The forest was as quiet as a nighttime marsh that had just witnessed a murder.
Nevyn finished putting on his blue jay mask, trying to stay calm. The voice had come from just behind him, and not far off at all. A complaint about the mask, which almost made him smile. The dryad had gotten the drop on him, and she'd used it to object to him covering his face.
But the cunning man was on his hands and knees in an unfamiliar forest, halfway through selecting the proper herbs from his case. This was a compromising position no cunning folk would savor.
Slowly, he turned, keeping one hand on the case. He'd knew the stories about honeydew dryads, of course. Who hadn't? Nevyn had heard—arguably, kind of devoured—the stories of honeydew melons, those curvy, luscious creatures of myth. Being a rather rare and shy fey, the stories were all the more lascivious—why were
these
particular fey so mysterious, so reclusive?
Well, they were a little embarrassed about their cartoonishly enormous tits. That was the joke, anyways.
He stared up, jaw hanging open, at the pale woman beaming down at him. Her face had a faint green-ish tint, framed by pale moon-silver hair, and she was dressed in gossamer silks that wafted and blew with the breeze, the fabric so translucent that she looked to be cloaked in mist. Her torso was covered by the most minimal sort of lingerie, and her hips, wide and swaying with every step as she advanced towards him, were covered by a delicate blue skirt that looked no more sturdy than tissue paper.
Her eyes glimmered like bright emeralds dropped in water, rippling with green as her cheeks formed glowing dimples from a wide, almost innocent smile. Her lips were a little darker than the rest of her skin, fulsome and plush. And he was again struck by her surprising height, though in fairness, most people looked tall to Nevyn.
From her arms climbed twisting, gnarled vines, like decorative boas or friendly serpents. Some of these bore vivid golden blossoms—coin-sized flowers that were no doubt the beginnings of the fruit that gave the village its most famous export. The vines crawled and spiraled over her shoulders and around her arms; one came to a blossoming tip in the palm of her right hand.
She blinked down at him demurely, her lashes forming thick curtains over those emerald-pool eyes.
"I..." his voice came out hoarse. He was using every ounce of his willpower not to stare right up at her massive, jiggling bosom, barely concealed beneath the bra and the silks and seemingly held up by fey magics alone. "I... um... it's very, ah, cold around here this early in the season." He affected a slight smile behind the mask, its cocky wit no doubt wasted, and gestured to the beak. "It keeps a fellow warm"
"Oh, really?" She giggled, eyes heavy-lidded. "Is that so?"
"Hm." He gave a slight nod, then winked. "Not that I expect any man could feel a chill when gazing upon you, madam."
Her cheeks flushed bright pink, and she visibly forced herself back on-course. "And n-nothing to do with trying to manage yourself, boy?" She raised a perfectly-formed eyebrow, the expression slightly undermined by the stutter in her voice. "Nothing, ah, that might resemble a worry for the smell of my f-flowers?"
"The name is Nevyn, my lady." He sketched a slight bow, reaching up for show and caressing one of the blossoms as the vine trailed down from the branches toward him, almost curious. The blossom quivered and withdrew back slightly, its petals closing as if spooked. "Honeydew dryad flowers have their, ah, uses, but I've never heard of them giving anyone too much trouble." He cast her a sly look out of the corner of his eye. "Why? Would you be wishing they could? I'm certain you wouldn't need the help."
"Oh, my." She laughed lightly, her laughter falling through the air like late-autumn snowflakes. "My name's Verde, and, well, I suppose not. I don't know what the likes of me would even
begin
to do with spellbinding pollen, or any of that nonsense."
"Really!" He grinned. Inwardly, he was groaning. It was generally seen as best practice to play the same game as the fey—if they were going to be nice, you had to be, too.
But he didn't want 'nice'. 'Nice' didn't get him his flowers. 'Nice' also didn't get him... He bit off the thought and kept his voice light and friendly. "I must admit, fair lady, I'm surprised. I had heard rumors that lovely fey such as yourself had all sorts and manner of mischief you could make!"
