Page 5 of Must Love Moss and Moonshine (Moonshine Hollow)

TANSY

I opened my eyes gently, gradually letting the light in. There was a shimmer of gold from a nearby window and then green—so much green. I inhaled slowly and deeply, the scents of lavender, sage, and something woodsy—was that cedar?—perfuming the room.

The room?

What room?

Where am I?

Looking around, I discovered I was in a small cottage.

A fire burned brightly in a stone fireplace, copper pots hanging by the flame.

Over the fire, a small cauldron bubbled.

I could smell the scents of an earthy stew cooking, and from the small oven at the side of the fire came the aroma of baking bread.

On the counter below the lattice-glass window were a dozen or so potted plants and some loose soil.

Someone had recently been working there.

The pungent scent of rosemary lingered in the air.

There was a small table with benches at the center of the room.

Baskets of herbs, mushrooms, and roots sat thereon.

I saw a flicker of movement on the table, then a fluffy red Mesmer squirrel appeared from behind a jar, looking at me curiously as it munched on an acorn.

Was his foot bandaged? On one side of the room, a cupboard sat, its door ajar, revealing row upon row of baskets of dried herbs and clay crocks and jars.

Bundles of herbs hung from the wide wooden beams overhead.

Moving slowly, I tried to sit up, but my head swam.

“Oh,” I breathed heavily, my hand going to my head.

The squirrel paused his chewing, took his nut in his mouth, and rushed out the slightly ajar door to the forest outside, limping as he went.

I took two deep breaths then tried again, reluctantly pushing aside the quilt that had covered me.

When my feet touched the stone floor, I realized someone had removed my boots.

I also realized my traveling clothes had been partially removed—my leather vest, belt, and outer long blue riding tunic lay neatly folded on a nearby chair, leaving me in just my leather breeches and the thin white cotton shirt I wore underneath.

Catching a glimpse of myself in a copper pot’s polished surface, I saw my black hair had come loose from its usual traveling braid, falling in waves around my pale face.

But it didn’t take long to figure out why some of my clothes had been removed.

One deep breath, and I felt it. Lifting my shirt, I discovered my ribs had been wrapped. Broken?

I tenderly touched the wrappings, wincing when I felt the bones.

“Not broken,” a male voice said from the door.

I turned to see a man standing there. He was tall and muscularly built with long hair the shade of deepest green, a green so dark it almost looked black.

He wore woven trousers and a tunic, its laces undone, revealing a muscular chest. I could see the markings on his skin—on his neck, chest, and arms, the swirling green vines hinting at what he was.

But there was no confusing him when I saw the horns protruding from his head.

Like the branches of a young tree, bark-covered horns grew from his head, including a single amber-colored leaf.

“Dryad,” I whispered.

He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned at me. “Sylvan.”

“I’m sorry. That was very rude of me. I was just…

I’ve never met a dryad before. My apologies.

” Not only had I never seen a dryad before, but almost no one ever saw a dryad.

They were notoriously reclusive, living alone for hundreds of years in the forest as their guardians.

Even in my home of Greenspire, deep in the Sylvan forest, the dryads were mythical creatures who guarded the deep woods in the mist. Most humans thought we Sylvans were big on trees.

We were nothing compared to dryads. Either way, I had been rude and felt sorry for it. I set my hand on my ribs. “Not broken?”

He paused, as if deciding whether or not to accept my apology, then nodded.

“Bruised,” he told me, removing the squirrel from his shoulder and setting him back on the table where acorns lay piled.

“Go slow, Marvelle. Your foot is still healing,” he told the small creature then turned back to me.

“You have been unconscious for two days. The trees tell me you were thrown. A branch dislodged you from your horse—the oak is very sorry about that—which is how you bruised your ribs. I placed a healing salve thereon and bandaged them. The tonics I’ve given you have helped as well.

They should feel better soon, but after that fall, I’d guess you have a bit of a headache. ”

“I… You have been looking after me?”

