Whimsical Tales of Woe

The Nymph and her Soldier

Part one: The Nymph and her Soldier

 First one is pretty sappy. It's not really what I am used to writing, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

Prompt: Just 'Nymph' (apparently) with the vibes of a sweet interaction. (Mild adult themes)

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The young solider held his dagger in a trembling hand, the fire's glow dimming with each careful step he took. He could hear the rumpus laughter behind him and smell the thick earthy scent of burning wood.

Viewed in the sun's light, this forest was a sea of green unlike any back home. Straight trunks of white and grey dissolved into a brilliant canopy of colour. In the cool spring night, however, the silver birch resembled nothing but black lines, reaching up towards the stars beyond. 'Scout', as he was affectionately called by his troop for the roll he fulfilled, suddenly wished he had taken a torch to light the uneven ground. The last thing he wanted was a sprained ankle before another long day of traversing these wild unknown lands. But carrying a flame would only lead to another failure.

In the last town they marched through, he had skipped the previous trial. The young solider had flat out refused to enter that horrible house so that he may 'become a man'. It had cost him weeks of mockery and he was becoming rather sick of being the centre of a jest. To be named after a flower because he did not wish to engage with such company. Regardless of what they called him, this trial was a task Scout could perform, if he could bring his nerves under control.

A branch snapped beneath his leather boot and Scout swallowed. He was treading deeper into the forest, dried autumn leaves crunching softly in time with his steps. These were wild lands, and the people spoke of creatures lurking; eagerly waiting for unsuspecting foreigners to wander into their abode. Men had gone missing they told, and those that returned were half mad from their turmoil. However, there were also stories of dryads and gnomes, trolls and goblins. Scout was searching for any one of those creatures to prove his worth and progress in the ranks. Perhaps then, he would not be sent out first into a fluffy of arrows that would tear him to ribbons in the coming battle.

Unfortunately, there was a greater chance Scout would be devoured by a monstrous spider than actually see any fairies. In truth, these stories were most likely the ravings of men with heat exhaustion driven mad. People spoke of the fae in a revered way; their hair was said to twinkle like starlight and their voices were made to entice and bewilder. But if Scout could resist the beckoning calls of lovely women, why should forest sprits be any different?

He would find one and return to his troop with evidence.

High above him, an owl cried as it circled the skies and Scout became more aware of his surroundings. He was too far from the army's camp to hear the sounds of familiarity and he could no longer see their lights in the distance. Resting his palm on the trunk of a birch he crouched and tried to listen. It was said; a man had to be silent while he thought of the beings he willed towards him.

Scout wasn't sure about that, but he sat on the ground, blade in hand and tried to call forth the spirits of this forest. A soft wind ruffled his light hair and he could hear the distinctive sound of rushing water to his east. He put that knowledge in the back of his mind, knowing that if he got lost he could follow the stream back to camp.

"Where are you?" He whispered to the wind.

A melody was his reply. Surprising and unexpected, Scout opened his eyes to hear the clear notes were distant and fading. He stood from his spot on the ground and followed the sweet song. It grew louder with each step he took until pale rays, not dissimilar to that of the moon, broke through the branches forcing Scout to shield his eyes.