Page 8 of Must Love Moss and Moonshine (Moonshine Hollow)

KELLEN

M y hands trembled slightly as I knelt before her, attempting to focus on the simple task of lacing her boots.

The morning sunlight streamed through my cottage windows, creating a strange intimacy in this mundane moment.

I had spent a century tending to injured creatures, yet never had such a simple act of care left my heart racing.

Trying to hide that my stomach was a jumble of nerves, I concentrated on each careful cross of the laces, acutely aware of her presence above me.

“I feel like a child again,” she said with a laugh, the sound ringing like a sweet silver bell through my house.

I smiled. “That tells us someone once tied your boots. Perhaps a family in Greenspire?”

She shrugged, making her raven-black tresses shake. “I wish I knew.”

I looked up at her, meeting her pale blue eyes. “Done,” I said, then paused. “I don’t like not having a name to call you. It feels…unnatural.”

“Well, you can always just call me Sylvie.”

As Red was used for redheads or Freckles for people who were so adorned, Sylvie was the common nickname for a Sylvan woman.

“What if you are someone who is fundamentally opposed to nicknames?” I replied.

“I don’t feel fundamentally opposed,” she said with a laugh. “And if we find out I am later, I promise not to blame you.”

“Agreed, then, Sylvie,” I said, holding out my hand to help her up.

Smiling, she took my hand then rose. Adjusting the satchel I’d strung across my back, I walked beside Sylvie as we made our way into the forest.

“Since I can’t remember anything about me, tell me about you,” she said. “How long have you been the keeper of this forest?”

“It will be one hundred years this Yule. I was given the forest as a novice, but my elders had faith I had the skills needed to tend to it. So far, other than dealing with vexing brownies, the occasional singed ferns from teenage moonbandits, and dueling bears and porcupines, I have managed to keep blight at bay and protect the forest from those who would steal her riches.”

“But not from wandering Sylvans.”

“I am quite devastated in that battle.”

She laughed once more. How easily joy came to her, this delight in the company of another. I smiled lightly then paused, reaching for her hand to help her over a fallen log. She slipped her hand into mine. How warm and soft it felt. I helped her over the log then let her go once more.

“I’ll be very disappointed if I learn I’m some kind of herb thief here hunting for the rare moonshine plant,” she said, referring to the crucial but hard-to-grow herb needed to make the healing draft.

The herb was so valuable that a single bundle of it paid for my needs for one year.

But that also put my woods and all its inhabitants in danger from those who came seeking it.

“So far, all my wards have protected my forest from any searching for plunder, but we are fortunate to live in a world where such people are few and far between. And you don’t exactly strike me as a thief,” I said, giving her a knowing look as she took my hand.

Working carefully, I helped her maneuver over a moss-covered log.

“You never know. This could be my disguise. You see, I could even be lying about my missing memory, tricking you with my Sylvan magic to lure you into the woods to reveal your secrets,” she said, grinning playfully at me.

“You think you could out-magic me, Sylvie?”

“Of course! Once I remember what kind of magic I have.”

At that, we both laughed.

As did the trees around us, the leaves overhead fluttering with a giggle.

“At least we can all agree, forest included, that I’m funny,” Sylvie said. “Maybe I’m a wandering jester or part of an acting troupe or maybe a bard… No, I don’t feel musically inclined.”

“Sing us a song. Let’s see,” I replied, prodding her a little.

“No memory. Sorry.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” I told her.

In reply, she winked at me. “Maybe I do remember a few tunes, but everything bubbling up seems to be bawdy tavern songs, and I have no idea how I might sound, so let’s spare us both that…discovery.”

“As you wish,” I replied, leading her onward.

As we walked, we talked about simple things. It seemed she could remember all the names of the species of trees and many of the plants around us. Soon, I could hear the sound of rushing water.

Sylvie paused. “What is that?”

“What I wanted you to see,” I said, extending my hand to her.

Once more, she took my hand, and I led her forward. The path opened into a sacred grove where ancient oaks stood sentinel, their branches weaving together overhead to create nature’s own temple. We walked around the bend and there, in all its majesty, was Silver Falls.

The waterfall cascaded from a hundred feet above, its crystalline waters catching the light as they tumbled down the cliff face.

