The Path to the Forest

You're walking along a path.  Before you is the beginning of a forest, the trees tall and stately.  Beyond and embracing them like a mother's arms are the peaks of a snow-capped moutain range.

As you follow the path into the woods, you notice the sounds of the birds and insects have not ceased with your presence.  A thought of why that should be so flickers through your head before being interrupted by a light tickle on the back of one arm.

In surprise you wheel around to face whatever it was that touched you and hear giggles from behind you.  Again you spin only to see nothing.  A necklace of flowers suddenly drops over your head, making you start in shock, and you watch wide-eyed as a ring of faeries twirl and circle around you.  You relax upon sight of them.  Curious as to what they're up to, you finger the petal of a daisy in the flowers around your neck and ask quietly, "Do you always greet visitors like this?"

They laugh again and play with your hair, but say nothing in answer.  With a mental shrug you move on down the path with your faerie escort.  It's not long before you come to a clearing in the forest.  The sun shines down, hurting your eyes a bit after the dimness of the woods.  A small creek winds through the center of the glade, no more than a trickle of water really, which vanishes into the trees on two sides.  There is a palpable sense of magick in the air.  Looking around, you inquire to both yourself and the faeries still dancing their circles about you, "What is this place?"

A voice, melodic and strong, echoes in your mind in response.  "You are in my home, traveler."  The voice has caused the faeries to dart off even as it has given you heart failure.  The utter silence which follows does not aid you in the least.  No birds are singing; no insects are chirping.  The mutters of the creek even seem subdued.

Nonetheless, you turn in a slow circle and look around for this latest being.  Though you see nothing, you speak as if they were there.  "Your home?  Are you the noble of these lands, then?"

A rich laugh runs through your mind, a sound so warm and genuine it involuntarily makes you smile as well.  "No noble am I, my friend.  The titles of humanity hold no sway with those of my kith and kin."  The feeling of magick is getting stronger, as is the sense of connection between the owner of the voice in your mind and yourself.

But the conversation has left you wondering.  "If you are not human, as you seem to imply, then what are you?"  Your will strengthens, though it has not been manipulated.  "I would see the caretaker of these lands."

The creature is nearby, you can tell by the feeling of being surrounded by magick.  You can almost smell it in the air and taste it on your tongue with each breath.  "There are those who wish to see me other than yourself.  Why should I deny them and not you?"

You frown deeply.  "First you name me "friend" and then you treat me as an enemy.  You are truely a fickle beast, whatever you may be."

Another laugh peals through your head.  "Boldly stated!  For amusing me, I allow you to see me.  My name, however, you omay not know yet."  A rustle sounds from behind you and you turn to see what is emerging.

She is quite lovely.  Her hair is long and white, her features distinctly Elven down to the points of her ears.  She is tall for a woman, with a beautiful figure.  Her eyes are constantly shifting colors, sometimes blue and other times black, brown, green, or gray.  She parts her full lips in a smile and you cannot help but smile back.  "You desire something," she says aloud after a moment.  "You seek something.  May I aid you?"

You start at the realization that she just read your mind hits you.  "I believe you may," you agree.  "I am searching for a unicorn to heal my brother.  Many powerful mages and healers have attempted the feat, but none have succeeded.  I was told to find a unicorn who lived in this area, for it was the only hope for my brother."  You pause, hope flooding you.  "Do you know where I could find it?"

"Aye," the woman answers with a slow nod.  "But you must choose the way.  Need will draw it to you better than any path I could lead you down.  It is elusive and tricky, and has a tendency to do what it wants for its own reasons.

"So, choose."  She gestures to a suddenly split path.  Three branches go in three different directions, each with a sign at its head and mist covering the roads.  One signpost reads "To the mountains," another reads "To the Valley," and the third reads "To the Falls."