The Fae Steed

From their hiding place in the thick forest ferns, Rose and her younger brother Martin watched as the woodcutters marked the ancient oak for harvest.

“Not the Grandfather Oak! We must stop them!” Martin’s indignation overcame his caution and he jumped up, only to be pulled down again.

“Be still. We mustn’t be seen. Run and get Father. Those men shouldn’t be here!” Rose gave him a push, and he raced down the path toward their cottage. The deep mat of fallen leaves muffled his footsteps, so that all Rose could hear was the chatter of a nearby squirrel, followed by the distinctive crack of the woodcutters axe.

Rose watched in misery as the burly man began his assault on the ancient oak. “Hurry, Martin, hurry!” she whispered. Suddenly a barrage of acorns began raining on the woodcutter’s head. He paused in his labors to see who attacked him. The acorns stopped, and the glade was silent. Rose looked around the glade until she saw a tiny man sitting on a branch above the woodcutter.

“Who did that, Reese? Did you see?” the woodcutter asked his companion, who lounged against a nearby log.

“Did what? I didn’t see anything.” Reese pulled his hat back off his eyes and stared lazily at Jack.

“Someone’s throwing acorns at me.” Jack studied the tree above him, but saw nothing.

“It’s probably just a squirrel.” Reese settled the cap back over his eyes and stretched out his legs.

Shrugging his shoulders, Jack took another swing at the oak. As soon as he did, the acorn barrage began again.

“Hey, that hurts! Reese, get up and help me find out who’s throwing those acorns. I’m going to wring somebody’s neck!”

Rose stifled her giggles as she watched the little man making faces at the giant below him. “Why can’t the men see him?” she wondered. As the woodcutters began their search of the glade, Father arrived, with Martin at his heels.

“This land is under my protection." said Father. "Ye can’t cut here.”

“By whose orders?” Jack held his massive axe threateningly in his hand as he stood shoulder to shoulder with Father.

“This is the ancestral home of the Sidhe Court. King Oberon resides among these oaks and I would not have ye disturbing him.”

“Faeries? Ha! Ye’re touched!” Jack moved toward the oak to resume his work, but a rain of acorns stopped him. “More like a plague of squirrels.”

The barrage of missiles grew, now coming from all sides. “The Fae will defend themselves, I’ll warrant.” Father chuckled as the two woodcutters tried to fend off their unseen attackers. Shielding their faces with their arms, the two poachers gathered their belongings and fled down the forest path. The laughing children joined their Father in the now still clearing.

“Did ye see their faces?” Martin said. “They’re cowards!”

“Lucky for us they are,” Father answered. “I’ll need to increase my watchfulness for a time. I fear they may try again.”

Moth and the other fairies watched from the shadows until the humans left the wood, then, leaving Wren in the Grandfather Oak to guard it, they ran to tell their master, the king. Although John Morgansen was a good friend to them, even his efforts weren’t assurance against the poachers anymore. The King would know what to do.

Rose was up late that night, watching the dark trees from her window. Would the woodcutters come again? She knew the little man she’d seen was one of the Fae. It was a rare sight indeed, and a gift. She needed to protect them. Long she thought on it. When she finally slept, she’d formed a plan.
Early the next morning she woke Martin. Together they headed for the forest glen, determined to protect their faeries. Using wire, they circled the Grandfather Oak with hidden trip wires. A man coming into the glade would surely fall, unable to see the fine wire strung at ankle height. Satisfied that they’d protected the tree, they returned home for breakfast.

Willow and Moth watched the children from the tree branch where they stood guard.

“We have good friends, Willow,” Moth said, marking the trip wire’s path.

“Aye, that we do. Our king chose this bower well.” As soon as Rose and Martin left, the two faeries flew to report to the king.

King Oberon laughed when he heard of the children’s work. “That just might work. Keep watch today. Come for me at any sign of trouble. With the May Day races tomorrow, we must be sure we’ll not be disturbed.”

