The land of Faylinn is mystical, magical and full of endless suprises. It seems that nothing can shatter the pristine, perfect miniscule world created and loves by its inhabitents. But can it really survive everything...
"Donella, Donella!" A tiny voice chirruped from deep within the rushes. "Come quick!"
Then dark haired elfin girl looked up from weaving her basket, and sighed. "Rosetta, come out of there. Your basket is getting damp."
Rosetta came fluttering out of the rushes, flushed and looking scared "But Donella, you know I'm awfull at making baskets!" The flighty fairy cast a look down at the beginings of a lopsides basket, damp and decidedly ruined.
Donella rose gracefully, and her dark robe pooled around her feet. She made her way slowly after Rosetta, whose pale pink ringlets were bouncing with anticipation. "Look, look!" She cried, pointing ahead.
Foster, the old guardian of the woods, looked up from the small pool hidden from view by the tall rushes. He beckoned the pair over and motioned for them to be silent, pointing into the pool.
A water sprite lay beneath the surface. Her skin was so pale it was almost translucent, and it clung to her sinewy body likee bindweed. Hair drifted round the sprites head, green and faintly hypnotising.
It took Donella only a moment to realise what was wrong. The michevious glint that resided in water sprites eyes was missing. The blue pupils were blank, staring into space as the body floated eerily just under the surface.
Donella made the sign against evil, agast at the body before her. "Is she..."
"Dead," Foster confirmed. He rubbed his forehead with a withered palm, eyebrows furrowed. It was obviously troubling him deeply; any death was a person blow for him.
Rosetta clung to Donella's robes, wings fluttering fast, her bare toes just brushing the mossy rock. "What do we do?" She asked, eyes wide and scared.
Before Foster could reply, movement came from the water. All three of them tensed as their eyes moved together, following the shape gliding gracefully beneath the water.
When a green haired head broke the surface, they sighed in relief. "Nixie," Donella aknoledged.
The sprite inclined her head, but did not speak. Her eyes were round and wild, and her tail thrashed the water nervously. Foster nodded as if answering an un-asked question.
"We should leave," he muttered to his companions. "Nixie will deal with the body. I'll contact Tianna."
Rosetta sat on a tree branch, playing with some blossom in her delicate fingers. She was deeply troubled by the events of that morning; dead was not a word used very often in Faylinn.
Shaylee, Princess and daughter of the Queen, fluttered up to join her small friend in the tree. "Worried about the water sprite?" She asked. "We all are."
"It's not normal, is it?" Rosetta said quietly. "Water sprites don't just..you know. Die."
"Something weird is going on here," Shaylee agreed, surveying her kingdom warily. Everything seemed at peace. Flowers danced, birds sang and faires flittered, going about their everyday jobs and buisness. Elves sat talking beneath the Wise Oak, pixies teased and joked high above them in the canopy.
The fabled woods of Faylinn were so magical, it was almost hard to believe. The tree that the two fairy companions sat apon sighed heavily, and a sprite detatched itself from the thick trunk.
Rusalka frowned at the Princess and her friend, also watching the goings on of her fellow kin. "It saddens me greatly to hear of the death of a sister," she intoned slowly and sadly.
Shaylee took the wood sprites rough, dark hand in her soft pale one. "We'll work it out. Nothing can possibly hunt us hear in Faylinn."
Rosetta trembled at the word hunt. It bought back memories. Memories of the Hunter.