Daughter of Spring: #minithology

By N.D. Gray, Elizabeth Knollston, Mathu Wistfur and 2 more

WHAT POWERS ARE GIVEN A DAUGHTER OF SPRING?

 

A dryad waking... 
a fairy learning to sing...
a brother and sister spinning in the never-ending dance of seasons.

 

Each story in this collection weaves a tale of overcoming. Overcoming winter. Overcoming ancient traditions which trap us. Even overcoming the chokehold of death.

 

Only after embracing their powers and stepping into the unknown do the daughters of spring realize the true purpose of their lives.

 

WITHOUT SPRING THERE WOULD BE NO HARVEST.

 

Experience the power of spring in these five fantasy short stories by M. L. Akin, N. D. Gray, Elizabeth Knollston, E. Prybylski, and Mathu Wistfur. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: 3 Feathers Publishing
• Release date: Mar 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9781947344174

Book preview

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

STORY ONE–SAP AND COFFEE

STORY TWO—SILVERTHORN

STORY THREE—AAMANI’S DESTINY

STORY FOUR—THE WORDS WHISPERED UPON THE WIND

STORY FIVE—TO NAME THE SEASONS

COMING SOON

COPYRIGHT

INTRODUCTION

SPRING. shimmering rain. BEES BUZZING. Blossoms blooming, drenching the air in sweet scents. Every breath in spring, sheer delight.

Beneath spring’s effervescent joy, the deep, booming heartbeat of the world sending sap surging through trees. Nature rousing after winter slumber. And through it all... magic.

The anthology you hold in your hand is a celebration of the power of spring. The stories within tell of worlds where spring overcomes winter or death. Where spring is but a part of the ongoing cycle of life. Where autumn can celebrate the harvest because of the actions of spring.

Among our authors we have a couple who prefer other seasons over spring, but each dug deep into science and poetry and the joy of gardening, the delight of nurturing new life, to write these stories.

E. Prybylski tells of a dryad waking after winter. Mathu Wistfur spins the story of a fairy discovering her voice. The embodiment of spring rides a dire-hare and faces down the Chosen Son of the Winterbrood in M.L. Akin’s To Name the Seasons. Elizabeth Knollston weaves a telling, which is more song than story. In my tale, an elfine battles the forces of death while struggling to become who she is meant to be.

Though our main characters are different, each story sparkles with magic.

Join us now as we walk through woods carpeted with blossoms and laced with babbling brooks, and listen to our stories about the daughters of spring.

ND Gray

March 2022

Camp Verde, AZ

STORY ONE

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In our first story, E. Prybylski tells us about Ash, a dryad waking from her winter sleep. Like Ash, E. enjoys the scents of dirt, ...and green, growing things...

Spring usually finds her cleaning out her flower beds, starting her garden, and communing with nature. She also appreciates that spring means her favorite place to write—her family’s cabin—will be open soon.

She and her husband began dating on the spring equinox, so this season has personal meaning to her. Ash, too, experiences the unexpected beginning of a relationship as she introduces the new winter caretaker to the personality of her greenhouse plants.

THE SUN HAD CHANGED, SHE realized, and her mother tree was stirring. Ash smiled inwardly as a warm, languid feeling stirred somewhere in her belly. Wind caught the branches, a soft whisper after winter’s howling gales. The maples that shared a grove with her mother tree were stirring, their roots entwined in a love story Ash wondered if she’d ever really understand. Because she wasn’t a tree. Not really.

Spring’s arrival meant two things to her. First, it was time to wake from her hibernation and second was that the maples in her grove would be tapped soon. She wasn’t a fan of the process. It seemed barbaric to her, but at the same time, not everyone got their energy and strength from the sun. Animals ate plants and each other. Even trees fed on the dead in the soil.

The cycle of life from one phase to another, one season to the next, was something Ash had always found deep meaning in. Even if she didn’t really understand it. Nobody did, after all. One of the great, magical mysteries of the world. The logic and science of it made sense, of course, but one couldn’t science away the way the sun felt on her leaves.

In the time it took her to think these thoughts, her mother tree had begun to bud. She didn’t know exactly how long it had been, but it couldn’t have been very. However, something in the air told her it was time for her to return to daily life beyond. With great reluctance, she pulled away, the bark curling back as though giving birth to her all over again. Ash left her mother tree and stepped into the grove she occupied.

The location could have been better, but Ash had no say in where she’d been planted. Still, a park in Boston, MA wasn’t the worst. One of the other dryads had been born of a tree growing in a sidewalk. It made sleeping through the winter very difficult. Particularly when city workers hung Christmas lights in her branches.

Remembering she needed to worry about things like clothing, Ash looked down at herself, realizing she was still in pajamas. She’d need to fix that. Though this time of year, dryads wandering from the wooded spaces dressed in their hibernation clothing was no surprise to anyone. Still, she felt awkward about it every year and had since childhood.

Turning to her mother tree, Ash patted the wood and leaned in to kiss its gnarled bark. I’ll be back to visit soon, she promised. The tree didn’t answer, exactly, but Ash knew she’d heard and appreciated it. Around them, the early spring forest had begun to waken, and birds chirped among the branches overhead, freshly returned from all points south.

Good morning to you, too! she called up to them with a grin. While hibernating like she did had fallen out of fashion with the younger dryads, Ash had decided to keep up with the old ways rather than take medication to allow her to stay awake through winter. She’d done it once or twice, and while the winter was pretty, she’d always felt wrong like that. Nothing seemed to fit properly.

Padding through the forest in her bare feet, unbothered by the slush and damp, she wandered toward the lockboxes that had been installed for the dryads whose mother trees lived here. Few were ever used, but it had been part of a dryad rights law that had been passed some years ago. Much like they couldn’t be fired for hibernating in the winter. Granted, Ash worked in a greenhouse, so she didn’t have much to do in winter anyway, so she skirted around that particular issue.

Flowers curled up in her wake, delicate, white blossoms standing out amongst the snow as if in defiance of the cold. Spring is here! they declared. It has arrived, and the time for sleep has ended!

Ash found hers and punched in the code she’d set as a child, withdrawing her wallet and apartment keys from inside. Those she slid into the pockets of her pajama pants before she shuffled off toward the bus stop with a yawn, running a hand over her dreadlocked green hair. While she didn’t need to eat, technically, she very much needed coffee. That was the one thing she missed when she slept. Coffee.

The bus stop near her grove was one of the ones with a platform over it for winged commuters. Most had them these days, and they allowed those species to take off or land without knocking anyone on foot over. It looked about the same as it had when she’d gone to sleep. Ash trailed her hand along the chipped paint and spotted some new graffiti. She couldn’t make out the words, but it had been done in aggressive orange paint. Orcish, if she had to guess by the alphabet. She didn’t speak it, having elected for taking Elvish and French in school.

Judging by the angle of the sun and the time of year, she guessed the bus would be by soon unless the schedule had changed. It could have, she supposed. It had, after all, been about four months.  Fortunately, it remained the same, and the bus pulled up. She climbed aboard and swiped her Charlie card before flopping into a seat. The bus driver, one of the tusked races though she wasn’t sure which, barely even glanced her way when she shuffled on in her fluffy pajamas. Something for which she was grateful.

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WHEN SHE ARRIVED AT HER apartment, Ash’s first destination was to check on her plants. She’d hired someone to tend them over the winter, but who knew how good they were. Ash closed the door behind her and tossed her keys on the counter before crossing the kitchen and living space to the windows near her balcony where her indoor garden grew protected by sun lamps and lovingly tended.

They looked like they were in perfect condition, and she sighed inwardly, grateful for the recommendation one of her friends had given