So the two faery guards stood watch all the day. All was quiet until late afternoon when the woodcutters returned. The two little guards watched as they approached. The trip wire caught them both at the ankles. Both men crashed to the ground as though ax-felled. Willow and Moth laughed uproariously, their high-pitched titters carrying on the wind to goad the intruders.

“Me thinks this wood be haunted,” said Reese, searching the surrounding bushes for the source of the laughs. The tiny faeries began their barrage of acorns again, raining them heavily upon the men.

“I ne’er heard of ghosts stringing trip wires,” said Jack. Shielding himself with one arm, he began a search. As he found each trip wire, he cut it with his knife, growing more savage with each cut.

“Willow, fly to the king. I will stay and watch. Hurry!” Willow flew off, and Moth continued his attack. But the men were not easily dissuaded from their goal. Just as Jack began to chop the oak, John Morgansen returned, with Rose and Martin at his heels.

“So ye’re the one set the trip wires!” said Reese.

“Aye, and I’ll set more than that. You’ve been warned. Leave this forest, or I’ll report you to the sheriff.”

The two woodcutters grumbled and complained, but they left, for they knew the sheriff wouldn’t deal with them gently.

A cheering rose from the surrounding woods. The king of the faeries stepped from the shadows. “You are a good friend to us, John Morgansen. I owe you.” King Oberon bowed.

“I am glad to do it, sir, for in truth you make good neighbors.” The children watched in wonder as the king gave their father a golden acorn.

“I’ll soon repay your kindness, but until that day, keep this token. If you should need my assistance, please call.”

May Day dawned fair. The woods rang with the gaiety of the Fae. They loved celebrations, and today’s race promised to be a good one. The faery steeds had been groomed to a gleaming, and the jockey’s were in place. Oberon rode Blaze, attended by his jockey, Thistle. Titania, his queen, challenged him on Rosehip, and was attended by her jockey, Brandywine. Amid their cheering followers the two noble riders pranced to the starting line. The air was filled with a snowstorm of flower petals as the trumpets blared the start of the race.

Thistle snuggled into the soft fur of Blaze's ear, whispering encouragement to keep her running fast. The faery clung tightly as the steed narrowly cleared tree trunks and dipped under low branches. As a jockey and groom to the Sidhe court, the nobles of the faery world, Thistle's job was to ride in Blaze's ear and guide her through the race.

"Go lass! Come on, now, ye're almost there! Steady now, steady my pretty one," he coaxed as they neared the finish line. "Oh, to beat Brandywine will be such nectar! There's an extra bone in it for ye, my Blaze, come on now. Go!"
Together the faery and his steed entered the clearing. Filled as it was with cheering Fae, Thistle was hard pressed to safely stop Blaze without trampling someone. He climbed from his hiding place and slid down Blaze's fox-like nose.  He watched as his Sidhe masters dismounted to the cheers of their faithful followers. The winged couple bowed, favoring this gay gathering with their smiles as they went, leaving Thistle and Brandywine to groom and feed the dogs.

As Thistle neared the stables, he saw Brandywine ahead, leading Rosehip. His old friend looked sad.

"Twas a good race ye gave me there, old Brandywine, me friend," Thistle offered the greeting in peace.

"Aye, ye beat me fair and square lad. But just you wait! I'm still the better jockey, I am, and I'll beat you next time for sure." Brandywine offered his hand, and Thistle took it.

"'Til next time then. We'll see, I've no doubt, we'll see. Shall we join the celebration?" asked Thistle.

"Just let's put these lassies to bed, and we'll go," Brandywine answered.

The steeds, with harness's off and bellies full were stretched together for a snooze, their fluffed tails curled around tired little legs. Blaze twitched and whimpered in her sleep as she felt new life growing in her belly. More than likely, she'd not be racing for a while now.

Through the early spring Blaze's belly swelled until it brushed the forest floor with each step. Her movement was cautious now, and she was left unridden, except by Thistle. The tiny faery groom in her ear was a comfort to her, and so light as to be unnoticeable.
The stable yard was as far from her straw bed as she'd venture this day, for the pups were ready to come. Thistle sat with the mother-to-be, fussing over and petting her, rubbing her belly as it grew hard. The birth was easy. The tiny pups came easily, slipping into the straw, wet and red. The two were a matched set, one male, one female, both the auburn of their mother. They squirmed and mewled and Thistle laughed aloud.

