they went, the half-moon dimming as they strode therein, then brightening again as they began to emerge.
They came forward into a springlike forest, the air nippy, water runnelling as of snowmelt. Wild cherry and dogwood and other flowering scents filled the night.
“Hmm…” said Borel. “I think we somehow got turned about, for we are in Celeste’s demesne again.”
“Celeste?”
“My sister. The Springwood is her principality.”
“Ah, I remember.”
Borel shook his head and wheeled ’round to face the border again. “Come, Chelle. We will see the mortal world yet.”
Hand in hand they strode into the twilight wall, only to once more emerge in the Springwood.
After two more tries, Borel gave up. He led Chelle into a wildflower glade, saying, “Mayhap, Cherie, the only way we can be together as we are is to remain in Faery.”
Chelle knitted her brow. “Be together as we are? What do you mean, my love?”
Borel took a deep breath and then slowly let it out. The last time he had told Chelle that they were both dreaming, she had fled away, the dream dissipating, and he had wakened in regret. “Did I ever tell you of the day of my majority?” he said.
Chelle did not seem to notice he had changed the subject. “No, Borel. Was it a happy time?”
“Indeed.”
“Then say on, my love.”
“Ever since I was but a wee babe,” said Borel, “among my friends I have always had Wolves as my companions.”
“Wolves? But aren’t they wholly vicious? Quite dangerous? Killers all?”
“Oh, no,” said Borel, smiling. “I think tales of such are to frighten small children, and they carry this fear ever after.”
A bit of a frown graced Chelle’s features, and she said, “I did not know.”
Borel grinned. “Would you like to see my Wolves?”
“Oh, yes,” said Chelle.
Borel closed his eyes and stood a moment, and then opened them again. “There,” he said, pointing.
Like shadows slipping among the trees, silently came the pack. Chelle drew closer to Borel and gripped his arm, yet she did not blench.
Tails awag, out from the forest trotted the Wolves and, yipping and fawning, they gathered ’round.
Borel squatted, and Chelle, holding on, of necessity was drawn down as well.
“This is Slate,” said Borel, ruffling the big male’s fur. “And here is Dark, his mate.” Borel reached over and stroked her head. “And then we have Render and Shank and Trot, as well as Loll and Blue-eye.”
Laughing, he fended off their licks, but Chelle seemed unable to do so, and she let go of Borel’s arm and petted and stroked and hugged, her silvery mirth ringing as they gathered ’round and lapped her face and nuzzled her and took in her scent.
After moments of fondling the pack, Borel stood, and Chelle rose to her feet alongside. With a word from the prince, the Wolves settled, most lying down, all but Trot, who took station as ward. Chelle turned and embraced Borel there in the field of wildflowers and said, “Oh, my darling, they are quite splendid. Until now, I thought Wolves savage beasts, yet I see-”
Borel tilted her face upward and kissed her deeply. Then he clasped her tightly against him, his blood pounding in his ears.
Chelle held on to him fiercely and murmured, “I love you so, my Borel.”
They stood without speaking for a moment, savoring the closeness of their embrace, and nought but the gentle breeze shush ing among the petals of wildflowers disturbed the stillness.
“I can hear your heart beat,” whispered Chelle, her ear against his breast.
“It’s a wonder it doesn’t fly out of my chest,” said Borel, “along with my soaring spirit.”
Chelle laughed and broke away from his embrace, and whirled about as if dancing. Wolves’ heads came up and cocked this way and that in curiosity at this gyrating behavior, and Chelle broke into peals of laughter, and she rushed to Dark and dropped to her knees and hugged the Wolf about the neck. Then she sat and looked up at Borel. “Oh, my prince, I love them. And they have been with you since you were a child?”
“Yes, Cherie,” said the prince, and he settled down beside her. “My sire, Lord Valeray-you met him when we came unto your own sire’s estate-anyway, my pere thought I had an affinity for them when he saw me with a cub, I but a babe at the time. And so, he gathered this pack, cubs all, back then, and we grew to fullness together.
“Just ere I reached my majority, he asked me which of the Forests of the Seasons I would claim as my own. You see, I am the firstborn of his get, and so he gave me first choice.
“I and my pack, we visited each of the woodlands in turn, and together with the Wolves, I chose the Winterwood. For therein at times is a breathtaking silence, and running free through the snow is a joy I had not thought would ever be rivaled-that is, until I found you.
“And so, on the day of my coming of age, at the gala thrown I announced my decision, and I have never regretted my choice, nor has the pack.
“Ah, what a wonderful day that was: we danced and ate and drank, and gifts were exchanged and songs were sung; games were played, and favors given, and promises made and kept.
“Oh, Chelle, the day I attained my majority is one I will never forget.”
They sat in silence for a moment, and then Borel reached out and took Chelle’s hand and kissed her fingers. Then he looked into her face, her eyes yet concealed behind a shadowy band. “What of your day of majority, Cherie? Was there dancing and joy?”
“Oh, indeed,” replied Chelle. “It was just today, you know. All of us were gathered-my pere and mere, our guests, my friends, and the staff-and the music soared, and we danced and sang and played at croquet and archery and quoits and games of blind tag and the like. My sire had invited some special friends, those who had aided in a struggle long past. Feylike they were, and they came to me and said that I had attained all they had wished for in a daughter of such a brave man-beauty and grace and joy and other such things, they claimed, though I am but an ordinary girl.