Where the falls met the pool below, mist rose in ethereal swirls, creating twin rainbows that danced in the autumn air.

The pool itself was a perfect circle of deep blue-green, its surface like polished glass save for the ripples where the falls touched its surface.

Around its edges, smooth stones lined the shore.

The hardwood trees surrounding the grove blazed with autumn colors—ruby maples, golden oaks, and rust-colored beeches.

Even the air felt different here, charged with an ancient magic that made my skin tingle.

“In one of the elder’s journals, they speak of the healing properties of this pool.

I have always known the water from this place to be healing.

I keep bottles of it in the cottage and use it in my medicines.

But I didn’t know that it could help cure such ailments as yours.

Fernella writes that if one has an ailment of the mind, the waters here can be restorative.

But rather than a simple sip of a tonic or cleaning a wound with the liquid, one must submerge themselves in the water—at least, as much as possible. ”

Sylvie stared at the waterfall, her lips parted slightly in awe.

I saw she was breathing deeply as she took in the scene, her eyes shimmering with delight.

And just around the edges of her body, I saw that soft shimmer of green magic that glowed from within Sylvans.

It was something we shared in common, the elves of the forest and my kind.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“Silver Falls. It’s just one of the many majestic sites tucked away in my forest.” While I had never shown anyone Silver Falls, nor any of the other sacred glades in Silver Vale, suddenly, I wanted to show them all to her.

In the presence of the waterfall, something deep within the Sylvan woman came alive.

When I saw that her eyes had grown wet with unshed tears, I knew Fernella’s words to be true.

This place was healing… For ailments of the body, mind, and spirit.

Sylvie paused. “Wait, did you say submerge?” She blinked hard, her deep emotions retreating, then looked at me.

“I did.”

“But, Kellen, it’s cold!”

I laughed. “I know. But as I said, only go in as much as possible. I suspect that if you can fully go under, it would help more. But perhaps to your knees will be enough to shake something loose. Unless you feel brave. Either way, let me make a fire while you muster your courage to wade in.”

“You need to be ready to come in after me. What if I can’t swim?”

“Good thing I’m part merfolk.”

She cocked an eyebrow at me. “Was that a joke?”

I winked at her. Who was I? Where was this playful side of me coming from?

She smiled. “Well, I will need help with these boots—again. And get on that fire. I hope your elder also mentioned how to cure hypothermia.”

“That, I can help with.”

Setting down my packs, I bent to help her with her boots once more, removing them and her socks and setting them aside. Jokes aside, she was right. It was cold. I needed to get the fire going to make sure she stayed warm.

“Let me get to work,” I said, then turned to my fire ring.

I had carefully stored firewood at the base of one of the oaks, covered by a tarp.

I fetched it then arranged the branches in the campfire in a careful pattern.

From my satchel, I pulled dried moss and tender twigs, arranging them with practiced care.

The familiar ritual of fire-building helped steady my nerves, though my awareness of Sylvie never diminished.

“I’ll go work on my nerve,” Sylvie replied, then rose and went to the edge of the pool.

The very air around her shimmered with that distinctive Sylvan glow, making the mist dance and swirl in her wake.

She stood there for a long time, admiring the waterfall, her presence somehow completing the sacred circle of this place in a way I hadn’t known was missing.

“Have you ever followed it to its home? The water?”

I followed her gaze then nodded. “Yes. It is high into the mountains. About a three-days’ hike.”

“I bet it’s beautiful.”

Not as beautiful as you. “Yes,” I said, then turned back to the fire. Whispering in a low tone, I coaxed the flame to life. Blowing on the fire, I got the wood burning then sat back, looking up in time to see Sylvie untying her belt.

Startled, I rose. Nearly choking on my words, I said, “Are you…”

“You said submerged, right? I mean, if I want the magic to work, I need to do my part. At least, as deep as I can stand.” She looked over her shoulder at me. “Shy, dryad?” she asked.

I turned my back. “No, just respectful.”

She laughed. “Then respectfully put my trousers by the fire so they’re warm when I come back,” she said, tossing the trousers toward me. They landed by my feet. “And be ready in case I can’t swim.”

I bent to pick up her clothing then set the trousers by the fire.

“Is this supposed to feel like my legs are freezing solid or is that just the magic?” she called, her voice carrying a tremor.