Picking her way carefully between snow-covered roots and boulders, Anwen made her way through the dense forest of the Wildwoods. Above her, the chill wind whistled gently through the bare branches of the trees, and she hugged her cloak tighter to herself to keep out the cold. All around her, the early evening light falling upon undisturbed snow gave the wintery landscape an ethereal, twilight beauty.
With every step, she felt the earth beneath her bare feet. Treading lightly, she made sure to avoid the thorns and briars that sprung up from beneath the powdery snow, keeping a loose grip on the gnarled wooden branch that served as her walking staff. With care, she stepped around a fairy ring, not wanting to disturb the fae folk that lived therein. Pausing, she took a moment to take in the world around her.
With a deep breath, she sighed contentedly. The beauty of nature never ceased to amaze her, even in the depths of winter, even after so many years of living among it. As she stood watching, she saw two robins twirling and dancing in the air as they darted past her, before disappearing between the trees. She smiled and carried on.
Ambling through the forest, she kept her eyes peeled for the nightsage she'd come to find. After all, as pleasant as the walk was, she only had a few more hours before the other druids would start arriving for the winter solstice. As high priestess, it was her duty to lead the celebrations, and therefore prepare the offerings to Pantilus, Lord of Beasts.
The spirit of nature was well-tempered enough; while not an evil god, he wasn't necessarily good either. His philosophy was one of balance; between civilisation and the natural world, between humanity and the animals, between everything.
He also, however, quite enjoyed offerings.
Peering between the thick trunks of two trees, Arwen finally saw what she'd been looking for. Approaching the dark green shrub, it's midnight leaves barely moving in the wind, she crouched down, unhooking the sickle she kept at her hip. Carefully, she took hold of the plant's foliage, before cutting it from the ground in a single smooth motion. Holding it up, she took a moment to admire. It smelt faintly of mint, but with raw, earthy tones. Perfect.
Satisfied, she stood back up, carefully stashing the herb in her pouch before putting away her ceremonial blade. Looking up at the soft twilight sky, she guessed it was around five o'clock. Hefting her staff, she turned back towards her home. Before she started walking, she took a moment to stand still. Closing her eyes, she focussed on her breathing, exhaling slowly as she concentrated on her body. She felt every finger, every limb, every fibre of her being. She was perfectly in tune with herself.
And slowly, she felt herself change.
When she opened her eyes, she was much closer to the forest floor, no more than three feet tall. Her arms had become legs, and her hands hooves. Her skin had been replaced by light brown fur, her coat spotted with white blotches, and as she started to move she felt the agility in her new legs. In the form of a deer, Anwen began to canter off between the trees.
In this wild shape, she was able to move much faster, covering the distance with ease while easily avoiding the trips and hazards of the forest floor. Leaping athletically over a large tree root, she felt a surge of primal joy as she landed, galloping off again deeper into the forest. All around, the sounds and smells had become more vivid, more enticing, and she marvelled at the wonders of the natural world.
It didn't take her long to return to her home in the centre of the wildwoods. As the forest gave way to a large clearing, and the snow-covered grass beneath her hooves turned to rough-hewn stones, she slowed herself to a trot. As she stepped into the open temple of Pantilus, she shut her eyes and let go of her new form, changing back to her true appearance. Human once more, she looked around at the towering obelisks and arches that surrounded her, forming a crude circle around the central dais.
Raising up from the ground, in the centre sat a large stone altar, again roughly carved from a boulder left here countless centuries before. Its sides were covered in intricate runes, as well as illustrations of the patron of nature and his disciples revelling in the beauty of the world. Quietly, her feet making no sound, she approached, and ran her hand across the polished surface of the top, as she had done so many times before. At the foot of the dais sat a bowl, and she let her satchel fall down next to it.
Far above her, above the treeline, she heard the cry of a hawk. A smile spread across her face as she turned her eyes skyward, and saw a large bird of prey circling above. It's wings spread wide, it turned in the air, gliding down towards her, before slowing itself at the last minute and morphing into the shape of a bearded man, wearing a long green cloak. His face was ruggedly handsome, wild hair coming down to his shoulders and braided intricately. His skin was worn, toughened by the elements, and his eyes were the deepest shade of emerald green imaginable. With a smile, he stepped towards her.
"Anwen. It's good to see you."
The priestess smiled at the man.
"Gwydion my love. You're early."
"I didn't want to risk arriving late." Reaching her, he took her hand in his, holding it close. "It has been too long."
Anwen nodded. "Yes. But, such is life, I'm afraid." The Archdruid smiled at her words.
"I'm afraid so too. These woods are vast, and even then I am often needed elsewhere."
"But, as always, you return." She smiled as well. "Twice a year is better than never."
The pair laughed, and kissed happily. Taking a seat on the ground, Gwydion lay his back against the altar as Anwen sat down next to him. She put her hand on his thigh, stroking him affectionately as she lay her head on his shoulder. It had been six months to the day since the two had last been together, at the celebrations for the summer solstice. She remembered it fondly, and as the two sat she couldn't help but look forward to the night to come. Craning her head, she looked into his eyes once again. He had such beautiful eyes.
"So, tell me, how have you been the last few months?"
Gwydion chuckled. "Long. There is a lot to put right in the world, and spirits preserve me it is no easy task. But, it is my duty, as you have yours." He shifted to look at her more easily. "How goes the temple?"
With a smile, Anwen looked around at the mossy stones around them, overgrown with vines and vegetation, now frozen and dying in the winter weather. "Well. It goes well. There is very little to say. The Wildwoods are as they were when you were last with me, and the time before that. There may be much to put right with the world, but here, nature still prevails." She frowned. "Although keeping the bramble thickets at bay has been awfully tiresome."
The Archdruid laughed, a deep and comforting noise that filled Anwen with a warm sense of joy. "No doubt, I'm sure." Gently, he placed his hand on top of hers, absentmindedly running his thumb over hers. "You sell yourself short. The role of a high priestess is not an easy one."
He was right about that. Anwen chewed her lip as she contemplated her duties; the daily rites she had to perform, the rituals to keep the Wildwoods free from corruption. Not to mention the more active defence of nature. The sickle she carried wasn't just ceremonial; too many times she'd had to take up arms to defend the sacred place, from monstrous creatures as well as the agents of 'civilisation'; treasure hunters and bandits come to sack the forest with no regard for the life that inhabited it.
