Young Writers Society

WILD MAGIC



The town of Kleinhavn sits on the edge of the Furchtwald, the Forest of Fear that separates five countries. Impassable, impenetrable, the forest, some say, is founded on nightmares. Many who have gone in do not come back out. Those who do are never the same – haunted by something, somebody always looking over their shoulder or whispering in their ear.

The cause for the Furchtwald’s mystical, horrible energies is clear: it is abundant with wild magic, magic that has gone untamed and unchecked for generations, with nobody within to pin it down.

Kleinhavn has been managing quite well, given that it is surrounded by trees on three sides. Once a year, just before winter, traders come to sell their wares. This year, an altogether different caravan is arriving alongside them.

The King & Queen, their daughter and son-in-law and granddaughter have all made an appearance. The country of Wasserland, where Kleinhavn is, wants to make an example: they are not afraid of the Furchtwald, nor should their neighbours be. Wasserland will dare to bring their entire royal family into the embrace of the forest, because Wasserland is not afraid of trees, and Wasserland is not afraid of magic.

Maybe they should be. Because on the third night of their stay, the King & Queen’s granddaughter, the seven-year-old Princess Greta, goes missing. All that is left is a trail of enormous, impossibly inky black footsteps, leading back into the forest.

The World



The Characters



The Magic



The Plot

We’ll start the day the caravan arrives in Kleinhavn. After the princess disappears, there will be a call for volunteers from the Prince for a search party into the forest for his missing child. Each of our characters will volunteer and head into the deep dark woods together.

Magical shenanigans will occur.

Characters

More can be added, of course!

- Tree Touched 1 – claimed by BiscuitsBatchAvoy
- Tree Touched 2 – claimed by Remembrance
- Villager 1 – claimed by StellaThomas
- Villager 2 – claimed by xXxTheSwordsmanxXx
- Merchant 1 – claimed by SacredLedge
- Merchant 2 –
- The Prince - claimed by Casanova
- Royal Entourage 1 – claimed by Steggy
- Royal Entourage 2 – claimed by KAL

Character Template

Code: Select all

[b]Full Name:[/b]
[b]Usually goes by:[/b]
[b]Age:[/b] (children will not be accepted as part of the party, must be 16 or older)
[b]Appearance:[/b]
[b]Occupation:[/b]
[b]History:[/b]
[b]Personality:[/b]
[b]Skills:[/b]
[b]Weaknesses:[/b]
[b]Ever been into the forest before?[/b]
[b]Reasons for volunteering:[/b]
[b]Other:[/b]


Resa - Town Square

There was a mist hanging over the world.

It seeped out of the forest on autumn mornings like bad vapours. It was thick, it was cold, it clung to everything, and it put everybody in Kleinhavn in particularly bad moods.

Looking out and barely being able to see the other side of the square, even Resa found it hard to smile on misty days.

Still, she thought, rummaging in her coat pockets for the key to the jewellers' shop, it wasn't the worst weather phenomenon that came from the Furchtwald. No, beyond a doubt that was the so-called Ill-Wind, that blew sickness and hatred into the hearts of villagers, sowing dissent wherever it went. The last time the Ill-Wind had been blowing, Resa had a chunk of her hair cut from her head, by her younger sister Nathalia-Sophie's craft scissors. When the wind stopped, it was hard to remember what they had even been fighting about.

(Knowing Talia, it was because a boy had looked at Resa a little too long on market day. That was usually the reason).

The lock opened with a satisfying click and Resa bundled herself inside, putting a light to the candles and to the fire that she - thank God - had had the sense to set the night before, rubbing her hands together and stamping her feet. She hated the mist.

But something else was coming to the village. Or at least she hoped. If her calculations were right, today was the day - the caravan was coming. It was the most exciting time of year - silk! Lace! Glass beads! A new magnifying glass, even. Resa had been saving for months to spend her money on the merchants this week. They would try and swindle her, of course, but she didn't even care. What they brought were precious things that had never been touched by the mist, or the Ill-Wind, things that hadn't grown in the shadow of the Furchtwald.

That was more valuable than gold.

She put their arrangements in the window - Gerhardt wasn't working today, Resa was alone. The sun was growing higher in the sky and the mist dissipating. She leant against the doorframe and watched the road into town, waiting for the signs of the caravan approaching.

A figure passed in the mist. Resa squinted to see who it was- red haired, skinny - the girl who called herself Sehen. Resa raised a hand and gave her a half wave. She didn't seem to notice.

