There is an Island...it rested between here and there...nestled within the Mondream...and in the heart of the Island, there is a forest, and in the heart of the forest, there is an Oak, and slumbering within is an ancient man, who holds the shell of a small boy...
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Her sleep was troubled tonight...as it had been for months now...so much termoil she saw, felt...so little she felt she could do...For even the Guardians held bounderies in that they could not save all....for there were only nine... Three of the healing..three of the warrior..and Three of mystic...She was a healer, and more so..she was Mistress of this Ilse..for it was the healers turn of the wheel to stand at the head...before her it was the mystics...Her grandmother the Crone, held heavy shoes to fill, and still at time peers her disapproving eye upon the choice the woman know familar as Morghan made.
Her mother locked in mourning within an abby in the land of her birth, a one time druid high prietess fufilling her final oath to her consort to mourn his death in the wrappings of his religion...While he wounder the afterlife of hers. For some the holy trinity of Father son and holy ghost was the pinnicle of all things...But in her beliefs...and in the teachings of the oldways...The Crone, the matron, and the maid....Was the trinity she held close..the penticle..the sacred femine. Always resting close to her heart..
It was these old thoughts that eased her mind this night as she walked the glen, pathes twined into others..meeting like old friends...till she feel upon the heart of the wood...to where Grandfather Oak stood like deities of old..and like she who went to those who called...another was waiting to greet her..
"Guardian....are you sure your wisdom is sound?"
Came a voice from the trees, but not of the Tree itself...for nestled upon a branch crouched a sprig of a creature..no bigger then a girl-child...a wild mane of knotted strands course hide and hair, weaved by burs, twigs and leaves. tiny horns coiled out just enough to peek alook at the outside world, ears flopped over cat like in nature, eye though were large perfect circles..dark liquid orbs that would swallow on up whole if they not be wise to them. mouth and nose held close to that of man. while tiny fangs would sneak out when she spoke..her teeth were jagged, a wild creature true. as could be seen by feet and hand that held fur tops, and feline sized claws...During there first meeting when the Guardian a small girl, asked what matter of being she was....the woodland critter gave but this responce..."I am a riddle.". And So the riddle leaps down from the tree like a squirrel chasing acorns landing upon all fours she straightens up...
"Myddrin...Will not part with his gift so easily...especially after the last one refused..."
Those word had the Guardian wince..it was true...one of her many mistakes was trying to press something upon one who was truly not ready...she thought it would aid her..instead it torn a rift between them that has to this day not healed....a swallow...and a sigh...then the pettite woman turned to her small companion..her waist long straight chesnut brown hair tumbling unhampered over her shoulder...
"I never said i wasn't flawed..or without the abilty to flaw....I am only human after all.."
Those words had the riddle spitting to the ground...as she was digging at an old worn out shirt she wore...it and the pants..were most likly "borrowed" from some unknowning farmer who left clothes to dry..
"Not with the Crones line in you....you be more..."
those onyx orbs twinkled...solar twlight as she wink....and moved towards the grandfather Oak...It was surrounded by many different races of it Brethern... All thick and full, showing there age like a male lion with a full mane..Though in this space of greatness...the Guardian had always woundered why the Riddled would call a spirit trapped in an Oak tree...Apple tree man. The tiny hands were touching the Oak now...tapping upon it like it were a door...an Appled pulled from pockets that never seemed to empty...she took a bite...
"Come Robin...Come Rof Beocht Wodan!..Wake now!....Myddrin, I will share my treasure with you...."
She waited, but the tree remained still....her features sullen..as she sat to cradle in the upheaved roots of the tree..another bite of the apple....a kick of her toe, for the riddle was not use to being ignored as such.
"Will you eat it all Paisley?...."
Came the voice of a boy, hair apple red, face beholden of infant innocence.. she frowned at the boy, till she noted his eyes. They held saged sorrow. old dying lights, trapped in the shell of youth...
"You are different...but this shell does not fit you anymore then the other..It is needed Myddrin, what you have inside..The world calls for the Wildling Gift."
She offered him up the apple, even as his eyes sought the Guardian...no words to her though...and she held none for him..she knew it was no longer her place to ask for the gift...she had asked once. and could ask no more. That was why the Riddle was called...
"The world does not want it....and it dies a little everyday because they are all forgetting...they do not dream of Riddles and gifts...they do not dream of the mantle...your Greenman, or his moonlight Queen...They yearn for Wars and destruction...If it leaves me now..It can never return.."
Though he held a boys face...a boys frame...his voice was old...endless pain, for a world long since left to dusty old books and mistold legends..
"Some still dream for I am still here...and Old Horn still roams....He hasn't been caught yet you know!!...As Long as Guardians stand upon this Isle, the gift will live...and she is older now...Her choice is made out of wisdom...not youth infused vigor..."
Again the Guardian is reminded of her past mistakes, though the Riddle did speak the truth in that when she asked...she was young, and in her first years as Guardian....and acted with more haste then perhaps was called for..She only hoped Myddrin would see past her error.
"But i will be alone then...and hollow, There is no place left for me in the world now...They have all forgotten me..."
The critter lips thined as she wrapped her arm around the small boy.
"i will never forget you....If you help us now..I will see the world meets you again...and i will sleep under Grandfather Oak, and you will see their dreams.."
and this made the Boy smile...and as his head layed to rest on her shoulder he began to fade, and soon all that was left was a small dead sparrow in the Riddles hand...leaving hte half eaten apple at the base of the tree she moved quickly towards the Guardian....
"You must move swiftly now...For it is weak....the Darkness of the world is weighing like yok upon its neck.."
The Guardian nodded, as she pulled up parts of her nightware, wrapping the still bird within...The physical manifestation of the wildling gift...a gift that when accepted eases the tormented soul, and gives hope where it is needed.
"Where do you take it Guardian?.."
" I go to Amaysnia..To the Myrkenwood...there is a need...and it is great.."
"That land be sick...its a deep sickness....I fear it will seep across one day."
The Guadian smiled...and nodded to the Riddle before she turned but not before her voice whispered...
"That Shalll never happen...While Guardians stand..."
"O westlin winds...where wilt thou blow?..."-Anyonmous
