Giselle reached out in desperation for something--anything--to defend
herself with. Something sharp, or heavy, perhaps. Her bloodstained hand
closed around a smooth stone. She hurled it blindly at her pursuer, but
missed her mark. She let out a shrill scream, and then went silent as
darkness overcame her.
---/--{@

Lord Drevail rode with such urgency that his retinue could barely keep
up with him. The heavy footfalls of his roan stallion kicked up clouds
of dust in his wake, soiling the usually pristine uniforms of his
white-clad guards. He had left with such haste that he wasn't even
wearing the court garb he always insisted on wearing whenever he would
be seen publicly.

A cloud of dust in the distance heralded the approach of another rider
coming to meet him. Ardale, the lord's sister's husband's nephew,
approached him on horseback wearing his hunting attire; his expression
told of great concern.

"Lord Drevail," he said, "is there any word of the Lady Giselle?"
"None as yet, Ardale, but she will be found. She was wandering alone
again, into the woods, but after that I cannot say."

"Her wanderlust was one of the qualities I loved most about her, but now
it may prove to be her end. I do not hold much hope in these times, with
so many people disappeared with no trace nor return. As I rode, I saw an
exodus of people from the village. No doubt they fear as well."

"Indeed, good Ardale. But I will not abandon her to such uncertain fate.
You will have your beloved returned to you, and I, my darling girl."

"My lord, on the day I oathed my fealty to you, I swore to you that no
designs of my own would come before your command, but I now confess that
my motives are not for loyalty to you, but for love of her."

"As it should be."

---/--{@
Night had long since fallen when Lord Drevail and Master Ardale
approached the hermit's cottage in the wood. Lord Drevail's retinue had
been left to rest in a soft grotto not a mile behind them. Ardale knew
this place well--the cottage of Neirdring the herbalist. A roughly
engraved sign hung over the door reading "Neirdring's Miracle
Herbs--come inside." Lord Drevail pounded on the door with impatience,
but no answer came. Ardale peered around the corner of the dwelling and
saw a figure moving in the darkness. He beckoned to his lord and they
cautiously approached the robed man before them.

The hermit Neirdring was picking his herbs with care by the moonlight.
His garden abounded with the sights and scents of Spring. About them
were flowers, shrubs, mosses, and grasses in bright greens, whites, and
pinks, and as they approached him, he was picking small golden blooms
that seemed to glow in the darkness.

"Fair hermit," Ardale the hunter addressed him, "we seek news of the
fair Lady Gieselle. Have you heard word of her?"

The herbalist stopped and sized them up with a faint smile that parted
his heavy gray beard. "She was here," he said, and turned to his work.

"And where has she gone?" Ardale asked eagerly.
"Not far."

"Do you know where she is, then?"
"Not precisely, no."

Lord Drevail burst in with impatience: "I have no interest in games or
riddles. I command you to answer his questions directly!"

"I can do better," Neirdring said enigmatically, "I can show you."

With that, the flora in the garden sprang to life and encoiled itself
around Drevail and Ardale. "What sort of devilry is this?" Drevail
demanded.

"It's my fertilizer; it works like no other," the hermit said calmly.

"Whatever enmity is between us, old man, let us resolve it. Are you
after money... or land? Name it."

"I need fertilizer, and you can give it to me, and for that I am in your
debt. I have the finest garden in the kingdom, if I may judge on the
matter. And don't worry, you will be with your beloved Giselle soon
enough."

Neirdring watched coldly as the two men before him were pulled down
beneath the soil. It took only a moment before they were gone, and then
the hermit left to get his hoe to spread his new fertilizer.

Penned by my hand on the 7th of Naturalis, in the year 421 AD.