Or maybe she just didn't care.

Some people could be so rude.

Resa turned and went back into the shop and opened her drawer of repairs, mainly broken links in chains and tarnished pots, and got to work with her polishing cloth.

She heard the caravan before she saw it, a great rumbling like thunder as they rolled along the road in formation. Resa dropped what she was doing and ran to the door to see the smudge growing bigger on the horizon.

And bigger.

And bigger.

The merchants weren't alone.

"The King is coming!" There was a boy, one of the boys in the village school, running along the street, and causing excitement in his wake. "The King is coming to Kleinhavn!"

There was a noise of trumpets, the royal banner of Wasserland waving over the caravan.

Resa gasped, grabbed her cloak, and ran home to the mill to let her family know.

The King. This was more than she could ever have imagined from this day.

Gobban

Nothing was better than the smell of the forge and the ring of a hammer against the anvil. These were Gobban's instruments, and he played them masterfully. He had been up since before dawn getting his chores done. Tending the coals in the fire. Getting the steel heated to begin working the order of tools requested by the local farmers.

He paused in his strikes to return the faintly glowing steel into the forge. He looked at the hammer and anvil that were now his, a sign that his foster father and teacher thought he was ready to make his own way as a Smithy. A few years of saving up and he might be able to afford to build a smithy in the next village over.

Of course it was the dream of every smithy to be named the a royal smith and craft items to the needs of the castle. Just to open up a shop in the capital would have been a dream come true for Gobban. But a lowly peasant like him couldn't ever achieve such a status.

Especially with his reputation.

"Hey," a grizzly voice called, still half asleep as he rubbed at his eyes. A heavy set man came out of the living quarters and paused by forge to give Gobban a glare. "I thought I said that you didn't have to do this apprentice chores any more."

"Old habits die hard, Haslfur," Gobban responded. The older man chuckled and patted Gobban on the shoulder. His bald head shining as it reflected the glow of the forge and his beard a bright red like he were growing forge fire.

"Gonna wake myself up," Haslfur grumbled as he headed to the water barrel. Splashing the chilled water on his face he gave his beard a shake.

"The King is coming!" a boy said rushing down the street.

Haslfur paused a moment and stepped out. "What you shrieking about boy?!" he bellowed.

"The King! The King is coming to Kleinhavn!" the boy exclaimed as he continued his announcement through the streets.

Then Gobban could hear it. The sound of trumpets calling on the air. Rushing out to the street with Haslfur he could see the large merchant caravan, and with it the banners of Wasserland.

"I'll be damned," Haslfur said in shock. "Quick Gobban! Get out our finest wares to put on display!" He said as they both rushed back into the shop to get stands and table out so that the royalty could see what they had to offer. "And bring out that dagger you made...that one you named after a flower...Shade something."

"Nightshade, and be sensible Haslfur," Gobban said assembling some armor onto a stand before organizing some sickles on a table to display. "They want to see the skill of the master smith. Not me."

"Gobban," Haslfur said sternly. "You are a master smith. You have got to start having some faith in yourself. I'll bet the moment one of those royal ladies sees your work that they will want to know the man who made it. Now hurry up. We don't have time for dawdling."

Gobban wasn't sure about it, but Haslfur was right. After all it had been his project to prove that he was ready to be more than an apprentice. It was what made Haslfur sure of his abilities.

Rushing to a small chest he gently opened the lid. On a bed of burlap rested a dagger roughly a foot in length. The blade was triangular in shape at an inch and half width at the hilt. Etched into the flat of the blade on both sides were curling ivy and five petaled flowers. Nightshade, as its name implied.

He grasped it by the black leather hilt, decorated with thin silver cord that coiled around to the hilt. He rushed back out with the dagger in hand to the only place left on the table. He shook his head as Haslfur had placed a small pedestal in the middle of the table to place Nightshade. Haslfur was going to make Gobban's dagger the center point of all his wares.

Setting the dagger at an angle. He smiled, hopeful that maybe....just maybe, the royals would see value in his skill.

"What are you so amused about, whore's son?" an older man growled. Gobban turned to the man. One of the many farmers that had requested tools for his farm. "Has your master finished with my sickle? At least I hope your master was the one that worked on it. Don't know what kind of job would be done by a whore's son."