"A hearty pair ye'll make to pull my master's coach. But for now, little dears, let me help." He led the pups to their mother's milk, and all three, mother and babes, settled into the age-old ritual, comforted and resting quietly.

"Good job, old girl." Thistle watched his charges with pride. "Good job," he repeated, as he rubbed her nose and ears.

The puppies grew quickly and were constantly underfoot. Their feet grew faster than anything else, tripping them. The pratfalls earned them the nicknames of Flip and Flap, which Thistle found undignified. It was time to go to the Sidhe for names.

Thistle put the pair on an old lead of Blaze's, which was too large, allowing the young clowns to slip out repeatedly. Thistle was at his wits end with them! Finally, he managed to get them before the royal dais.

"My Lord, these are the pups of your best steed, Blaze. They are in need of names, Sire, and so I turn to you for guidance."

The Sidhe King regarded his groom and the unruly pups with amusement. "Perhaps the names I have heard bandied about are not far wrong. Should we call them Flip and Flap in earnest?" Thistle reddened at the jib.

"Truth be, Thistle, these two are to be a gift, so I cannot name them. That right shall fall to their new owners."

"But why Sire? I planned to train them as a matched set to pull your coach!" Thistle protested.

"We owe this forest bower to the kindly protection of a neighboring herdsman, and I wish to maintain his favor. His children will gather berries in the meadow tomorrow. Take these pups there at dawn. The children will find them." Thistle bowed his assent, and herded his charges back to the stable.

It was all too short a night for Thistle, as he bathed and groomed the pups in preparation for meeting their new owners. "Ye'll be living with mortals come supper tomorrow, my pets. I'll be missing ye, aye, that I will." The pups cuddled and shoved close to Thistle until the three slept in a heap before the fire.

The pre-dawn glow wakened Thistle. He sat watching his wee babes deep in puppy dreams. They roused slowly, and he had to nudge firmly to get them up and moving. The wee groom led the pups through the woods as the birds began their dawn chorus. Most of the Fae were drowsing now, but those they saw called good wishes to them as the pups left to start a new life. The sleepy puppies were quieter than usual, following Thistle obediently. He watched them sadly, hating to think of saying goodbye.

Far too quickly they reached the meadow. Thistle brought the pups to a hollow filled with downy-soft grasses and sat with them to await the children.

"Now you two make me proud, you hear me? I won't be far, I'll keep watch o'er ye." He rubbed their bellies until they curled back into sleep. As the sun began to fill the meadow, Thistle could hear children's voices, so he crept back to the forest edge where he could hide and watch. As the sun warmed them, the puppies stretched and woke, yipping for their mother. Their calls pulled the children right to them.

"Martin, look! Fox pups!" Rose bent over the dogs, who greeted her with licks and barks. Her younger brother sat beside her and pulled them into his lap.

"Can we keep 'em, Rose? Will Dad want foxes about?" The hungry puppies nipped and pulled at his fingers.

"They're so dear! We can train 'em! I'm bettin' they can be quite useful, I am. Let's put them in my apron to carry home. Such short legs! 'Twould take all day for them to walk to the cottage."

Thistle listened from his hiding place, laughing to himself at their comments. Those pups might look small, but he knew they would prove themselves.
So the children carried the puppy's home. To their astonishment, their father was hardly surprised.

"They's a gift o' the Fae, that's what. They're no foxes I've e'er seen. Twill be magical, mark my words!"

"John, what are ye on about now? They're puppies, and fine ones at that!" Mother said.

The family made a warm bed for the pups by the hearth, and made them a beef gruel, which they sucked off their fingers until they learned to lap it on their own. Thistle watched at the window until he was sure they were all right, and then headed back to the forest stables. Blaze'd be wanting her supper.