by Mike (Binary Rhyme) Heffernan
One autumn evening three companions huddled against the cold and damp. Each felt their lot to be most unfortunate and were warming to a long evening of complaint. They were interrupted by a passing bard, seeking succor against the night. Reluctantly, they took him in, fearing he had a faerie look to him.
As evening drained into night the bard was ignored. The company moaned protest piled on grievance and scorn. Only after the moon had come and gone and the litanies waned did the bard speak.
“Seldom have I heard lamentations stretch to such epic length as yours. It is clear I have neither song nor story to cheer you in thanks for your fire. There is, however, a place of which the faeries speak that may relieve your misery.”
At the mention of faeries the three exchanged satisfied glances, glad to have read his appearance correctly.
“On the mountain south of here there lie two magical groves ringed in willow and yew. On the equinox the lines between worlds thin and mortals may enter the henge. Seek out the groves and their keeper to gain mastery over your plight.”