Another journal

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It’s not fun being in a strange forest at night, even if you’re used to it. Emily had done the requisite week of outdoor school like everyone else in sixth grade, but drafty cabins in a state park were no preparation. For anything, really.

“Okay.” Her own voice seemed small against the trees. Still holding the wreath, Emily stepped forward and tripped on a root. She caught herself against a tree, crushing the damp flowers against the trunk. Eyes closed, she rested her forehead against the bark and sighed.

“Focus and pull yourself together.” Emily wondered if speaking out loud in a fairy forest that probably had monsters was a good idea. Most likely not. She pushed back and looked up at the tree. It was an oak with low and heavy branches, like the ones ringing the trailer court, but in an immense scale. What was left of the flowers felt slimy in her hands.

The plan, if it could be called that, wasn’t something Emily could begin until daybreak. She needed somewhere to sleep, preferably where she would be out of reach of anything that would find her edible. Emily patted the tree and considered the scattered information gathered from the court residents.

“Um, hello.” Emily tried not to feel stupid. “I know you are probably busy, Lady Oak, since it’s midsummer and I’m sure that’s like, super full of stuff to do.” Emily frowned at herself and pushed on. “Anyway, I was wondering if it’d be cool for me to climb up and sleep on a branch? If that would be okay?” She waited, feeling more awkward as each minute passed. She shuffled her feet. This was weird. In all the books chosen ones had no issues finding residents of the Sidhe, for better or worse. She’d try one more time and then just bed down at the roots and hope for the best.

“Ahem, um,” Emily fidgeted with the wreath and wondered what to do with it. “I don’t know if I’m doing this right—”

“You’re not.” Turning cautiously, Emily saw a broad-hipped figure leaning against a tree behind her, a dark shape against a darker trunk. The moon lit high, soft cheekbones and wide shoulders, leaving the details of the face dark. Emily sensed amusement. “I mean, there’s all sorts of protocol. For getting a tree’s ear, for requesting sanctuary or hospitality, for thanking requests and attention granted.”

“Are you, ah,” She pointed her thumb at the oak.

“I am.” The figure shoved off the trunk and stalked toward Emily. “And I find your attempts endearing. Where are you from, that you can figure out what tree has a guardian, but totally botch summoning it?” The moon now lit the dryad’s face, curving against her smile. It’s smile? A feeling of great age hung about the figure, something powerful and genderless that belied the curving female silhouette. Emily found she was shy instead of scared and made herself hold the dryad’s gaze.

“I’m a chosen one? From the Royal Oak court, um. I just got here and I studied, some, before but.”

“But nothing can really prepare you.” The Dryad looked up at the oak—looked at herself, Emily realised, or a part of herself. “Of course, this encounter is nothing, comparatively. It’s normal for chosen children,” Emily winced at the word choice, “to be unprepared for the formalities when they first fall through.” The dryad eyed Emily. “Though you didn’t just fall through, did you?”

“Well, I walked through.” Emily shifted uncomfortably. There were only a couple flowers left on the wreath, the pale petals of the rest lost in the dappled moonlight. She was tired and this whole thing sort of felt like explaining a term paper to a teacher. The dryad waited for Emily to go on and when she didn’t it rolled its head, neck popping unsettlingly like a dry branch snapping.

“Alright. I’ll let you leave it at that for now.” The dryad stretched out an arm in graceful mocking welcome. “You may climb up and find a branch if you’d like, but you’ll be just as safe if you sleep at the roots.”

“Thank you.” Emily ducked her head, stopping just short of instinctively bowing. “Is this like a stranger and hearth thing or do I owe you?”

The dryad blinked slowly at her. It had been turning away, as though it were well past time to move on and there was an almost audible creak as it brought itself back to focus on Emily. “Do you want to owe me?” There was no malice in the question, but Emily felt again like she was being quizzed.

“Hell no.” She attempted a street-smart nonchalance. “I just wanted to know where I stand.”

To her surprise the dryad laughed, throwing its head back. “You did? Well, consider it something like your stranger and hearth scenario then, if it makes you feel better.” The dryad walked back into the forest’s shadow, leaving Emily at the base of the oak, still dripping wet, unsure if she’d passed or failed.

Snugged up against a hollow in the roots, Emily was comfortable, tired and slowly drying, but solidly awake. She wondered what her aunt was doing, what Becky was doing. What time was it? What had it looked like when she stepped through the arbour? Maybe she’d disappeared as the water hit her like a slug dissolving under salt. That was gross. She hoped it didn’t look like that.

Despite her excitement and the underlying feeling of rightness, Emily had severe doubts about this entire venture. She had a the barest outline of a plan that was supposed to, in theory, unfold like origami or dominoes, or something, triggering automatic responses without having to worry about the details. The idea seemed presumptuous in her current context. Maybe she could ask the dryad in the morning. She’d found that if somebody was smarter than you, or felt like they were, it was easy to get them to talk.

Immediate future settled, Emily finally fell asleep. When she woke, morning sun warming her eyelids, she was on a rolling, grassy plain that stretched like the sea to each horizon. Sitting up abruptly, Emily started cursing.

Mirrored from Journal of a Something or Other.