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Little Faun genuinely believes that if she is always perfect and always good, she will avoid ever facing any of the bad in the world. Unfortunately all her polite avoidance can't prevent her from crossing paths with Nim, an impish demon who takes a dislike to her--without provocation--makes her its hostage, and puts her on the very bad side of a butt-faced wizard.
And it only gets less pleasant from there. Getting through may require a bit more than her usual arsenal of "no, thank you" and "thank you, yes", possibly even a little bit of magic, and swordplay. Swordplay is traditional after all, when dealing with dragons. Little Faun is a story for upper middle grader readers, but I find that those are the kinds of stories that anyone of any age can enjoy. It contains all manner of delightful mayhem and is of the fantasy fiction genre (last I checked dragons still aren't real). This is not to be reposted or used without my permission. Please be respectful. |
Little Faun
- Events Neither Good Nor Safe
Faun read books and she knew very well what happened to people who didn't behave, or worst of all, tried to have adventures. Bad things came from both. So she made every effort to be perfect and good.
Faun was doe eyed and dainty. It wouldn't do to be anything else. “No, thank you,” was her very best phrase. Her wardrobe needed only three smock dresses and one sweater. Her brown halo of hair curled obligingly. Freckles were a must for someone of her sweetness, and glasses too, round and soft and meek.
Being good meant that Faun was always willing to be sent down the road to be useful to the neighbors. She was best suited to sitting quietly and reading. But when she was asked to, she would put on her black dress and her black shoes and trot dutifully down the lane to Bertram Bradshaw's Farm For Almost Any Useful Plant.
Bertram Bradshaw had, through some great and terrible mishap Faun assumed, been given two names that both ought to be last names. Thankfully if anyone was built ready to shoulder two stout last names, it was Bertram Bradshaw. A towering woman with fierce beauty forever smudged in dirt, Madam Bradshaw was an herbalist who wrangled plants at her farm just a few minutes walk from Faun's home.
As she approached the gate on one particularly bright late spring morning, Faun watched a tiny seedling go sprinting gleefully across the road to duck under the fence. It paid no heed to the sign tacked onto the gate stating in uncompromising lettering “ABSOLUTELY NO OUTSIDE SEEDS PERMITTED ON THE PREMISES”. The rogue seed had come from the farm across the road, Sherwynn Meadows.
Where Bertram Bradshaw grew plants for practicality, Flora Hope Meadowlark the Second of Sherwynn Meadows grew plants for sheer whimsy and frivolity. Nothing could be more repulsive to either party than their neighbor across the way. Faun kept her opinions about both to herself, as she should.
Preparing both her body and soul for the company of Madam Bradshaw, Faun eased the gate open, then latched it firmly behind her. Checking twice again for any stray dandelion seeds, she approached the front door down a path flanked on either side by row after row of soil beds. They rioted with mutterings and shufflings. Irritable mandrakes turned in their sandy bedclothes, fussy crab grasses gossiped amongst themselves, and a prickly rosemary asked its neighbors if maybe they felt a little too damp as well? In the center of the path stood a squat purple thing, more a potato than a plant, with five leaves poking straight out from its head. Its arms were as close to crossed as they could be at their somewhat wanting length. It scowled storm clouds into the air.
“Good day,” Faun greeted. She was ignored.
“Is that you, Faun?” came Madam Bradshaw's booming voice. “You're just in time! Come and help at once.”
Picking her way around the pouting purple creature, Faun followed the sound of Madam Bradshaw's voice to a garden plot around back.
Madam Bradshaw was up to the very tip of her towering nose in dirt, holding two plants by their tops as far apart as she could. Both plants swung little limbs wildly, cursing and spitting across the distance between them. “It's been like this all morning. You know how they get in springtime,” Madam Bradshaw sighed, still rather unnecessarily loud.
Faun hurriedly fetched a pair of gardening gloves from Madam Bradshaw's bag and tugged them on before reaching out to delicately take one of the writhing plants in hand.
