Queen Oona with the Faery court high up in the skies above Carniggy.
Oona, her red gold hair flying behind her like flames in an ardent fire, her King and court of Lords and Ladies sketched out across the sky like shining stars, are heading homewards. Unfortunately Fox (Lowarn) would unbelievably appear to have eluded them, and therefore they have yet to fulfil their agreed challenge from the Lord of this realm. All the hunts senses are cast downwards and seeking for something living that may well ease their passage back to Faery land through the magical rift in the skies. It is now that Oona feels the searching eyes of another Fae upon her, and looking out and down from her saddle high in the evening skies, marks Hav standing in her walled garden in the forest below. Now that Oona’s attention is on Hav’s summer garden, she feels with her Faery senses that there is another Fae present in Hav’s garden. Oona on a whim, jerks on her flying horse’s reins, turning its head away from homeward bound, and then glides instead for Hav’s garden of summer. She will investigate this other Fae, for this could indeed be where the wily Lowarn indeed hides behind the skirts of summer?
Hav and her court at the house of summer.
Hav stares at Cora, her eyes searching each minute detail, the colour of her hair, the smallest glint within the girl’s eyes, and as she gauges Cora, she draws in huge wafts of Cora’s personal perfume. Hav then knows without a doubt, that this before her, is ‘Cordelia’ the name Celtic, meaning faithful daughter… And so in softest voice, Hav asks her prompts the woman by asking what her name is? “Cora” the girl replies with her eyes still cast down, her name as given to her by her father. This is no surprise to Hav, as she knows that the father, who is obviously only a man, would have given his babe a more than likely modern name. But Hav knew that her sibling would have used the true name ‘Cordelia’ and yet, there is a hint of her more majestic Fae heritage in this shortened version. Hav’s face without warning bursts into the happiest smile, for her sister is the first to give life to another Fae, in this her long and noble family.
Pan in the great Oak.
beneath me I catch sight of Fox, or Lowarn, as the Man would have him known now. He is scrabbling on all four feet, regardless of the fact that he is now mostly man. Of course he has called to me for mercy, rather than the Man, as Oona and her rabid Lord with their Faery hunt chase him through the garden with their hounds snapping at his very heels and with his death foremost in the Faeries minds. My woodland magic springs forth before I even bid it, twirling into the form of the ancient mistletoe, which then reaches down, and then grabs the quivering, shivering lowly Lowarn, and then as quickly as it has descended, it retracts back up into the tree bringing Lowarn with it. The mistletoe instantly disguises him from the dogs that low for his demise, and also from Faery eyes, and then swiftly lifts Lowarn even higher up amongst the branches and then deposits him next to me. Lowarn’s former Lord the Green Man would have him dead, and this somewhat puzzles me, but then I let this conundrum go, for it is minor in my mind and laugh into his wildly staring face.
Under the oak now, barking and yapping in frenzy are this Faery hunts most foul dogs. Pan can smell their fetid breathe, and see their yellowed bloodshot eyes a staring for a glimpse of their prey that they see as just a Fox. And then who arrives in haste, the Lord of them all, Finvarra, a stupid jealous dog himself, and he is quickly followed by his bitch, the gorgeous, but cunning seductress Oona, her red hair curling down across her pouting breasts and very nearly naked body to then trail out along her horses glistening sweating back. Both of these Faery royalty ride around Pan’s seat in the mighty oak, but they cannot see either Lowarn, or indeed Pan, as he has his woodland wild magic give them such glamour. Round and around they go, seeking their rightful quarry, the rest of hunt arrives now and starts milling and mixing near the bole of this greatest of trees. Just for a second Pan lets his face appear through these greenest of oak leaves, his tongue stuck out in the rudest ways, and for just a second Oona has ken of hi,, and then she wears the most wicked of smiles. Oona smirks and then bears her horse away as her husband brandishes his golden horn, and blows his dogs away from here to search for the quarry elsewhere. Finvarra himself though, hangs back for one more searching stare and Pan almost feel he can somehow see the woodland god, even though Pan’s glamour is complete. Then even Finvarra draws rein and gallops away, and Pan awaits the small forest sounds returning, before he pours down to the ground disguised at first as a shower of rain, but once on the ground and safe, Pan dresses in his real self, and pulls his pipes up from about his waist. Now trilling a merry tune he calls Lowarn and the Rook to his side, then away they whirl through the forest, for now Pan would find the beauteous Kynyav, as he has no longer a need to be the furious god, for Pan is at last in the garden of the Green Man, and at last revealed as the great god ‘Pan’ himself!
Gaia.
As Pan had entered the Green Man’s domain, Gaia swept a spell upon him, and removed the pressing enchantment that the Gardens Lord had laid about Pan. He no longer has such ardent anger, and he would be merrier, but she would not take Pan’s wild indifference from him, nor instil in him a degree of responsibility, so Pan would in essence remain the tricksy god he always had been. One thing she changed though, Pan’s small goats horns, these now grew to his stags appearance, and Pan, he was considerably more majestic in this guise. Gaia was now content though, for time was moving on and the end of her world was nigh, and Pan had an enormous part to play yet, as did Btu Chun.
Tom and Jago at the caravans.
The gypsy stands on the top step of her caravan and shouts… “Fool Ho…!”
