Written August 3rd 2021 10:33 PM

Ailith was a city girl through and through, there was no denying it. She didn’t particularly like the forest, it was too fresh, too monotonous, too full of annoying creatures for her. What she did like though, was Feyra. And Feyra flourished in the woods.

They had been at Feywinda’s cottage for a couple weeks now, and Ailith had never seen Feyra so content. Everyday was spent traipsing through the nearby trees, trapping animals, cutting wood for the fire, fishing in the pond out back – all chores Ailith participated in begrudgingly, but not Feyra. Feyra was thrilled to be involved in any of it, was always ready to listen with rapture when Feywinda spoke about life in the forest or how best to cultivate the land. It had gotten to the point where Feyra would often give Ailith a soft kiss before slipping out the door before the sun had completely risen, leaving Ailith to burrow deeper into the blankets, content to sleep in until mid-morning. Ailith had lost track of how many mornings she spent training while Feyra and Feywinda were out gods-knew-where doing gods-knew-what.

Ailith supposed it should have bothered her, and maybe it would have if it wasn’t clear on Feyra’s face just how much she was enjoying it. She would bound into the cottage where Ailith was making breakfast and regale her with everything she had seen and done, and Ailith would listen with the fondest look on her face. It was rare for Feyra to talk this much and Ailith wanted to absorb as much of it as she possibly could, even if she had no idea what Feyra was talking about most of the time. Ailith wasn’t lonely by any means – Feyra might spend every morning and most days with Feywinda, but the nights were when Ailith got her all to herself.

They spent every night making up for lost time, learning each other over and over again. Each night was different, which thrilled Ailith. Sometimes Feyra was quiet, wanting nothing but Ailith to take charge and take her apart slowly. Other nights, Feyra was commanding, directing Ailith with precision. It didn’t matter which Feyra Ailith got each night – she was happy to oblige. On the mornings Feywinda wanted to be alone, Ailith woke to Feyra tracing her tattoos – the ones running down her arms, the webs tracing up her legs, the tree branches spread across her back. Those mornings were Ailith’s favourite.

Dangerously, Ailith had started letting herself dream again. She envisioned a future where she could give Feyra this kind of life. A life spent outdoors, beholden to no one and nothing. One day, she thought. Maybe one day.