Gobban's face turned red with frustration. People call him whatever they wanted, but calling him whore's son suggested that his mother was a whore. Which she wasn't. But Gobban could never bring himself to speak up against it. He hadn't 'found his voice' as Haslfur would say.

Luckily he didn't have to.

A crack of a maul on the wood of the table near the farmer made both of them jump. There stood Haslfur with a pissed off expression on his grizzly features. "I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you from inside my forge, what was it you were calling my ward?" Haslfur's fingers tapped on the handle of the maul as he glared at the farmer.

"I...I didn't....I'm here about my sickle," the farmer quickly stammered.

"Isn't ready yet," Haslfur growled. "How about I send for you when it's done? Now get." The farmer quickly began moving when Haslfur picked the maul up once again.

The older smith's expression was much softer when he turned to Gobban, who was currently wiping away the tears that were rolling down his cheeks. He hated that he could never find the courage to speak out against those that would shame his mother. His mother who raised him to the age of five before a fever took her from him.

Gobban's eyes were puffy as he forced himself to keep control of himself. Haslfur gave him a hug with his tree trunk-like arms before he gave Gobban a gentle nudge toward the forge. He would deal with the merchants and the royal escort while Gobban worked in full view from the street.

The ringing of the hammer sounded once again. The only sound that seemed pure to him in the world. The only sound that could never be tainted. Not by man or magic.

Sehen

A thick fog coats the trees around my cottage. No wind stirs the leaves as I crouch in the pine needles, stretching my legs. My eyes flit to the forest, where shadows dart between the trees, smears of dark shapes through the fog. There are more today. Something is coming to Kleinhavn. Hopefully a merchant. It'd be nice to have a new variety of clothes to buy, as mine are getting old and worn.

A soft call, low and barely audible, wafts through the fog. The sound beckons me into the Forest. It takes all my willpower to ignore it, and walk in tye opposite direction, toward the village. I have a lesson today with two children; one is partially deaf, and the other has difficulty moving, his legs tangled from an accident in his early childhood. The two children, aged eight and thirteen, are so full of wonder, so innocent, so beautiful. They're smiles are what I live for. It reminds me of my blind bliss, before I learnt the truth of the world. I want to help them ease into it, one small horror at a time.

The fog isn't as dense in the village. People glance at me as I pass, some smiling, until the recognise me. One girl waves. I blink in surprise, but don't reply. Did she mistaken me for another? Her fleeting smile suggests otherwise. Such a happy smile. I shake my head, a frown etching onto my features. I wade through the fog, eyes flickering to each shadow that passes by. Something else is coming. Something big.

"The King is coming!" A cry permeates the mist, drawing my strides to a halt. Is this is? "The King is coming to Kleinhavn!"

Murmuring filters through the fog, questions, surprise. Shaking my head, I continue walking. The King. Why would the King bother with this town? Have we done something wrong? Or is it because of those, like me, that have gone into the Forest and changed? My mind whirs with questions as I reach the little alfresco where two children wait, buzzing with excitement. The bow leans heavily on two crutches, his blonde hair messy, his blue eyes as wide as his smile. The girl sitting beside him on the wooden flooring is bouncing up and down on the spot, chanting the words over and over. When they notice my approach, the girl leaps to her feet and dashes over to latch her little arms around my leg, brown eyes peering up at me for guidance. The boy waits for me to stand beside him, prying the girl's hands from my dress.

"Is the King really here, Sehen?" He asks.

My frown grows. "I suppose so," I admit, voice a little too harsh.

He doesn't pay any heed to my tone. "Can we go see? Please, Sehen?" He pleads.

I glance at his twisted legs, his white knuckles gripping the wooden crutches I'd had made for him. If there is a crowd, he mightn't be able to move at all. Althiugh it would be unfair to deny him the joy every child in Kleinhavn will feel at seeing something as grand as the Royal Family. Sheesh.

"We will let them settle in," I tell him, smiling a little at his triumphant face. "And then we can go see the King."

"Are we seeing the King?" The small girl, Kara, questions.

"In a moment," I tell her, pronouncing my words so she can read my lips.

Her beaming smile causes a small spark of joy to bloom in my chest.

"What lessons will we have today, Sehen?" The boy, Terrell, asks a little too enthusiastically.

"I was thinking we could use the fog," I hook a thumb over my shoulder. "Walk to the other end of town. Ill buy you lunch, as well, when we stop."

Terrell smiles wide. "Yes," he bobs his head, gold locks dancing.

"The fog makes it hard for me to see!" Kara announces.

