The fall always brings a flurry of change to the forest, from the russet hues of the once green leaves and the now quiet songs of the few birds that have not flown away to warmer climates. The hibernating creatures on in their last days, the others collecting what foraging there is to be had to prepare for the months of snow, and deep in the heart of the old, weathered forest, something even more wondrous than even the normal ticking of nature’s clock stirs and prepares for the freeze.

A tree stands in the midst of a clearing, branches warped by the winds that butt against its rough trunk, bowed as if an old man beaten down by time. To some, it is a wonder that the tree survives, a large mass of roots rising from the earth where the tree was once almost lifted from the earth, bending and bowing together to create a tangled mass of nooks and cubbies amidst the foundation of the oak – to others, it is a tree that has only survived for one reason, the roots and the notches all signs that point to why it seems as if the tree breathes and watches those who wander past it.

As you approach in the glimmer of twilight, the light fading from the heavens and a faint mist rising from the hot earth as the air cools above it, the reddening leaves stir with a life that is not created by a breeze that you can feel; they flutter and flit, slowly at first, then faster and faster, as if a mass of many thousands of wings.

And then the leaves begin to glow, sparkles trailing down from the tips of the fluttering things that move with no wind, until the tree seems to be coursing with a magical power and the air is filled with the sound of the leaves beating against the stagnant air. Light filters through the mist around the clearing, and in a final uproar of noise, the fairies alight from their hiding places and flutter about the leaves that had been hidden beneath their bodies; from the roots pour out dozens of small children and the old fae who watch them while the others sleep.

Suddenly, the clearing is alive, and the reason that the wind beaten tree still survives becomes evident as the fairies set to work on maintaining their home. Dead leaves are removed, withering branches tended to with a coating of glimmering dust, and scouts flit out into the woods to return with moss and other mulch to pack down against the roots that are too far removed from the earth, ensuring their home receives enough nutrition to survive for many more years to come.

They have lived in this tree, the Clan of the Crippled Clearing, for nearly four hundred years, having witnessed the darkness and terrors that swept the land around them and survived despite the trails of being small and easily forgotten. Fiercely protective of their tree, they are not unkind to travelers so long as they don’t pose a threat to their home – so long as you act kind they will likely answer any questions you might have of them.

Though they might ask a few hundred questions back.

Today, Dröm has left her herd to go exploring. This is a delightful thing for Dröm. She loves seeing new things, and there are plenty of new things in Helovia. Perhaps this is why she has done so well in Helovia. She has moved from the Hidden Falls all the way over here, and though there is a chilled breeze wafting around, the long distance run has still managed to make sweat bead on her golden hide. With a snort, she begins prancing around the forest, looking for things to analyze, to learn about, to study.

The flax doll gazes ahead and notices one particularly outstanding tree. She walks towards this tree, wondering what secrets she can uncover from it. It draws her closer, as if beckoning to her. The tree has exposed roots and a hunch back, but it's still very much alive. Too much alive. The leaves begin glowing and Dröm lets one erect ear slip backwards as she listens around her, wondering what is happening. Then, the leaves begin moving by themselves. The wind has died down and there is no earthquake, so flax girl does not understand why the leaves move. Suddenly, the leaves disperse from the tree, unfolding themselves into little human pixies.

The pixies begin working rather quickly, and Dröm only wonders about them. How are they so efficient? The silent observer decides to speak to the fairies as a whole. "Is there any way I can help?" She smiles., her offer meant to be kind. "I'm Dröm, a mare of one of Helovia's four herds." She glances around, each fairy beautiful and unique in their own way. With wings and all, these magical tiny humans dazzle the gold mare. Will she make an abundance of new friends today?

ooc: this was kind of bad, but it will get better <3 ^-^

The teeming mass of miniature bodies ignores the mare for the most part, carrying about their duties to keep the tree and clan alive through the oncoming winter. Its not that they don’t see her or watch her from their various tasks and endeavors, for they watch all who come within this close to the tree, but they have little time for her kind, as little as the big things usually have for the small fairies. A mutual ignorance, of sorts.

Its been many years since the last clutch of babes was pulled from their blooms, and the youngest of the fairies are the only that really give the horse much mind at all, an occasional stall in their glittering speed the only sign that the mare has caught their attention. There are ten youths in the band, only about twenty years old – which is old to a unicorn or horse, but very naïve to the other winged creatures fluttering over head, flitting to and from their various missions, and as she asks if she can help, it is these youths which descend on her in a shower of gold and silver sparkles.

Shezna, an elder fairy, watches from her bough atop the tree with interest, she herself flittering down to join the glowing mass of sprite bodies as they go to meet this Dröm. It has been many years since the horses have taken notice of them as much more than a fanciful sight, many months since even that.

The young fairies babble excitedly in high pitched voices that probably hurt the mare’s head. Shezna barks at them in her fairy way, her dragonfly wings hitting each other to shrill out harshly in the air, almost instantly bringing silence over the gaggle of youngsters now that they know a matron is among them and displeased with their chatter.

”You are too big to help with the Crippled Tree,” says the fae mistress, her pretty little oval face gleaming with her wisdom and the magic that floods through each of her kin and connects them as one, a soft smile tracing her lips as a curtain of golden gleams leaks off of her where she hovers. The young fairies gasp in dismay, some clutching their chests and dropping several inches in their flittering height and others turning to Shezna to titter about the unfairness of it all in shrill, sharp noises.

