Once outside of town, I found myself wandering idly through the trees and, eventually, into an abandoned, overgrown garden where I plopped down until I could work out what to do with my now empty afternoon. I sat surrounded by the various weeds, contemplating naming the species. I decided that idea sucked about as much as going home and resolved to repeat the process I'd used on the thistle in Junnie's study. I concentrated on one weed, and then on each of the others, spinning my charms in an attempt to develop them. Though I had no luck with the wild flowers and renegade vegetable plants, I was surprised to find a small thorn tree and a couple of noxious strains mature in response. Huh, I guess Junnie was right. Maybe I should practice more.
“Well, well, what do we have here? Is Frey making magic?” Evelyn spoke with such sarcastic sourness it seemed to burn right through me.
It took everything I had to keep my reply in check, keep myself out of trouble. “Oh, uh, I didn’t realize… is this your…” I was struggling. This wasn't her field. The forest and surrounding meadows didn’t belong to any elf, only your home was yours. But I knew from past experience Evelyn would punish me for being here, where she happened along. Oh sure, not physically, no elf did that. But I could just imagine the way perfect little Evelyn would repeat the story in town. Poor little Frey, sitting alone in the weeds, couldn’t even make grass grow. What can we do to help her? We should have a council meeting on it, I’m sure. Poor, poor Frey. I stayed where I sat, forcing my eyes to the ground. But then I pictured the smirk on her face as she mocked me to our peers, and couldn’t stop the resentment from boiling up. My ears rang with it.
“Choo!”
I looked up at her through my bangs. What was that?
“A... a… Choo!”
A sneeze? I didn’t think I’d ever heard an elf sneeze. I giggled.
Evelyn shot a hateful glower at me from her adorable little face. And then she whirled, retreating, Eva and Daynia (her devoted followers) on her heels, though both appeared completely baffled. I couldn’t stop thinking about her expression and the sneeze as she stormed away. I wished I could hear it again.
“Achoo!” “Choo!” “Hachoo!”
My ears popped as I burst out with laughter when she began to run toward town. Silly something as insignificant as a sneeze would give me such pleasure. I wonder how I’d delight in a choking fit. Pop! Uh, that’s annoying. Ears popping again, not used to laughing I guessed, I strode off toward home, confident I could face Fannie in my good humor. Or maybe I’ll take the long way…
As I finally approached the old twisted and gnarled tree, which resembled a giant bonsai, I caught sight of an aged elf leaving. It was a council member. Tassels hung around his neck depicting lines and accomplishments: sky blue for receiving the calling, deep crimson for service to the guard. His chest bore a personalized crest, an oak leaf on a large shield of gold and acorn brown. I watched the rainbow of a half dozen tassels flutter behind him as he rushed down the path toward the village.
I walked through the door and saw immediately Aunt Fannie had not expected company. I could spot the telltale signs of a hurried clean spell. I plopped down at the table to enjoy a bowl of berries set out for company under the guise of politeness. We didn’t often have visitors, and I could count the times on a new spruce twig we’d had fresh berries set out. Might as well enjoy them, seldom did I not have to gather for myself.
I popped a ripe juneberry in my mouth as Aunt Fannie rounded the corner. She was on her way into the room, having dashed back to her stash of wine as soon as the visitor had hit the door. She peered at me oddly out of the corner of her eye while she opened the bottle. Maybe it annoyed her to see I was eating her berries. Not that she’d picked them; I was sure she had just set a charm on an unsuspecting squirrel to perform her manual labor.
“Company?” I was enjoying the bitterness of a spireberry now.
“It seems there was some trouble in town today. The elves are in an uproar,” she delighted.
I didn’t question any further. Town trouble was usually of no interest to me. Actually, I couldn’t really think of the last time town had trouble… She huffed. Okay, better indulge her. “What sort of trouble?”
“Apparently, Evelyn of Rothegarr came into town from the meadows at full speed wheezing and sneezing. She reached the village center, grabbed her throat, and fell to the ground without a breath.”
I stopped chewing.
She continued, “They found a common thistle caught in her airway.”
My mind rolled.
“A thistle?” I whispered.