A Fairy’s Morning Routine
(Text by Giulia Barbarossa)
Once it was barely dayspring, warm orange and pink sunrays wakened the little fairy from her slumber. She unwrapped herself from the pear leaf blanket and got out of her acorn cap bed, tiptoeing over to her washbasin. After successfully scrubbing out the sleepy-seeds from her eyes, the little fairy preened her moss-green cicada wings. One cannot go in front of the door with wings unpreened of course, now can one. She yelped out a pillow yawn before leaving her titchy cottage and made way to the brook.
Our little fairy had quite the number of tasks on her hands this morning. First, she visited the honeybees to source some of their wax for candle-making. Because they were such dear friends to the fairy, the bees also provided her with a dollop of fresh honey. For such gift occasions, she carried around multiple glass containers of all shapes and sizes in her leaf pouch. Her second stop was the wild wheat that grew in a particularly sunny spot in the forest. She plucked a straw as she flew by and tucked it into her tree-bark waistbelt. While flying away to her next stop, she gave a wave to the ladybugs and beetles that were tucked beneath the tufts of wild grass, and they buzzed in greeting.
When the little fairy arrived at the stream, she sat down on a lily pad for a little break and began chatting with the river-maidens that were bathing and playing nearby. They bubbled and giggled together, and the little fairy especially ringed with laughter when the river maidens told stories about all the odd sorts of fishes that had flirted with them over the past days. While she was at the stream, she gathered some of the river algae that would make a nice lunch salad. Before leaving to her next location, one of the river-maidens offered the little fairy a parting gift in form of an iridescent indigo scale that had fallen of her tail while grooming, which the fairy accepted in delirium and gently placed in her little pouch. “This will look great next to my tub!” she exclaimed aloud, unaware of it in her exhilaration.
Buzzing through the warm air on her way to the next location, the fairy came to a clearing that was carpeted in orange and green leafy piles. It was a small glade encircled by lofty wild plum trees, and the little fairy saw a snack opportunity. While she did not possess the strength to carry one of the fallen plums home, a few little bites could not hurt and would surely revitalize her for her further errands. Slovenly, she dove headlong into the first bundle of leaves and crashed into the wet brown nose of a forest marten. The fairy cried out a sudden “Ow!” as she ricocheted and caught herself mid-air, and her cicada wings stiffened up when she met the hungry eyes of the feral marten now in front of her, hiding in the warm leafy pile expecting unsuspecting insects to crawl into its claws. And to this marten, the little fairy looked just like such an unsuspecting insect, green wings and all. The marten outstretched its paw in a savage swoop, upsetting the structure of the leafpile it was hiding in, the cosy blanket of heated leaves dispersing on the wet, muddy earth. The fairy had only seconds to unstiffen her wings to fly off and avoid the ferocious pounce, and with a heavy heart had to relinquish a bite of the juicy wild plum. Quite shaken up, the fairy pressed on in fear that her opponent would retaliate, and she clutched her bag close to her chest as if it were a lifebelt.
Her next task led her to the towering fir trees, climbing up the woody mushrooms that circled around the many tree trunks. Patches of fresh moss had been growing here, which was our little fairy’s most beloved seasoning; not even the many-legged and long-winged bugs that crawled around it could scare the fairy away. The thought of sprinkling it on her lunch salad later or spreading it on her dinner toast made her mouth water, and the shock experienced from her recent incident with the forest marten already faded from her conscience. The little fairy grabbed two sizable bunches of the dewy moss and gingerly stuffed it into her pouch before hopping down the mushroom stairway. Back on the soft muddy earth, she whirled around the base of the ginormous tree she had just descended from, searching for some fir needles. The ones she had strung up in her home to perfume the air had lost their fragrance, and so she was in need of fresh needles. Unwary of the danger that lurked just below her feet, the fairy collected her bounty. Just as she stored it away in her pouch, a great centipede burrowed out of the wet dirt and leapt over the little fairy’s head. Once again, she had been careless in her endeavours, a foe standing in her way once more. Unfortunately, this time she was not quick enough to fly off and evade the beast last minute, and found herself trapped under the many legs of the centipede. No amount of resistance would encourage the beast to relent its attack, and a sea of shadow cloaked soon cloaked her vision before she closed her eyes.
When our little fairy opened her eyes again, all she could identify was a blurry mess of fur and leg. Once her vision resharpened however, all she could do was gawk at the spectacle unfurling in front of her eyes. The forest marten restrained the centipede in its sharp claws, and was crunching through its black armour, swallowing some of the soft bits underneath.
The fairy stood frozen, in awe and in fear, until the marten finished its meal. The marten stared back at her with its dark eyes, and the fairy began hearing her heartbeat bouncing around in her ears. The beast soon grew tired of this staring contest, and sat down to begin meticulously cleaning its claws. Feeling the immediate threat of danger slowly fleeting, the little fairy also managed to calm down and fully regain her senses. She carefully approached the marten, stopping right in front of its wet nose before rummaging around in her pouch. The fairy fished out a fistful of the fresh moss she had just collected, and prudently outstretched her arm to offer some to her saviour. The saviour in question did not seem to interested in this proposition, and gave her one last puzzling look before licking its nose and trotting off.
Back in her cottage, the fairy slumped into her acorn bed to rest of many a shock she experienced today before preparing her beloved, mouth-watering salad. Preparing her meal managed to calm her down quite a bit, and it allowed her to assess her adventure in the back of her head while plating up the many appetizing ingredients. With a full belly, she restocked her wax supply for tomorrow’s candle making, and strung up her new perfumed needles. As she hung up the iridescent nymph scale next to her mussel-shell bathtub, she thoroughly looked at her own reflection in it. She had a few scrapes on her nose and ears, but nothing one could call battle scars. Nonetheless, she would.
And the marten she would henceforth call an unlikely ally.