She holds a hand up for silence, and they heed the three hundred year old woman as if she had struck them with a spell to seal their lips, rather than merely implied they should do so.

”But you can help the clearing.” A cheer of jubilation rises from the cloud of youngsters, a great and thick sheet of silver sparkles floating to earth in their rise of delight. In a maelstrom of wings and little outfits made from leaves and bark, they twirl about the mare with laughter on their lips, some grasping at strands of her mane and others simply clapping their hands and nearly singing out in excitement.

”Du’aal,” says the elder fae, and one of the chaotic group breaks away to hover before her, an expectant brightness to his eight-year-old like features, ”teach the Drom to make flowerbeds. Show her where the newest saplings are so she does not crush them with her hooves.” A slow look is sent to the mare, her worry creasing her pretty face for a slight moment – they were so clumsy, these creatures who banded together in the four lands that had already been mentioned, and the fairies needed the young plants to thrive, seeing as they lived off of the pollen the plants themselves made and the bugs who came to feed off of their leaves and nectar.

”Is that suitable?” she asks, as if the chance to object still stood; the young fairies shoot upwards and fly away in a tangled mass towards the region of the clearing where this season’s seeds have been placed to sleep and await the warmth of spring. Du’aal, the blue skinned and moth winged fairy she’d pulled aside, is the only one who remains but for Shezna, and he smiles toothily at the mare before his own voice explodes from him.

”Follow-me, very-careful-now, Shezna-will-be-mad-as-all-hellfire if I let-you-smashtheplants,” the run together sentence was the product of his inexperience speaking to big animals that didn’t have the fine hearing of his kin, but he was clever enough to notice that the fairy matron had spoken very, very slow when talking to the mare. That he hadn’t managed to slow down enough was obvious to all but him, the young fairy sticking his chest out proudly as he hovered off trailing purple sparkles that proclaimed his pleasure with the situation.

"Drom!" Rei's trot became lively at the glimpse of the flaxen mare. With her tail swishing from side to side in time to her gait the spotted mare made her way to her friend. "I cannot seem to help but wander Helovia, I believe that I have spent more time wandering than what I have at home in the Throat." She laughed warmly and stretched her neck out in order to bump Drom's hindquarter in greeting. "I certainly cannot complain about running into you so often during my explorations! "

"Oh!" Brown eyes widened in wonder. "There are fairies. " She hoped that she wouldn't offend the magical beings with her words so the spotted pegasus murmured her words to her friend, "Whenever I was younger I was sure that I had a fairy friend. But as I told others about him they insisted that he was simply an imaginary friend." Regret quietened her voice further, "I guess after hearing it so many times I guess began to believe them. His name was Korinder." A bittersweet smile crossed her face at the memories brought forth by the sound of speaking his name once again.

"I am Rei," turning her full attention to the busy fairies she extended one of her forelegs and lowered her head into a deep bow, "I would love it if I could help also." Rei glanced at Drom looking to see her reaction. Did she mind that she had waltzed in upon such a special moment? The other mare had several of the little winged folk frolicked in her silky mane; their tinkling laughter was a musical sound.

"Their happiness is infectious!" A massive grin spread across her face as she watched their play. Drom was so likable. Rei believed that anyone from any species would be drawn in by the mare's charms. This moment was only proving that belief.

x - x

Shezna’s wings become a gossamer blur as the other mare approaches at a fast pace, her large hooves trampling and stamping and her voice booming through the clearing. Flitting overhead Drom to place herself in the face of the talkative, gentle hearted mare, her high pitched voice is commanding as it rises from her mighty four inches. What she says is lost in the pace of it all and the flailing of her arms to get the mare to stop, but it seems she is only in a rush to meet up with her horse friend.

The matron drops her arms across her chest when a startled, “Oh!” breaks from the new, spotted creature’s mouth. Thankfully it seems to remind her that little ears shake beneath the weight of her voice, and more quietly she shares their name aloud in the clearing and draws a smile over the scowl that has caught Shezna’s face.

Du’aal has stopped, as well, retreating back across the same path his purple glow had just taken, his sparkles once more muted to silver as he curiously flits about Drom’s head, wondering just where in jubilation all these four legged things are coming from and if he’s still to teach the Drom about flowerbeds or not.

They both listen to her story about her lost fairy friend with interest, Shezna more so for she knows the value of this tale. A lone fae, pairing up with a horse creature? She had heard of it but not in many, many long years. When Rei turns to tell the fairies what she is, the matron smiles and Du’aal flies upwards in a streak of golden light and claps his hands exuberantly, for she wishes to help as well.

The gardening will go swiftly this year, thinks Shezna.

”Go with the Drom and Du’aal,” she dictates, before floating back to her perch in the trees, leaving the mares alone on the ground with the younglings darting from them to the bed they had offered to help with.

If the two women look over, they’d see the little blue fairy boy giving the ring of mushrooms around the tree a wide berth while gliding over to a region of soil alongside the forest line. He’d taken the time to go slow so that a trail glimmered where his sparkles landed against the grass, allowing a safe path for the two to follow to where he bobbed up and down in the air.

[ OOC: Another pop in to allow the best possible flow. ]