I forbid ye, maidens all...
Janet has kilted her green kirtle
A little about her knee,
And she has braided her yellow hair
A little about her bree,
And she's away to Carterhaugh
As fast as she can hie.
Whatever her father had said, Carterhaugh did not feel as if it belonged to Janet. The air was heavy, the scent of wild roses almost suffocating, and the trees seemed to draw together overhead as if trying to block out light. It almost needed no elfin guardian; it seemed as if it might push you out of itself, though it likely wouldn't rob you or ravish you in the process.
Carterhaugh is mine, she reminded herself firmly. Even the Fair Folk were bound to certain rules. She could not be harmed on her own ground; she had only to conduct herself as if it were hers. Which it certainly was. So she ought to make herself at home.
"I shall pluck flowers," Janet decided. She could decorate something with them, perhaps, and have something to show for the journey other than personal satisfaction and someone sternly lecturing her for foolhardiness. And taking something out of the woods for her own- that was a claim of the right to it.
She hesitated no further as she dismounted her horse and left her to graze, then strode up to a likely-looking stand of roses. The scent was even more cloying up close, but it would certainly be delightful in a smaller dose, and the blossoms were beautifully full. Janet reached for a place where the thorns were fewer between and took hold of the stem and broke it off-
"Lady-" came a voice from behind her-
-and she whirled just in time to catch a glimpse of a slender male figure before the world blurred out. There was only an undistinguished mass of green, and that became an undistinguished mass of blue and a rushing sound in her ears, and then it resolved itself into a vast cloudless sky and an expanse of water moving over sand. That had been the noise. But she was in a place she had not gone of her own choice, and that was all wrong.
"I thought Fairyland would be different," she murmured in her shock.
A little about her knee,
And she has braided her yellow hair
A little about her bree,
And she's away to Carterhaugh
As fast as she can hie.
Whatever her father had said, Carterhaugh did not feel as if it belonged to Janet. The air was heavy, the scent of wild roses almost suffocating, and the trees seemed to draw together overhead as if trying to block out light. It almost needed no elfin guardian; it seemed as if it might push you out of itself, though it likely wouldn't rob you or ravish you in the process.
Carterhaugh is mine, she reminded herself firmly. Even the Fair Folk were bound to certain rules. She could not be harmed on her own ground; she had only to conduct herself as if it were hers. Which it certainly was. So she ought to make herself at home.
"I shall pluck flowers," Janet decided. She could decorate something with them, perhaps, and have something to show for the journey other than personal satisfaction and someone sternly lecturing her for foolhardiness. And taking something out of the woods for her own- that was a claim of the right to it.
She hesitated no further as she dismounted her horse and left her to graze, then strode up to a likely-looking stand of roses. The scent was even more cloying up close, but it would certainly be delightful in a smaller dose, and the blossoms were beautifully full. Janet reached for a place where the thorns were fewer between and took hold of the stem and broke it off-
"Lady-" came a voice from behind her-
-and she whirled just in time to catch a glimpse of a slender male figure before the world blurred out. There was only an undistinguished mass of green, and that became an undistinguished mass of blue and a rushing sound in her ears, and then it resolved itself into a vast cloudless sky and an expanse of water moving over sand. That had been the noise. But she was in a place she had not gone of her own choice, and that was all wrong.
"I thought Fairyland would be different," she murmured in her shock.