Wapun Meadow i have no mother, i have no father, i have no face

She had stumbled upon a scene, the silvered fae silently mused as she watched them. Tucked away amongst the shadows, Olive wasn’t used to seeing others, especially not three together. Well, maybe that wasn’t the whole truth anymore — she had reunited with Seelie and Cass and Aries, the purpose of which the druid had chalked up to some celestial, cataclysmic event. The woman often pondered what it meant, to have reunited with so many, so soon — but the grandiosity of the idea sometimes gave her a headache so she put those thoughts aside to see after other pursuits. They were safe, they were alive, they were bonded and they would meet again.

Still, solitude was a skin not so easily shed. These women were strangers, though, and outnumbered her greatly — Olive knew better to simply assume that others did not mean her harm. Just because she did not understand hate did not mean it didn’t exist… it had been juvenile of her to ever believe so. She must drive hate out of existence, it was her life’s calling, but she must do so with unconditional love, radical love — but not naiveté.

As much as Olive loved her self-imposed prison [the bars of which had been smelted and molded by no one but herself], the desire for friendship greatly outweighed her masochism.   The trio of ladies seemed a friendly, playful lot, and Olive had always the tendency to gravitate toward feminine, yin energies — it had been so long since she had a tribe. Olive plucked herself from the thicket in which she lay camouflaged, approaching cautiously but keeping her fine, feathered ears high upon her crown to belie her friendly intentions. The small woman chuffed to bring herself into their awareness but immediately felt that she should introduce herself and give the others some context in which to frame their reactions.

“Ahoy,” she greeted, catching the tail end of the leggy, elegant woman’s words but not internalizing any of it. Olive wasn’t sure where she had gleaned that word, but it fell naturally from her lexicon and rosebud tongue. “I’m—” but she wasn’t able to think of a reason for her intrusion, so she filled in with the next most natural thing, her name.  “Olive.”