Forests, by their nature, grow. Saplings claw their way skyward, darker, broad leaf ferns coil between the stout trunks and soak up the scattering of light that drips between the canopy. Forests, over years, centuries, grow ignorant of human passage, dead leaves and undergrowth consume tracks and paths. They battle the passage of roads and the construction of villages. To the humans living at their outskirts, forests do not just grow trees, they grow fear.
The man sprinting through the forest was only too aware of all of this. behind him, the forest hungrily devoured any sign of his passage, his heavy treads sank into the mossy ground, which sprang up after him, denying him even a notion of of where he had passed. Sean couldn't look behind him, he had to keep his eyes on the ground, watching for when roots and vines would creep out under his foot to send him sprawling. His face was already stinging from a steep learning curve about running in heavy undergrowth. Around him, the trees spun, the sun flickered through the leaves and he resigned himself to getting more and more lost with each step. So long as it took him away from them.
The trees had laughed at him, they must have laughed at him. Something had laughed at him. He had lived around the forest for years and nothing had ever sounded…
He could have likened the shock of his own cowardice to running into a brick wall, since, presently, he just did. His head cracked solidly against the massive granite block, giving him enough time to consider how painful it was before he blacked out.
"Get up."
He had been unconcious, he was reasonably certain of that, he wasn't sure for how long, but if the throbbing pain in his skull was anything to guage by, he'd say about a fortnight. He could see the sky, bright blue through the cracks and veins of tree boughs. It was very relaxing.
"Get up."
He got up. It was much nicer on the ground, looking at the sky. It just felt rude not to respond to a suggestion from a person he couldn't see. The knock to the head played with his balance, but he still wobbled into being upright with a modicum of decency. He was standing in the middle of what used to be a central keep of a castle that had very long ago stopped being important. It was probably about the same time someone artfully caved one corner of the building. Everything aside from the walls had been reclaimed by the forest or possibly some locals scavangers, and even the walls were under an enthusiastic assault from a mass of ivy.
"You have a message for me."
Sean spun around like feather in a breeze. Sitting on the remains of the walls, chin in hand, was an immaculately preened man in a green silk shirt. His trousers were of native style but equally well tailored, he rested his bearded chin in his palm and stared at Sean, rolling a well groomed black ringlet of hair around in his fingers, with a bored look in his eye.
"I have a message for silken Thomas Fitzge…"
The man rolled his eyes before butting in.
"And how many other men dressed in silk have you met in the ruins of your arranged meeting place?"
The pain in Sean's head receded enough for some memories to start forcing their way through.
"The O' Neill's have begun marching south, through the forest, they are burning their way through."
Thomas Fitzgerald hopped lightly off the wall and walked over to the man, silently. He stopped less than an arm's reach away from Sean, who looked at him nervously.
"Thank you."
Thomas' hand moved up to touch Sean's face, who shied away slightly, he would have stepped back, but already his knees gave way under him and he collapsed, fast asleep. Thomas lowered his arm and stared into the trees. While he stared, an alabaster white arm snaked over his shoulder and stroked his chest. The skin shone in the half light of the forest. Thomas found his stare hardening. The arm withdrew. The castle walls brightened as a warm glow flowed over Thomas and filled the ruins. The light intensified as something white moved into Thomas' peripheral vision. He tried to ignore it.
The voice came out of the forest, it was made from the forest, like the rustle of boughs in the wind and lazy streams tumbling over pebbles.
"What's wrong Thomas? Am I boring to you?"
He stared forward. He needed to focus, it was something she was good at, being distracting. His eyes flicked to to his left always a mistake.
A shining figure stepped dilactely between the nettles and ferns. She appeared to step almost carelessly, her feet hopping from one spot to the next, but there was no sound, her bright, delicate form skipped through the forest without the slightest taint, not a scratch from the thorns or stain from the earth on her thin, naked body. Golden red curls bounced with her as she moved, coiling around her like an evening cloud. Thomas dragged his eyes away, before she could lure him closer, he had things he had to say.
"So the Ulster hag is making her move then Thomas?"
He was gratified that she was at least focusing on the matter at hand. Soibhe was a very compentant statewoman, a man in his position could ask for little more in a wife. But she also had a way of obstructing his thoughts in way that he found disturbing, mostly because it was after the fact.
"Careful how you talk about your aunt like that."
Even Siobhe's casual snort of disdain had a measure of grace to it.
"She is not moving, her puppet, O' Niell is. He's making his way south to butt in on whatever fiasco Fanning is up to, by the looks of it."
The glow subsided slightly, with it went a small measure of the life in Siobhe's voice.
"And what are you going to do? I am not amused by this shortcut he has in mind. We will lose allies if we let him…"
"We will gain allies,"Thomas cut in, "because letting him is exactly what I plan on doing. His little bout of religious enthusiasm should push anyone sitting on the fence in our direction. Let him go, let him scare the neutrals and the cowards to us. When he's torched his away across the country, he and Fanning can piss it out over the ashes."
The sky darkened. Fey, especially such well bread fey, were unsuited to notions of subtlety.
"Then while the two of them are doing that, we have a clear run at Connaught…"
The light eminating from Siobhe had darkened enough to make out the brilliant green of her eyes, they had narrowed. The forest had grown silent.
" And the islands."
Siobhe's bright aura returned, slowly. Thomas got a look at her smile before it disappeared behind her glowing raiment.
"My mother will be pleased to hear you have such a fine grasp of her long term goals, Thomas Fitzgerald. I will convey this to her. I would hate for this perspective to become a sullid thing. I do so hate dirty, sullid things."
She walked past him, into the forest, as she passed him, she allowed herself a rare moment of clumsiness as her foot crashed down through the dried and bleached skull of the messanger who had fallen asleep a moment earlier. His skeleton now lay, being slowly strangled by a mass of ivy. She felt it would serve as fitting enough reminder of the limits of her pateince, before she disappeared into the forest.