Page 2 of Must Love Moss and Moonshine (Moonshine Hollow)

KELLEN

“M arvelle,” I called up to the squirrel, who was decidedly uninterested in listening to me.

Through the canopy of golden leaves, I could just make out his russet-colored form huddled against the trunk, his injured foot tucked into his body.

“Come down. I know you’ve injured your foot.

You cannot stay up there and sulk. Come with me to let me tend to it. You must come to my cottage to rest.”

I stared up at the ancient oak, waiting patiently for the youngest of this year’s litter of Mesmer squirrels to appear.

Marvelle, whom I had named for a wandering magician I’d seen once at the autumn festival in Moonshine Hollow, ignored me.

The magician had performed death-defying stunts and had survived.

The runt of this year’s litter had the same bravado.

Usually it served him well, but this time his courage had exceeded his capabilities.

Even for a Mesmer squirrel’s impressive agility, the gap between the trees across the southern ravine was simply too wide.

I had been gathering herbs nearby when he’d gotten hurt.

Now he had climbed high into this oak, too proud to admit he needed help.

“The fairies already told on you. They saw the entire fiasco and reported to me that you’re injured. There’s no use denying it. Come down.”

In reply, the squirrel called out with his last defense—an immobilizing chirrup. Mesmer squirrels had one magical ability: they could freeze their enemies for thirty seconds, usually giving them enough time to escape. The magic was effective on everything in the forest…except dryads.

I smirked, amused at his effort. At least his bravado was consistent. “That won’t work on me, and you know it. Now, come.”

After a few moments, the bushy red squirrel reluctantly crawled down to me. Even from where I was standing, I could see he was keeping weight off his back foot. I held out my hand. The creature crawled onto my arm and up to my shoulder.

“There is no use in being petulant,” I told him, handing him an acorn. “And also, no use trying to jump across the ravine. You are bold and strong, but no squirrel can make that leap. You are not a pegasus.”

The bushy creature clicked at me in protest, but only once. He knew I was right.

As I made my way back to the caretaker’s cottage, I stopped at a circle of red-capped otter mushrooms, picking just a few to dry and add to my collection.

I stashed them in my satchel alongside the bramblebell root and emmalime bark I had already gathered this morning.

As we passed through a glade of mountain bells, the tiny forest fairies that tended them zipped quickly past, spreading fairy dust, tending to any illnesses, or collecting dew.

I worked my way safely around them, careful not to trample the flowers.

“Forest guardian,” one tiny green-haired fairy said, pausing to bow to me as I passed.

“Good sir,” I replied.

“Lord Kellen,” another fairy woman said, pausing midair to curtsy to me.

“Good lady,” I told her, then turned to them all. “Hail, my Good Neighbors. I have fetched the patient. Thank you for your help.”

A chorus of polite calls came in reply. Marvelle huffed but did not call out.

He knew the cardinal rule of the forest: never mess with the fairies.

They might be good-natured in general, but if you do anything to bother them, they will harass you endlessly or tell on you to the forest’s dryad caretaker.

It was more than a two-hour walk back to the caretaker’s cottage.

Walking the forest allowed me to survey the land, detecting any problems that needed my attention.

Today, Marvelle was the only creature in need of my care.

In the far distance, I felt the rumble of Old Mohr, the bear who had dubbed himself my petulant nemesis, but otherwise, the forest was silent.

Silent.

Empty.

The solitude had long been my solace. I had been caretaker of the forest for many decades now, and all this time, I had enjoyed the silence.

But this year…

This year, I found myself counting the days until my annual visit to the autumn market in Moonshine Hollow.

Each morning, I caught myself rehearsing simple pleasantries, as if my tongue had forgotten the shape of casual conversation.

When had I last touched another person’s hand in greeting?

When had I last heard someone laugh? The fairies’ tinkling giggles and the creatures’ friendly chitters filled my days, but they weren’t the same as sharing a moment of understanding with another person.

I had been thinking of what I might see, whom I might talk with.

I even debated stopping by one of the taverns for a tankard—something I never did, even though the company in Moonshine Hollow was always warm and inviting.

For ages, I had paid my annual visit to Juniper Merrifrost, herbalist and potion maker, dropping off the moonshine plant that was needed to make the rare, healing Moonshine draft, for which the village was named.