"Oh, like these?" She glanced down shyly at her breasts, reaching up to brush a thick silver lock from her eyes. "I... well, I suppose every girl has some tricks. I-I mean, a pretty girl would. I don't know if I do."
That was bait. But right now he wanted the trap shut. He fluttered his own eyelashes innocently, reaching up as if considering removing the mask. "Oh, really? Goodness, but you're ah..." He gave a chuckle not entirely inauthentic in its nervous quaver. "You're... hardly
n-not
pretty, miss, if I may say."
Her eyes glimmered. She was still avoiding his gaze, and his heart raced as he realized what she was looking at. He straightened as he took something from his case; clipping it shut, he let it swing in front of his hips, blocking any illicit examinations. "Really?"
"You're... I mean, I couldn't say without being untoward, miss." He ducked his head in a show of bashfulness.
"Be untoward!" she said quickly. Too quickly. Her eyes were glittering with excitement, and maybe a little need.
There was no more dangerous way to appease a fey than with flattery. Especially nervous flattery. He was basically doing the equivalent of slathering himself in Thriae mead and leaving himself outside a honey bearmaid's cave. "I... I must confess, Miss, I can't help but notice the fullness of your bosom."
There was a pause.
"
Pfft
!" She clutched her stomach, almost doubling over. "The way you
say
that—oh, goodness, you're adorable!"
"I-I am?" He grinned behind the mask, but kept his voice soft and meek. Dangling the bait. He was doing the equivalent of mooning the honey bearmaid and wiggling his cute ass at her right now.
"Oh,
goodness
." She shot him a sly grin. "I wish I could see the look on your face right now."
"Why?"
"Weeell," she said casually, flicking her hair back over her shoulder, "I've noticed boys tend to make the
cutest
sounds when I..." She reached up and smooshed her breasts together, her eyes shimmering. "And I bet you'd look
cute
when you blush."
She let the breasts fall, and they jiggled so enticingly. Oh, gods, she was massive, and they bounced so beautifully, so familiarly. Nevyn couldn't help but stare and lick his lips. His heart raced.
But he affected a casual laugh. "My, my. Well, I'd best keep my mask on, huh? I wouldn't want to make a fool of myself!" He swung his case around as he turned away, looking above at the treetops to distract himself from her assets. Honeydew melon vines hung from every branch, it seemed, along with those curious tomato plants.
Hm... those aren't tomato. Deadly nightshade, maybe?
"You're, ah, not the most subtle fey, are you?"
"I—" She sounded distinctly put out. In fact, he could hear the pout in her voice. "I
thought
that would have more of an effect."
Oh. Okay, he had to admit, that was kind of adorable. She was actually offended that he wasn't hypnotized by that. Honeydew dryads really didn't see a lot of company, did they?
"Oh, don't get me wrong!" He glanced back over his shoulder, allowing the twinkle of amusement to flicker in his eyes. "You're
breathtaking
, my lady. And so are your ladies-in-waiting." He suppressed a giggle as her face went beetred. "But I'm afraid I'm just a little too willful to be reeled in by something so, ah... overt." He winked. "I was expecting more of a game of it!"
He made a show of folding his arms and glancing around, as if this was an utterly casual conversation with an acquaintance—not dull, but not something he was taking very seriously.
He could tell this was getting to her. She was so close to giving in. The third-worst thing you could do with a fey, apart from flattering them, apart from initially acting shy or nervous, was
blatantly
playing hard-to-get.
"... oh." Her voice had gone soft, now. He heard her approaching him, and felt her take his arm. Her grip was soft. Warm. "I... I don't
play
much, you see."
Her knuckles grazed his cheek. He turned to face her, and was suddenly beset by a pair of shimmering emerald-filled oceans. She stared down at him, eyes bright and rippling with magic. "But is that what you want, Nevyn?" she said softly, mischievously, tickling under his chin. "To be played with?"
He hesitated, watching as her eyes grew deeper, the gentle undercurrent of suggestion beginning to pull at his will. Then, uncertainly, he reached up towards her to caress her cheek. Her lashes fluttered at the touch...
"Not exactly," he whispered, "but I
do
like to play."