“THIS IS MALTREATMENT OF THE GROSSEST KIND!” cried the plant.
The second was still swinging. “Oh aye, I'll tear you limb from limb you lily-livered—”
“ENOUGH,” Madam Bradshaw roared. The roof tiles rattled in fear. “If you two don't stop this instant I'll be making vegetable stock for the rest of the day. Now be SILENT and be STILL.” She thrust the foul mouthed plant into a pot and tossed dirt into its face.
Faun pointedly avoided eye contact with the plant she held. It was muttering under its breath, things that wouldn't be at all nice to hear. The plants Madam Bradshaw grew were always shockingly crass. It seemed that useful plants were also obtuse, in Madam Bradshaw’s garden at least.
“There,” the woman said triumphantly, forcefully patting down the dirt. “That's one done. Now you.”
Faun passed her captive over. “He started it,” the plant muttered.
“Oh did he indeed,” Madam Bradshaw said. “Well now I've finished it.” In a moment that plant too was safely subdued by dirt. The woman rubbed the back of her hand across her forehead and successfully made herself dirty from forehead to toe. “What a mess. And how are you today, Faun?”
“Very well Madam, thank you very much.”
“Very well indeed. Let's get you started then.”
She led Faun to a row of seedling trays where green shoots were popping out of tiny pots. “These sprouts are about old enough to need repotting. First, uproot them and clean them up. Keep them separate at all times, they shouldn't mingle or who knows what they'll get up to.” Madam Bradshaw instructed firmly. Faun nodded, taking a seat on the little bench. “I'll be just over here if you need me. Please ignore any bad language, as usual.”
Dutifully Faun took the first pot from the tray and tilted it upside down. “Pardon me,” she apologized. With the most gentle grip she tugged the top of the seedling and it came free of its pot in a little cylinder of dirt. Beside her was a bucket of clean water and she dunked the plant and brushed it with her fingertips until it came clean, revealing a slim naked root. “Hello,” Faun said.
The seedling yawned a wee yawn and turned a dismal gaze to her. “Do you mind? I’m trying to sleep.”
Oh dear, Faun thought. “Madam Bradshaw?”
“Don't let them give you any sass!”
The next root was sound asleep and didn't wake. On and on she went, suffering through a variety of indifferent, rude, and indignant reactions to her work. At last they were all newly potted and it was starting to feel like lunch time.
“How are we coming?” Madam Bradshaw asked, stopping by to survey her progress. “Excellent!” She hoisted one tray in each arm. “That's enough for today. Why don't you head home and enjoy the afternoon?”
Faun nodded and brushed the dirt from her front. She passed the purple potato (which was still in full pout), bid it a good afternoon (which it ignored), and exited through the gate.
“Yoo hoo! Faun darling, come and have a lemonade with me!” From across the way Lady Flora waved her gauze wrapped sun hat in the air. Faun waved back and made sure she’d brushed all the dirt off her dress before she approached the neat white picket fence. It was heaped with flowers and overflowing with floral scents. The gate had an arch of roses crowning it. Bursting from every inch of lawn was flower after flower after flower. Heady smells and vibrant colors assaulted the senses, and the tinkling of wind chimes was underplayed with the droning of fat pollen-drunk bees. Faun watched a pair of bumblebees make laborious sagging paths through the air, collide gracelessly, and then bumble off.
“Aren't you looking just darling today!” Lady Flora greeted.
According to Lady Flora there was never a day when Faun didn't look darling. “How are you, Lady Flora?”
“Just lovely, dear, just lovely. Come and have a sit and I'll whip up some lunch, how does that sound?”
“Thank you very much, but I’m on my way home, my parents will be expecting me.” As much as Faun wished to be agreeable, it was hard to be full after eating with Lady Flora. She dined mostly on lavender lemonade and cucumber sandwiches, neither of which left one feeling nourished. After the somewhat trying morning Faun had just had with the seedlings, she needed something more rejuvenating.