Usually, I just slipped in and out of the village like a shadow, exchanging only the necessary words about the harvest. But this year, I lingered over thoughts of the market—the press of the crowd, the melody of voices calling out their wares, the simple pleasure of brushing shoulders with strangers.

I frowned, pressing my hand against the rough bark of a nearby tree, seeking comfort in its familiar texture.

I was a dryad. We lived solitary lives. That was our nature. For decades, I had found complete contentment in my duties, in the rhythm of the seasons, in the quiet companionship of the forest creatures. The silence had been a friend, the solitude a comfortable cloak I wore with pride.

If so, why was I starting to feel so…

Lonely.

The word settled in my chest like autumn frost, sharp and unexpected.

Feeling oddly despondent, I sighed heavily, then slipped toward the nearest hollow tree. I set a protective hand on Marvelle, who clicked nervously.

“It’s an easy ride. Just blink and it’s done.”

I placed my other hand on the tree then closed my eyes.

“Home,” I said, entering the tree. For a moment, wind whirled all around us. I was engulfed by the scents of the forest: ferns, violets, and earthy loam perfumed the air. I emerged on the other side at another hollow tree near the creek close to my cottage.

“See,” I said, giving Marvelle a comforting pat.

We made our way up the slope to the tiny stone cottage sitting in a small glen.

The moss-covered roof kept the place warm in winter and cool in summer.

A tendril of smoke rolled from the stone chimney.

The herbs in my window box showed the coming of autumn, the last flowers blooming before they came to an end.

Outside, benches sat around a fire ring.

There was a stone well not far from the house.

Beams of sunlight slipped through the canopy overhead, shimmering down on the small cottage.

The leaves had just begun to turn, hues of gold, ruby, and vibrant orange just beginning to emerge.

Usually, the sight warmed me, but today it left me feeling empty.

“Come, little one,” I told Marvelle, shifting my thoughts away from my brooding. “We have a foot to tend to.”

Ducking so my branch-like antlers would not catch on the doorframe, we entered the house.

The small cottage had a kitchen space, which included a table and benches.

There was a small bed tucked away in the corner of the room not far from the stone fireplace.

A wall separated a reading nook where the shelves were lined with the books, journals, scrolls, and archives of the previous dryads who’d tended Silver Vale.

There was also a massive cabinet for all of my dried herbs, roots, and stored seeds.

The cabin had been my home ever since I’d left the dryad home city of Woodsong, taking on the responsibility as caretaker of the ancient forest.

I set Marvelle on the table. “Here, friend,” I said, setting a handful of nuts before him.

Then I went and collected my small medicine kit.

Returning, I sat once more. I smiled gently at the creature then reached deep within me, awakening the magic of the forest inside me.

“Now, let us be calm,” I said, giving Marvelle a soft pat. “And let’s tend to that leg.”

Gently stroking him, Marvelle laid down and closed his eyes, drifting off into a deep, peaceful sleep.

Once he was out, I examined the leg. Nothing was broken, and there was no sign of a cut.

Closing my eyes, I felt more deeply, realizing that he had torn a muscle.

Working gently, I wrapped the injury then set the sleeping squirrel in a basket on my table, adjusting him so his leg was elevated.

“Little daring one,” I said, smiling gently at him as he slept. When he woke, I would fix him a healing draft. With a little rest, care, and patience, he’d be back to his antics in a week.

Shifting, I sat back, leaning against the table and looking out the open door.

The wind blew gently, sending a flurry of amber-colored leaves swirling past my door.

I could hear the wind’s gentle laughter as it played.

The trees swayed, and songbirds chirped.

In the far-off distance, I heard the bark of a cat-sized moonbandit, small dragons with the coloring and personality of raccoons. Otherwise, the forest was silent.

The embers in my fireplace shifted, sending a crackle of sparks upward.

I inhaled deeply then exhaled slowly.

From outside, I heard the soft sound of water dripping down the rainspout into the catchment barrel just outside.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

I closed my eyes, listening for more.

Anything more.

The sound of Marvelle’s gentle breath came to my ears.

Otherwise, there was only the wind and the drip, drip, drip .