"Does it?" I gasp. "I can hold your hand and guide you, then."

"I can pretend to be able to hear!" She giggles and grabs a hold of my hand, lacing her little fingers through mine.

"You can, but watch the fog. Watch out for shadows," I warn her, grinning.

"Watch out for shadows," she repeats, her eyes going wide. "Don't run into the people."

I glance over my shoulder at Terrell, who has a worried expression on his face. I frown, concerned about his mind. Is he afraid his legs won't work properly? That someone will laugh at him? People have learnt, through harsh words on my behalf, not to laugh at my students. All they do is try, and because if certain circumstances, they have to try just a little more than others.

"Terrell?" I ask softly.

He looks at me, that worried expression remaining. "Is it true you were once blind?" He asks.

Kara looks up at me curiously. A sharp little pain runs down my spine at the memory of my childhood. Of that night in the Furchtwald, seeing for the first time. I quickly pusu the thoughts away and nod solemnly.

"Yes," I tell him. "When I was younger."

"But you can see now?" He tilts his head to the side.

"Because I was tricked into the Forest," I bite my bottom lip a little too hard. "I was lucky not to have died."

"Do you think the Furchtwald will let me walk again if I go in?" Terrell looks at me with pleading, blue eyes.

"I don't know," I shake my head. "I wouldn't brave it, though. You could also die. I've seen horrors in there. Things you couldn't even dream about." Is this too much for a child to hear? Kara is just watching me in silence, and Terrell's eyes are begging for information. I lick my lips nervously. Too much. It will be too much. "The Furchtwald is dangerous, Terrell. You don't need that kind of magic in your body for the possible chance to walk as you want to walk."

He lowers his gaze. "My mother said there could be things in the Furchtwald that would help heal my legs. Plants. Could you look for them?" He asks, not meeting my gaze.

Plants. That would mean speaking to the herb woman. Tante Clara. Ask her about something like that. And hope she doesn't start babbling about my stupidity again. The last time I saw her, I spoke about the other shadows, and she chased me from her little shop with a broom, calling me stupid. Blasted woman.

However, I look at Terrell, and nod my head. "Yes, I will," I tell him.

He grins widely at me. "Will you?" He beams.

"And my ears!" Kara bounds up and down, tugging on my arm. "Something for my ears!"

"Of course," I smile st her, hoping I'm not filling their heads with false hope. "Now, let's go for a walk."

With a new spring to their steps, the children walk with me into the fog.

Aurora

"The King is coming! The King is coming!"

Aurel looked out the caravan window, unperturbed by how its battered wooden wheels were handling the snow-ridden roads. Partly, it was because ghosts couldn't exactly feel nauseous or unbalanced, and partly it was because they've both experienced much rougher terrain. "Ah, Kleinhavn--may you never change," the ghost leaned against the window, letting the sunlight pass through his translucent form, "As tranquil as the eye of a hurricane."

Aurora sat on a high ledge, leading to the door standing behind her back. She'd been rifling through old maps of Kleinhavn, planning her escape routes if they needed to run back from the Furchtwald to town. "You wish you've seen a hurricane," Aurora replied in her dry tone, chalking down notes with scavenged chunks of charcoal.

"Now, sister, for all you know we could've been kidnapped by pirates when we were babies, and marooned on the shores of Schwarztal after a large and miraculous storm," Aurel spun, "There isn't much evidence otherwise, is there?"

Aurora shrugged. "Well, you'd be right," she retorted, "Other than the fact that Schwarztal is landlocked."

"Ah!" Aurel snapped to her, a look of enthusiasm sparked in his dead eyes, "But see, it wasn't always like that."

She stared at her brother, wrinkling her nose. "Oh God, no--"

Aurel hovered to Aurora's backpack, sitting in the left corner beside the boxes of herbs and food, flipping the top and pulling out a book. He opened it, reading out the contents: "You see, back in ancient times Schwarztal was the home of Blackwaters, the main rivers of all the lands and filled entirely by water as black as coal.:

Aurora put aside her maps, reaching out for her brother. "That is geographically inaccurate--"

"But then, the wizards of Wasserland came and robbed the Blackwaters of its life, leaving only coal behind..."

"Aurel, give that back--"

"...And thus began a great war between the two lands..."

"Aurel."

