Finvarra was King of the faeries before he was changed into an owl by a jealous forest spirit who had fallen in love with the beautiful Queen Aoife. Together with his queen, Finvarra travels in search of a way to brake the spell so that they may return to the great hall of the Daoine Sidhe where he will once more hold his court.
Aiofe and Finvarra will be available in my etsy shop tonight at 5PM (PST). They are $725 (USD) plus shipping.
The moss maiden moves silently through the forest, between ancient cedars that stand like sentinels.
She is looking for a place that only she knows, where the emerald moss whispers a particular song.
This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, Stand like Druids of old, with voices sad and prophetic... --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, From Introduction to Evangeline
Her steps are light as she glides across the densely carpeted forest floor.
It is her task to gather the softest moss, tiny filaments of striking green, that sing the forest's oldest song, and weave with them a gift for each new faerie babe.
As she works she sings the forest's song, and whispers ancient faerie blessings, weaving words and delicate mossy tendrils into a resplendent blanket.
This is the oldest magic, for while a faerie babe sleeps beneath the mossy blanket lulled by the forest's ancient song, she dreams the story of the world, as she rocks in her cradle.
This is how it's aways been, the moss maiden knows.
The gaiety of summer has passed and there's a sense of anticipation creeping over the wood as the mornings turn frosty. The forest folk are busy preparing for winter. Nuts and roots are being stowed away in hollows beneath the trees and Faerie mounds. Store cellars are packed with dried berries and bundles of fragrant herbs, while cauldrons of steaming acorn coffee and rose hip cider hang over hearths. Tuala, Maeve and Rowan have been sent to collect the last acorns for the Autumn Feast. Along the way they find a ring of tiny brightly coloured toadstools, a few whispered words and an enchantment is laid. Winter nights are long and the Faeries delight in catching unsuspecting wayfarers in their Faerie rings, to dance the nights away with.
“My leaves are turning crimson,” the giant oak tree said,
“It’s almost time these children should seek their winter’s bed,
But how they still cling to me and gleam with crimson hue,
They truly are more lovely than cirrus clouds of blue.
“And now throughout the forest – list! hear their voices ring,
But ’tis in tones of sadness and sighing they now sing –
‘Alas! ’tis gone, fair summer, and winter’s reign is near,
He cruelly strips the forest of all her summer cheer
By killing all her lovely leaves and likewise flowers gay
And driving all her fairy folk to homes of far away.
by Winifred Sackville Stoner, Jr
The listings for Tuala, Maeve, and Rowan are here.
