Be mindful of your words when dealing with Fey, or you might end up like https://twitter.com/birdpup

26. Fey[/b]

Oberon’s ears twitched lethargically in the beaming sunlight; even under the canopy of the forest he could feel the warmth relaxing his every muscle like the touch of a masseuse. There was a faint breeze kissing his cheek in a pleasant way, refreshing him with every step he took further into the woods. All around him, Oberon was welcomed by freshly blooming flowers of every colour and shade wherever he wandered; it was as if the forest itself was guiding him along with its flamboyant display. Not only that, but the most alluring scent began to tickle at the purple feathered wanderer’s nostrils like a bouquet was hanging under his beak. The aroma could only be described as floral, but in a perfect hybrid of sweetness and organic earthy tones; and though it was impossible to discern a particular source, Oberon felt compelled to follow his nose towards the tantalizing scent.

The ground beneath his feet grew softer as the worn down path shifted into a verdant mattress of fresh grass, practically springing Oberon towards the scent. It even seemed to dip into a slight incline, allowing gravity to help carry the bird’s weight onwards. All the while, Oberon didn’t spare a thought to his unknown destination; though he knew the strange allure should have given him pause for thought, it was simply easier to be carried along by the aromatic strings that drew him in.

Eventually he came to a glade in the forest that practically sparkled with fresh dew hanging from various leafs and branches. Sat on a tree stump in the middle of the glade was a satyr, gently grooming the petals of a flower. He turned to Oberon before the bird made a single sound, as if he was expecting company.
“Well hello there,” the satyr smiled.
“G-good afternoon,” Oberon stammered. Truthfully he was slightly perturbed by this strange creature, but not nearly as much as he expected to be. Satyrs were only meant to be myths, yet the avian observed him as if he were no more rare than a field mouse.
“Not often I get strangers visiting,” said the woodsman. “May I have your name?”
“Oberon,” the owl replied with a smile.
“Oberon; that’s a grand name,” remarked the satyr. “And yours is?”

The stranger asked once again as if for the first time. The owl opened his mouth to reply automatically but couldn’t find the answer to a question he’d heard countless times. He searched his mind but came up completely blank. He had a name, didn’t he?
“Cat got your tongue, pet?” laughed the satyr.
“I can’t…seem to remember,” said the bird. The horned stranger, flashed a wry smile before adopting an expression of sympathy; if the satyr’s name was Oberon, what was his name? The owl had heard this stranger call him ‘Pet’. It was a cute pet name but it was the only word to fill the void in his mind.
“My name is…pet?” said the bird uncertainly. “Nice to meet you, Oberon.”

The pair exchanged a handshake before the satyr, now named Oberon, spoke up.
“So what has you wandering this far off the beaten path?”
“The sights, the smells; I love getting lost in nature,” Pet responded. Though the words of his answer were innocuous enough, his mind was still enthralled by the sensory overload of the glade he stood in. He hadn’t quite noticed that the intoxicating floral aroma that drew him here was strongest wherever Oberon stood. And since shaking the Satyr’s hand, his mind was now dizzyingly scrambled.
“If that’s the case then I’d love to show you my home,” offered the kindly woodsman. He extended his hand towards Pet once more, “I’ll take you there right now, if you like.”

Temptation bubbled up inside the owl as he considered the offer; things were moving by in a strange blur, yet he felt a distinct level of trust for Oberon that he couldn’t quite explain.
“Sounds lovely,” Pet replied with a sleepy smile. He reached out a feathered limb to shake the Satyr’s hand eagerly, noticing the world immediately begin to blur around him as he did. The sparkling dew of the surrounding glade twisted into a miasma of colours and the verdant shades of nature darkened into a more blueish hue. Even the sky above him faded into a prismatic twilight as if the sun had quickly started to set and then stopped just on the cusp of night time. The forest around him opened up as the treeline became sparser, only for the familiar flora to be replaced with alien looking plants he’d never seen before.

“Welcome to the Feywilds,” Oberon said before releasing his pet’s wing. The owl was dazzled by his magical surroundings and the enthralling scent from before had only grown stronger in this new land. He couldn’t think straight, but that seemed like a good thing. It was as if there was a thin veil pulled over his every train of thought, preventing him from feeling the fear and danger he might have otherwise; with Oberon he was protected.
“It’s beautiful…” Pet gasped.
“I knew you’d like. Wasn’t it so nice of me to offer to be your host?” remarked the Satyr. All that the owl could do was nod sluggishly as every word seemed to roll past him in a fog; not unlike the fog that now obscured his new world’s horizon in a hypnotic aurora of colours that he couldn’t stop gazing into.
“I’ll let you stay here if you want,” offered Oberon. Pet’s eyes lit up with gratitude. Everything about the Fewwilds seemed superior, more beautiful, and more alive than the realm he’d left behind.

“But I’d hate not to get to visit your home,” frowned Oberon in his best façade of sorrow. “Promise me you’ll be my host in return at least,” he finished. The deal sounded more than fair to Pet; he didn’t have nearly as much to show as the beautiful Feywilds, but it was an easy exchange to remain in this magical place.
“Of course!” he beamed with a wide smile. Oberon’s teeth glinted as the pact was made, putting a hand on his companion’s shoulder and immediately fading into a rose coloured ephemeral version of his shape. The fog shifted around the owl before penetrating his form like a ghost. Pet could feel control of his muscles gradually slipping away from him; but it wasn’t anything to be concerned about, as even now he could feel Oberon trying to take hold of the reigns. The owl happily relinquished them and felt his consciousness slip into Feywilds’s fog as if he was becoming a part of it. He watched every movement of his now possessed body through his own eyes as a passenger, but knew that it couldn’t be in better hands.