“Of course my dear, of course! Oh, perhaps tomorrow if you wouldn't mind terribly I might have you help me with fertilizing my roses. They're probably near to budding and I wouldn't want any of them to open up and find them small or lacking in petals!” Lady Flora shuddered, appalled at the very thought.
Faun promised, “Of course, I'd be happy to help.”
“Tomorrow then!” the lady called a little mournfully as Faun left. Lady Flora was always nearly in tears to see anyone go. According to Madam Bradshaw it was one of her most absurd qualities.
Faun set off to return home, a little prickly with guilt over avoiding dining with Lady Flora. She distracted herself by planning the best spot for finishing her book.
Something came crashing through the hedgerow and rolled out into the lane.
She'd never seen anything so curiously blue in her life. Faun blinked a few times to be sure she wasn't as pollen drunk as the bees. But there it was, with its blue torso and arms, big blue catlike ears, and blue stubby toes. It was covered in dirty gold fur from the waist down to its tail tip and had a stripe of sticky-outy fur all down its back. Two horns poked dangerously from atop its head, flanked by a few smaller ones just for good measure. It blinked giant glossy black eyes and hissed with sharp snaggle teeth right at Faun.
She took a big step back and felt her chest begin to pound. Oh dear oh dear this looks very, very bad!
The fur along the creature’s back was growing taller and spikier, and it hunched its shoulders. Though it stood a few feet shorter than Faun, it needn’t be large for her to fear it! She took another step back. Oh do please go away!
Then with a pop and a crackling hiss like a firecracker, three more figures appeared in the sunny lane. Faun’s heart took a flying leap for her mouth. The leading figure was very, very tall and would have been shockingly handsome if not for his insultingly rear-end-like cleft chin. Nevertheless, he had an immediately confident and flashy sort of spark to him, fanned to a blaze by the two women who flanked him. One clutched his arm looking besotted and the other swooned on his opposite side. They were both lovely, yet looked entirely empty-headed.
The man pointed a long finger at the blue creature growling and hissing in the lane and cried “Ah-HA, foul beastie! You may try, but you cannot escape from me!”
Said foul beastie simply hissed louder. To Faun's ultimate distress it came skidding over to use her as a shield. She felt frozen in place.
“Zounds! Oh heavens above say it isn't so! The vile daemon has taken possession of that sweet and innocent girl!” the man cried, waving a drop-sleeve-robed arm in distress and flailing it into the face of the woman clutching his elbow. The other fainted. “Apprentice! My wand!” he demanded, only to find that the one who had held his wand was now collapsed in the dirt.
A daemon? Possession? Was Faun really possessed? Or worse, was this some sort of misunderstanding unfolding? She made it a personal rule NEVER to get involved in misunderstandings. Misunderstandings were such dreadful things. This was how people ended up with two names that were last names, or worse!
She tried to speak, but was stopped short when she found herself nose to nose with a wand.
“I shall be forced to take this sweet innocent girl to my tower and perform terribly dangerous magic on her to free her from the daemon!” the man shouted, uncomfortably close. The woman still standing made woeful moaning sounds. ‘Terribly dangerous magic’ sounded very unpleasant. Faun was more distressed than ever.
“Please Sir—”
She was cut off again by the beginning of a chant. By now Faun had assumed this man was a wizard. Wizards were another thing that, as a rule, were better off avoided in Faun's opinion. His conscious female attendant was now wailing at the drama of it all, and Faun felt the increasing need to wail herself.
That was when things got, somehow, worse.
The daemon pounced, perching heavily on Faun's shoulders and swatting the wand from the hand of the wizard. Faun’s knees buckled and she toppled over backwards. There was another crack—this one less of a firecracker and more of a door slamming—and she landed on something soft with an “oof.”
There was no more lane, no more lovely sunshine, and no more wizard. Indeed the only things now were an oppressive dank green, Faun, and the blue daemon leaning over to peer into her face. Only one terrifying conclusion could be made:
Not only was Faun now quite possibly entangled in a grievous misunderstanding, she was also at the start of what was sure to be an ADVENTURE. She promptly passed out.