open-eyed, burn the page, my little dark age
The night was yet young, and the forest of folklore that surrounded the young man teemed with dimly glowing fireflies. As he padded through the undergrowth, Finn's gunmetal eyes scanned the horizon, his gaze dashing over bushes and stray branches as it searched for the route he was intent on taking. The moon hung low in the sky — a perfect, brimming man of white — tendrils of ashen light filtering through the treetops. Every once in a while, his eyes would dart to the overhead, as if checking to see if the moonlight man was still smiling back at him. He, too, flashed a wicked smile in the dark as he continued onward.
His purpose? Find a particular herb that liked to grow around the base of the Fae's trees. He had wanted to go during the day in order to see the different colors better, but night suited the occasion — for this was an herb meant to lull souls to sleep. He had been restless lately, tossing and turning in his bed of grass and fern.
Perhaps, he had thought to himself,
this plant would solve his problems.
A branch cracked as he turned the corner, but it was not from his own footfalls. Stilling, he looked around, wondering if he was not the only wandering soul that felt at home in these woods.
anyone there? he called, not exactly expecting an answer. it was getting close to midnight, and tired spirits were just as sure to pay him a visit as the living.