Aurora reached out, finally snatching the book out of the ghosts' hands. Aurora shifted her dark, disheveled hair, tucking it back into her hood. She sighed. "I really ought to sell this old thing," she dusted it's blue cover, gingerly fingering the antique, gold-tinted lettering, "It's more trouble than it's worth, knowing your inclinations."

Aurel pouted, jokingly, before filling his cheeks with air and grinning. "Of course. As if I'd believe that," he flew to his sisters' side, sliding his head over her shoulder, "I'd believe all the stories in that book before I'd believe you don't fancy hearing them."

She glared at Aurel, clutching the book a little tighter. Because it's the only thing that brings you joy.

She shook her head. "You're demented," she stashed the book into her bag, scowling. The caravan stopped, then, merchants and royal servants climbing out of their vehicles. "Come on. We have bigger things to think about."

Aurora reached out, slinging on her backpack and grabbing the cart. Aurel stared as she turned to the door, smile somewhat diminished, utterly vanished as she opened it.

Joler

The carriages rolled over the rocky ground, slightly rocking their passengers back and forth. Joler was jostled awake after a sharp turn caused him to hit one of the sides inside the vehicle. Pulling the curtains away from the window, the deputy looked outside, taking in the beautiful scenery.

He was looking forward to being outside of the castle, since although he had been raised within its four walls for most of his youth, the man felt uneasy from time to time in the large place.

He constantly missed the lightness of his early childhood, when his mother was still alive. He didn't remember much from he was a young child, but he could never forget the joy the family of two had felt.

A sudden stop instantly swept Joler away from his reminiscing; he glanced behind him, taking notice of the King and Queen. He breathed out a little, thankful that that they were safe.

He had been worried for a split second as he wasn't sure why the carriages stopped. Turning back to the scene in front of him, he noticed that some of his soldiers were speaking to a what appeared to be a villager.

Oh! He thought. We must have arrived in Kleinhavn!

Joler proceeded to open his carriage's door, and gathered his things before jumping outside, nodding to a nearby soldier, who saluted him swiftly. He hummed a little, looking at his temporary surroundings.

His eyes were instantly drawn to a large forest a ways away from him, lured in by a mysterious figure standing on the outskirts of it. Their gaze met, and the deputy began to walk towards the other man, curious as to who the person was.

When he approached the figure, the other responded by smiling widely, something that immensely puzzled him.

Why is he smiling like that?

Joler stopped suddenly in his tracks. He was now close enough to see that the other figure looked exactly like him. By the time the deputy came to terms with this fact, his look-alike had already vanished.

"Who are you?" He cried out helplessly. "Why do you look like me?"

He quickly left once he became aware that others may take notice of his disappearance. Strolling over to the royal family, Joler decided to keep the encounter in the back of his head.

I will get to the bottom of this.

Helene - entering Kleinhavn
*

Greta had been sleeping with her head on Helene's lap for the longer part of their journey from the palace, but as soon as the caravan approached Kleinhavn she woke up as if she knew, and it would've been obvious even to a complete stranger that she couldn't wait for the carriage to stop so she could bolt out and explore the unfamiliar town. With Helene right there, of course, just in case someone talked to her, so she could hide behind her mother's skirt until she'd stop blushing.
"We are there, aren't we? May I take a look?"
She jumped out of her seat towards the small window on the side of the carriage, and a stone under the wheel sent her falling onto her father's lap. He caught her and steadied her on the seat next to him, raising his eyebrows.
"We're almost there, love," Helene said, and smiled shortly as she looked up at Will.
Greta stilled, glancing suspiciously between the two of them.
"I slept a lot," she announced. "I don't want to go to bed as soon as we arrive."
Will laughed at that. "If we have to keep catching you while you fly around the carriage, we might have to go to bed as soon as we arrive."
"I'm sorry," Greta said, looking down. And then, immediately like always after an apology, she changed the topic: "Is it true there are fairies in the woods?"
Helene felt another smile creep up to her face. "Who told you that?"
"The maid's daughter," Greta said with a shrug. "She said they kidnap children and eat them, and then put on their skin like clothes and go stand next to the parents' beds at night."

The smile was gone. Helene let Will take that one, and dismiss it with the same ease he dismissed all the folk stories and legends. The royal family of Wasserland didn't listen to stories. The royal family wasn't afraid of children's songs or word of mouth; most of all, the royal family wasn't afraid of trees. Helene made a mental note to talk to the maid about what she tells her child, once they returned to the castle.