To which the Fool stops his spinning dance, and slowly approaches the fire with its bubbling pot. Tom watches the Fool with suspicion, as he feels this new member of the caravans is not such the merry fool that he tries so hard to seem. Reaching the fire, the Fool stops for a moment staring intently into the flickering flames, and then executes a prodigious leap into the air, whilst at the same time lashing out a foot to kick the pot from its tripod, thereby spilling rabbit stew all upon the ground. At the top of his leap, he turns a colourful somersault, and then lands next to the empty pot. Crouching he slips a finger into the stew that still dribbling from the blackened pot, brings the finger to his now grinning painted mouth, licks his finger clean, and then grimaces saying… “I should never have allowed that slippery devil Fox into my wood!” And then the Fool, he’s off spinning, somersaulting and cartwheeling about the dell as though beset with sudden madness, before then leaping up the muddy side of the dell. He stands amongst the bluebells for a split second, before turning to stare directly at Tom, and then nodding as if in an almost sociable way. Then the Fool is off spinning away at speed until he is out of sight under the oak woods. Tom is left staring away up and over the trees, but even now he can just about hear the tinkling of the golden bells on the Fools hat, and then… Even that fades away leaving him alone with the gypsy, and still not knowing the fate of Jago…? So Tom turns to where she stands upon her caravan top step, “What has happened to ‘Jago’, is he dead or alive?” The gypsy’s face doesn’t change, and gives no hint to Jago’s fate, but she does produce a teapot and two mugs. “No how about that Camomile tea, I’ll tell you the tale as we go along.” She then moves down the caravan’s steps and assumes her usual seating; she then pats the step beside her. Tom takes the hint and moves to take the proffered seat beside the gypsy. Saying nothing more, the she pours two teas, and then raises her mug to her mouth, where she then blows across the top of the steaming brew.
Lowarn meets the ‘Fool’.
Pan strides on ahead through the oaks dappled light, whilst sullenly Lowarn follows, and Rook has to flap hard to keep up stumbling across the forest floor, hampered as he is by his wound from the farmers gun.
Pan now obvious as a God for all of the woods to see, and is wearing his new rack of antlers well, his shaggy hair droops boyishly across his forehead, sometimes getting into his deep emerald eyes. His chest is bare and hairless and looks finely muscled in a healthy way. His legs are strong, and completely covered in golden blonde curling fur, his manlike feet unshod, but horny enough to cope with the rough terrain of the woods. Around his waist he wears a fine leather and silver belt, in which is held his Faery pipes, and circling around his neck is a golden chain that bears a finely wrought oak leaf in hammered silver. This pendant bounces off his powerful bullish chest as he strides purposefully through the forest in search of his love Kynyav, for in Pan’s mind, the picture of her face overrides all else. Behind him, Pan hears Rook muttering about his wound and how he must needs rest up! Lowarn is none to happy either; after all he has lost his dinner, been chased by dogs, and then half strangled by mistletoe. It would seem Lowarn and Rook have no appreciation of their Gods help, and this make Pan unhappy! He stops abruptly and Lowarn in his self concern barges right into the back of the resolute Pan, who doesn’t even rock with this collision, and so its Lowarn who falls to the leaf moulded ground. Pan doesn’t even turn, but rather lifts his magic pipes, and there upon them he trills a merry restless breathy tune, instantly Lowarn begins to blur, as does Rook! When Pan turns to look behind over his shoulder, his lips curling into a smile, it is to see Lowarn replaced, and returned to a fox, but Rook is now a man in what appears to be a long black coat. This man if that is what he is, has Rook winged coloured hair, and with matching black beady eyes. Pan claps Rook upon his muscled shoulder, and Rook grimaces with the pain of his wound that has not altered in his transformation by Pan. Pan unusually concerned, bends slightly, rips some purplish woundwort from a green clump that has sprung to life beneath his questing hand. Pan then crushes the flowering plant between his horny hands and invites Rook to show his wound. Rook reluctantly opens his new coat, and here he is revealed quite naked beneath, Pan then slips his hands swiftly inside Rooks coat. He speedily rubs the dripping green poultice all over the darkly bruised and bleeding holes that Rook is carrying from the farmer’s gun. Pan then hastily leaps back as the lead pellets spring forth from Rooks flesh, to drop down to the ground. Lowarn who is now a fox once again, takes note of the way Pan fears the farmers lead, and pushes that information back into the farthest region of his mind, for one never knows when mayhap that information could be of worth.
Rook then shrugs his shoulders in a manly way, sidles away across the forest floor a short distance. Rook seems to stand somewhat straighter now, and then he pirouettes on his new shiny boots, letting his coat flow outwards, and that shows Pan that Rooks wounds have indeed healed. Rook has a sudden need to preen, leans against one of the nearby oaks, and then produces a bone comb from within a pocket of his glossy coat, and now at ease, Rook combs back his rakish hair into what he, believes to be a more becoming style. Pan steps forward, and leans in close to Rook, whispers in his ear, and then pulls away and turning to the fox, “You must pay your due ‘Fox’, for these not my woods, so take heed and run red dog run!” Fox as he is now, is rather confused, what could Pan mean? But then Pan is off a gambolling amongst the trees, watched by the Rook. Pan’s form very slowly becomes see through, and then he fades into dimming summer days light, until he is completely hidden from Rooks view, for Pan is now searching for his love Kynyav once more. Rook now turns to Fox, “Fare thee well, Lowarn as you were, and goodbye!” Fox shrieks “‘fare well’, what do you mean ‘fare well’?” Surely you will not leave me alone in these woods with the possibility that the faery hunt may well return! But with a shake of his lustrous coat and not another word to Fox, Rook spins at speed and then appears to take off and skitter into the darkening skies in a blur, for Pan has somehow left Rook his ability to fly, and fly he does to do as Pan had instructed him in his last whisper to Rook.
Fox is left on his own in the lowering light of the forest… That is until he hears the slightest titter and then a giggle coming from beneath one of the nearby mighty oaks, and on looking with his bright eyes into the darker shade there, perceives a painted fellow, dressed in the silks of a fool. It is of course the now nearly insane Btu Chun in his new disguise as court ‘Fool’….
From beneath the Duvet 