He inclined his head.

“Thank you. And, yes, my head does ache.”

He went to his table and began working, plucking various roots, mushrooms, and herbs from the baskets before placing them into a mortar. He ground the mixture then put the concoction into a mug and poured hot water over it. He set the mug on the table beside me.

The woodsy and earthy scents, rosemary and sassafras, effervesced from the mug. For a brief moment, the smell reminded me of my childhood.

“Let it steep,” the dryad told me.

I smiled hesitantly. “Thank you, again. You have done so much for me. I’m very grateful. I don’t even know your name.”

He smiled lightly. “I am Kellen, guardian of Silver Vale. And you are?”

“I’m… I’m…” The same feeling rushed over me that I got when I walked into a room to fetch something then forgot why I was there. “Well, I am a Sylvan.”

Kellen’s brows furrowed. “And your name?”

“My name…” Such a basic question. Why could my lips not form the answer?

“I…” I looked at the dryad. Had I ever seen a more perfectly handsome man in all my life?

His eyes were the color of the forest. Not green, exactly, but more like a kaleidoscope of shifting tones of browns, golds, greens, and grays.

It was like the forest itself. I shook my head.

Kellen sat on the stool near my bed—no, wait, this was his bed. He had given me his bed and had been caring for me, a stranger, all these days. He studied my eyes, looking at me with a depth beyond mere sight, and asked again, “What is your name?”

“My name is…” But my name escaped me. How was that possible? I stared at him. “Kellen, I don’t know. I am a Sylvan, but…”

“May I?” he asked, reaching toward me, but paused as he waited for permission.

I nodded.

“Close your eyes. Reach into the seed of forest within you. That magic is there—always. Let it whisper to you, and we will both try to hear what it says.” He set his thumb on my temple, his hand gently cradling my head, and closed his eyes.

I did as he asked. He was right that we Sylvans all carried magic.

I knew that. Some skills were common to us all, but each of us carried a special magic.

Try as I might, however, I could not recall what form mine took.

When I went to reach for it, everything felt…

confused. There were flashes of images: people laughing at taverns, bards playing at markets, villagers dancing around bonfires, the crackle of a campfire, but nothing more.

Nothing specific. My name… Who was I? Where was I from?

What came back to me was nothing more than a feeling.

And more, I was distracted by the soft and gentle touch of the dryad, his large hand gently cradling my face.

When was the last time someone had held me so softly?

“I don’t know,” I whispered, suddenly feeling frightened. “I can’t find it.”

My eyes began to water, and my face scrunched up as I fought back tears.

In a calm voice, Kellen asked, “Where were you headed? You were on the road on horseback. Where were you going?”

I tried to remember, but nothing came to me. “I don’t know.”

“Where did you come from? From Greenspire? Maybe Willowbrook?”

Again, I heard the laughter of a tavern, and I saw a dwarven man singing a drinking song as he swung a massive tankard of ale alongside a lanky red-headed human and a teetotaling gnomish lady.

But that could be any tavern anywhere. And yet, they felt familiar.

The dwarf… In my memory, I saw him smile at me and pass me a knavish wink.

There was a feeling of mirth and kinship.

I felt my cheeks aching and red from laughing at the trio.

“I remember a tavern. A dwarf and two others. No names. Barely faces,” I said, then trembled. “I don’t remember. Truly,” I said, opening my eyes.

I looked at Kellen, who had bowed his head slightly to listen.

He was so close to me that I caught the scents of basil, fern, and loamy earth on top of a deep, heady scent that was all him.

It was an intoxicating smell. The scent reminded me of home, but I could not recall for the life of me where that was.

Had I come from the Sylvan homelands of Greenspire?

Kellen whispered, his breath stroking my cheek, “It is all a whirlwind of pictures. Much life and light, many people, much noise. So much noise,” he said, pulling back and giving his hand a shake as if to dislodge the cacophony.

