The Hunter's Moon by O.R. Melling

Author:O.R. Melling
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: ABRAMS
Published: 2012-07-27T06:00:00+00:00

wen was thinking fast. How was she going to get out of this one? Even she had to admit there was a strong case against her. Her cousin’s eyes pleaded.

“I’m not saying yes and I’m not saying no,” she began.

The King’s features darkened. She finished hurriedly.

“I need to think about it. If you own eternity, what’s a little time?”

True to his nature, Finvarra’s temper transformed. A smile of approval lit up his features.

“You wish to continue the game?”

Gwen nodded. She held her breath as he considered the proposal.

“It has been good sport thus far.”

With a royal wave of his hand, he made his decision.

“Granted. A little time. No more than a day of your own reckoning. We go to our northern kingdom by the Lake of Shadows. Join us there tomorrow’s eve or accept your doom.”

“Where?” Gwen asked him, glad of a reprieve however short. “I don’t know Ireland very well.”

Findabhair was about to answer, but the King cut her off.

“In your world it is called …,” he paused, mischievously, “island island.”

The fairies burst into raucous laughter. Findabhair tried to speak again but in the blink of an eye she had vanished, along with the others.

Gwen stood alone in the forest night. Island island. Now what could that mean? Was it a trick? An anxious pang shot through her. Finvarra was a master trickster. She’d have to work hard to avoid his clutches.

But first, she needed sleep.

She looked around for a spot to camp down for the night. Piling up leaves to make a mattress, she spread out her ground sheet under an old apple tree. Snuggled inside her sleeping bag, she inhaled the scent of damp earth and greenery. The night noises of the forest played around her: the creak of branches, the sigh of leaves, the scurry of small creatures in the undergrowth. From time to time came the hoot of an owl or the call of a woodcock. The darkness seemed to gather round, pressing against her like black water. Her heart fluttered, small and nervous. Was she safe? All alone in the dark wood? Despite her fears, exhaustion won over and she closed her eyes.

In the deep of night she awoke. Emerging from the warm dark bath of sleep, she found herself drifting upward. A thistledown on the breeze? Or was she a butterfly newly risen from her cocoon? She felt impossibly tiny, like a speck of starlight. A sudden shift in the wind sent her tumbling. Now she was caught in a moonbeam as she continued to spin. The whirl of bright motes made her dizzy with laughter.

Am I a fairy? she wondered.

Then, with a wondrous ache of joy, she felt the leaf-thin pale-veined wings that fluttered from her shoulders.

“Gwenhyvar! Come dance with us!”

The voices echoed from everywhere. She was not only surrounded by others of her kind—tiny, winged, and light as air—but by every creature and spirit who lived in the forest. Birds, insects, and animals had joined the throng. Elemental beings quivered in the dimness.

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