Names have Power

"She walks in beauty, like the night." Recited from memory, a mortal's poem.

Autumn colors painted the landscape around her, hues of burnt sienna, pumpkin, old blood, green olives, dry clay, umber, tarnished gold, and charcoal. Leaves, all of these colors and more, crunched beneath her bare feet, and every-so-often tumbled lazily from the skeletal branches up above. This, her season, was her favorite, and it was always her favorite here.

"...Of cloudless climes and starry skies. Hm." She looked up through the latticework of boughs to see the crystal clear night sky above. Each star was a diamond-edged pinprick, harsh against the midnight backdrop. A chill wind pulled at her hair and tugged at the bottom of her gown. The Lady held her arms out to her side and let out an elated sigh, grinning widely from ear to ear.

Then the heard it.

The sound of running footsteps.

A Visitor? She tilted her head into the breeze, eyes narrowed. Inhaling slowly, she rolled around the scents of the wood in her breath; detritus from crushed leaves and dying things, the foreboding ice in the wind, the lingering aroma of distant wood smoke, the musk of someone's fear clinging to young skin.

A lost! Giddy with the thought, she bolted like a doe through the scattered underbrush.

These woods were not mortal woods, no. They could only be visited by very particular people, or stumbled upon by innocent, unknowing younglings. Arcadia was very particular with their guests, and it always cost something to cross her dangerous borders. For the Lost, it seemed free at first - until they tried to get back home, of course. Then Arcadia pulled pieces off for itself, exacting a toll of sorts, one could say.

The Lady, and other Lords like her, Fae beings of great mysterious power and beauty, often used these Lost as bargaining chips. For what could be more expensive and desirable than something the realm itself desired above all else?

If she got to this Lost first, it would be hers! Though the earth was dry and cracking around her, she was as quiet as the still, cold evening air, and as quick as the first creeping frost.This was a spot of entertainment she had not expected! What fun!

On the other hand, many of the Lost were rather droll. Insipid, arrogant things, snot-nosed and greedy. Not unlike cats. The Lady paused in her pursuit, leaning speculatively against the nearest gnarled tree. The Lost she had managed to collect, she'd traded off just as quickly, and she never really needed anything badly enough to use them as effective pawns.

That wasn't her strong suit. Mainly she liked sucking the fear out of things, eating it, and then making them more afraid so she could grow more powerful. Anyway.

The aroma caught in her nostrils again, and just as she was about to turn and walk away from such a prestigious catch, being as fickle as the tides herself, something tapped her on the elbow.

Oh drat. She turned. She looked down. And there he was. A small human boy. She was rubbish at guessing mortal ages, so she settled on height instead. Hip level with messy blonde hair and green eyes, fairly sun-kissed, although not entirely well-fed.

"....Yes?" She asked, tilting her head at him.

The boy looked up at her with trusting eyes - they always had trusting eyes. Foolish of them, really.

""scuse me, but I think I'm lost, miss."

Her eyebrows lifted, and her mouth quirked into a smile. She had no glamour here, in her home. Arcadia did not allow for true disguise of one's natural form, oh no! One must be proud to wear the skin that magic stretched upon you! And she was, indeed, quite magical. The fresh, deep green of the wick of a sapling graced her brow, and delicate vining branches, chocolate brown, framed her face and curled down her neck, weaving between and through segments of her flesh. White fawn-freckles dotted her high set cheekbones, and her slit nostrils flared, blackened nose trembling at the scent.

Or rather; lack there of.

For this boy was not afraid anymore. There was the remnant of fear, there in the sweat of his palms, but nothing fresh.

"Oh yes, boy, you are quite lost." She crouched before him, now curious. "Aren't you afraid?"

The boy smiled. "Oh no."

"Don't you want to go home?" She asked.

A whiff of it. Pungent in the air as his expression changed. He sucked tightly on his bottom lip and glanced around, as if expecting pursuit. "No."

She narrowed her eyes. New details were plucked from the child's flimsy attire - the bruises on his neck. A black eye. The faint smell of old blood, hidden beneath the fresh linen smell of a bandage.

Humans. Disgusting. She curled her lip in disgust. That a breed would so abuse their own offspring was insulting. A least most animals would just eat them.

"....Can you tell me where the bus station is?" The boy continued, red in the roundness of his cheeks.

"Where will you go?"

"I don't know." He shrugged. He was fidgeting now, with his belt loops.

"Well." She straightened her back, still crouched in the leaves before him, and sighed. "And all that's best of dark and bright, meet in her aspect and her eyes."

The boy looked at her. "That was pretty."

"It's a poem." She smiled. "Do you like poetry?"

"Yes." He nodded, smiling now.

She could see the faintness of old tear tracks on his sweet face. She reached out and touched them. "Come with me then." And she took his hand.

The boy did not question, did not ask her where they were going, and did not resist her gentle tugging through the darkened wood. He was unafraid of her, which was, quite frankly, foolish. She was a Fae of the Autumnal Court, those who thrive in fear. And yet...

And yet this boy.

"What is your name?" She asked, looking back down at him.

"Timothy Franklin." He said back.

She stopped and swooped down, catching the spoken name as it escaped his breath, cupping it in one hand and then clapping it over her heart. The boy looked surprised at the sudden gesture, and she bent down to him.

"That name is mine now, and I will hold it so that no one else can use it against you. Your new name is Monk, and you will live with me here, for a time." At LEAST until those marks fade away, at LEAST until he is old enough to go back on his own, at LEAST until I tire of him..... The excuses poured into her mind and she offered him a toothy smile.

Again. No fear, just another smile. "Thank you."

She tugged his hand along, further and further they went. Jack'o'lanterns propped, lit and waiting on lightning-shattered tree trunks, candles burned forlornly at forgotten shrines, strange creatures mewled and howled in the distance. Bats squealed in the air, and twigs snapped in the shadows, red, slitted eyes watched them....

And still, only a smile.

They arrived at the great oaken gate of her keep, nestled into a jagged, impenetrable cliff side. She rapped once on the door and it slowly creaked open.

The boy hesitated outside the door. "Miss?"

She turned to smile down at him.

"What's your name?"

She giggled. "Oh I can't give you that, silly."

"Can't I watch it for you, like you'e watching mine?"

She ruffled his hair. "No, no, there's no need, Monk. My name is safe as long as I don't say it."

The boy nodded. Then he asked, "Well, then what can I call you?"

Precocious little thing. Smart. Sweet. Oh so unlike the denizens of her realm, normally. With their jagged teeth and boney arms, they made poor company. She found herself visiting the Spring court more often of late; perhaps this was just what she needed.

"You may call me Thicket."