He exhaled heavily. “I’m sorry. I cannot see past the confusion.

You must rest, and I will consider what else can be done to help you remember,” he said, then rose and went to his hearth.

“How can I not remember my own name?”

“You hit your head hard when you fell. You just need rest. In a few days’ time, when your mind is clear, it will come back to you.”

Ladling out a crock of soup, the dryad set the food on the table then fetched a bannock from a warming tray and set it on a plate beside the crock.

“It is a woodland mushroom and rosemary soup. Nothing fancy, but it will restore you. Come. You must eat,” he told me, offering me his hand to help me up. “Go slowly. Your ribs will be sore.”

I nodded. Taking his hand, I slowly lifted myself from his bed then went to the table, my head feeling light…and my feet feeling cold on the stone floor. I shivered.

“Are you all right?” he asked, wrapping a gentle arm around me.

“Yes. I just…” I laughed. “My feet are cold.”

He chuckled lightly. “I see,” he said, then helped me settle in at the table. Lifting a clay pitcher, he poured me a drink. “I saw one thing in your memories. You like a good drink, but I doubt you’ve had chestnut ale before.”

“I have never heard of chestnut ale before, but I also haven’t heard my own name, apparently.”

Kellen smiled sympathetically, topped off the mug, then set the pitcher down.

He disappeared into an alcove in his small cottage, returning with a pair of woven socks.

He set them on the bench beside me. “They are new, unworn. I bought them at the autumn market in Moonshine Hollow last year. They will keep your feet warm.”

I lifted the socks, seeing the expert weave in the design and a small hedgehog worked into the pattern on the ankle.

My eyes narrowed as I looked at that hedgehog, the sound of a woman’s laughing voice—like the tinkling of a sweet silver bell—ringing in my ears.

But whatever the image was, it faded as quickly as it came.

Looking up at Kellen, I smiled softly. “Thank you.”

He inclined his head to me then paused a moment, as if unsure what to say or do next. He shifted, sticking his hands in his pockets, then removing them once more.

“Eat before it gets cold. Unless…” he said, then looked at the crock. “Maybe you don’t like woodland stew? It is simple fare. Perhaps…”

“Oh, no. It smells delightful. I am so grateful,” I said, lifting the wooden spoon he’d set out for me.

He nodded. “I have the fairies and other friendly residents of the forest looking for your horse. I will go and see if there is any news. Please rest when you’re done eating, and tell Marvelle if you need anything,” he said, gesturing to the squirrel.

“He will see that I am informed,” he said, then turned to the squirrel, “but no acrobatics. Understood?”

The squirrel clicked at him.

With that, Kellen gave me a short bow then departed, taking a rough herb sack with him.

I watched him go then looked around the room once more.

A bed for one person. A hook for one cloak.

The dryad was alone here. Perhaps I should have felt ill at ease, not knowing where I was, not knowing who I was, but I didn’t.

Bruised ribs and my aching head aside, I felt…

content. And for some reason, which I could not explain, that feeling was so unfamiliar but so very, very appreciated.

I couldn’t remember anything, but I knew it had been a very long time since I felt that way.

Turning back to the soup, I lifted my wooden spoon and dipped it in, savoring the scents of mushrooms, thyme, and rosemary, then took a bite. The flavors were so earthy and delicious, the broth almost fragrantly herbal.

“This is the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten,” I told the squirrel, who was watching me curiously. “Seriously,” I added, tearing off a bite of the warm bannock, sighing with contentment as I ate.

The squirrel clicked questioningly at me.

I chuckled. “Granted, it’s the only thing I remember eating, but all the same,” I said and took another delicious bite, my body filling with warmth and healing. Lifting a walnut from the table, I handed it to the squirrel. “Marvelle, is it?”

He clicked at me.

I lifted my mug of chestnut ale. “To your health, little friend,” I said, hoisting my drink in cheer then sipped. A feeling of contentment and home washed over me, for what felt like the first time in a very, very long time.