*

Kleinhavn reminded her of her homeland, in the way two completely different places could remind one of each other. Here, as soon as the caravan stopped and the carriage door opened, one could tell from the scent in the air that the forest lay near. Low fog hung all around them, denser around the edges of the town, and made each light appear dimmer and each figure more forboding. As far as welcomes go, were there not for excited shouts of its residents, Kleinhavn made for a less than pleasant host.

Helene stood outside of the tent she shared with her husband and daughter. The King and Queen's, just next to theirs, was raised first, and neither of Will's parents seemed especially eager to leave it before the evening. They had raised the tents at a commending speed, allowing the family to change from their travel clothes, Helene and the Queen to rearrange their hair and makeup and apply the oil to their skin that would keep it from cracking as the day grows colder. Helene braided Greta's hair (something the maids would normally do, but that the little princess always preferred her mother to take on), and buckled her coat and exited the tent to get some air. It was fresh outside, but not cold; different from the capital, too, in ways she couldn't quite put a finger on. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and opened them just in time to see Will stride over from his parents' tent.

"We will address the town before dinner," he said as he reached her. He was different now: out of the privacy of their carriage or their tent, there was no trace of a smile, his posture was more tense than before, and even his voice was colder. Even though there was no one explicitly watching them, Helene knew they wouldn't touch out here, either. Displays of affection were for the shows they put up for the people who wanted to see their prince and princess share a smile or a kiss; real affection was for their private rooms, with the exception of affection shown to their daughter.
"I would like to take Greta for a walk around before that," Helene said. Partly, it was to make an appearance. Partly, as they both knew, it was to satisfy the little princess' curiosity.
"Take the guards with you," Will said. Had she been anyone else, she wouldn't have noticed the tired note in his voice.
"Are you not coming with us?"
He shook his head a little. "I need to talk to Jol, and after that my father wants to see me about that speech we're giving later on."
"Alright." Helene met his eyes for a moment, before Greta came out of the tent behind her and stole both of their attention. She wore the new coat, the one they had made just before leaving the palace, dark pink and embroided with silver, paired with matching gloves, and she gave them both an excited grin.

Fifteen minutes later, two guards following closely and one watching from a safe distance, Helene and Greta walked down the streets of Kleinhavn.
~

"Mum, look." Greta pointed, and Helene turned from a tailor's shop she'd been observing. Her daughter was pointing towards the mist, where the town ended and the forest begun. Other than faint silhouettes of dark trees, there was nothing to see there.
"What am I looking at?"
Greta's hand dropped along with the excited expression. "Oh... I thought I saw something."
"Perhaps it ran away," Helene said with a faint smile. Greta's eyes widened.
"Into the woods? Like a fairy?"
Helene looked down at her, and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her daughter's ear. "More like a rabbit."
The little princess didn't look convinced. She kept her eyes on the mist and stepped closer to Helene. "I don't want it to eat me and wear my skin."
"I'm sure rabbits don't do that."
"Not rabbits." There was a hint of amusement in Greta's voice now, the one Helene was hoping for. "Fairies. If--"
"Greta, love, listen..." Helene sighed. Was this superstition coming from her side of the family, like Wil always joked, or was it common for all children to believe in folk stories and fear the unknown? She gave her daughter a comforting smile. "Stories you hear are just that -- stories. A person far in the past saw an animal they didn't recognise, and since then the story morphed it into a demon. A traveller had too much to drink by the fire one night, and dreamt about nymphs and fairies, and with time the only forgotten part of the story was the fact that it was all a dream. It's how all stories happen, and not all are to be taken word by word. Alright? We are here because there's nothing to be afraid of. Do you think I'd ever bring you somewhere if I thought you'd get hurt?"
Greta shook her head, relaxing again. The smile returned to her face as she looked around again, and the next moment she pulled at Helene's hand.

This time, it wasn't a fairy: it was a young woman with a small group of children, and Greta seemed conflicted. It wasn't the first time they saw children during their little walk, but it was the first time that their heads didn't immediately turned towards Helene and Greta. Whatever it was they were doing, so close to the woods, must've been interesting.
Greta looked up at her. "Are they playing a game? Can I go see?"
Before Helene even got to answer, her daughter's hand let go of hers and Greta hurried towards the group. A guard made a move to stop her, but Helene shook her head slightly and gestured for them to keep watch as she walked after Greta herself. By then, the children and the woman with them had already noticed the little princess, and Greta's confidence evaporated as soon as all the eyes were on her.
*