Sidhe-lands and stone rings. He should have remembered the old stories before he set foot in the ring of stones in that desolate stretch of moor. Hudson had entered it in the Scottish highlands, moors empty around him with not a sign of trees to be seen for miles. He had exited into a meadow, an empty glen in the middle of thick forest, with a small path leading to a larger road.
It had frightened him, at first. No shame in admitting that to himself ? not when he had been transported without knowing how across the worlds to the lands of the fae. Not knowing what else to do, he had followed the path, followed the road, and found a large city. Darkness hid the features of the citizens he passed, and when he eventually saw the hanging sign which announced an Inn, he had turned in its entrance gratefully.
There was a dragon in the Inn. He was convinced now that either he had somehow managed to fall and injure his head, or that he had indeed been swept into the lands of the Sidhe. It was, therefore, only fitting that of all the gathered patrons, it was the dragon, Icer, who claimed knowledge of a woman called Sianna Fraiser, a musician.
Hope was a bright flare, swiftly re-kindled. If Hudson had stumbled into one of the entrances to the lands of the fae, it was entirely possible that Sianna had done the same before. No guarantee that the woman was indeed his sister ? the only way to know would be to see her. Icer assured him that the Sianna she knew frequented the Inn. Hudson took a room there on that assurance.
Two weeks of strangeness passed swiftly. He bartered work and a portion of his remaining money for a small boat that he took out fishing in the mornings. He sold it to the vendors, not a rich trade, but enough to keep him. He spent evenings in the Inn, and left notes ? three, with no word back. Who could tell if they were delivered? Or if the woman in question was his sister, that it was not just a chance of names?
The kindled hope was starting to ebb again when a chance-heard conversation lit it anew. A woman mentioned the name in passing, Sianna, and when Hudson inquired the description seemed to match his sister. He wrote yet another note and gave it into Sylvia?s keeping. She promised to try and have it delivered, with the aid of her companion, Ewan.
Three lines. Only three short lines written in pencil on a scrap of parchment neatly folded. His writing had been hasty, pencil dug into the parchment with his firm hand. Three lines that, answered, would end his long search, one way or another. His signature had been scrawled onto the end with little flourish.
If you are the Sianna Fraiser who is sister to Hudson, I am here, staying in the Red Dragon Inn. If you are not, I apologize profoundly. I am ready. ? Hudson Fraiser
All he could do now was hope it was delivered, and wait for a reply.
((Note: Cross-posted to Sonnet 44))
It had frightened him, at first. No shame in admitting that to himself ? not when he had been transported without knowing how across the worlds to the lands of the fae. Not knowing what else to do, he had followed the path, followed the road, and found a large city. Darkness hid the features of the citizens he passed, and when he eventually saw the hanging sign which announced an Inn, he had turned in its entrance gratefully.
There was a dragon in the Inn. He was convinced now that either he had somehow managed to fall and injure his head, or that he had indeed been swept into the lands of the Sidhe. It was, therefore, only fitting that of all the gathered patrons, it was the dragon, Icer, who claimed knowledge of a woman called Sianna Fraiser, a musician.
Hope was a bright flare, swiftly re-kindled. If Hudson had stumbled into one of the entrances to the lands of the fae, it was entirely possible that Sianna had done the same before. No guarantee that the woman was indeed his sister ? the only way to know would be to see her. Icer assured him that the Sianna she knew frequented the Inn. Hudson took a room there on that assurance.
Two weeks of strangeness passed swiftly. He bartered work and a portion of his remaining money for a small boat that he took out fishing in the mornings. He sold it to the vendors, not a rich trade, but enough to keep him. He spent evenings in the Inn, and left notes ? three, with no word back. Who could tell if they were delivered? Or if the woman in question was his sister, that it was not just a chance of names?
The kindled hope was starting to ebb again when a chance-heard conversation lit it anew. A woman mentioned the name in passing, Sianna, and when Hudson inquired the description seemed to match his sister. He wrote yet another note and gave it into Sylvia?s keeping. She promised to try and have it delivered, with the aid of her companion, Ewan.
Three lines. Only three short lines written in pencil on a scrap of parchment neatly folded. His writing had been hasty, pencil dug into the parchment with his firm hand. Three lines that, answered, would end his long search, one way or another. His signature had been scrawled onto the end with little flourish.
If you are the Sianna Fraiser who is sister to Hudson, I am here, staying in the Red Dragon Inn. If you are not, I apologize profoundly. I am ready. ? Hudson Fraiser
All he could do now was hope it was delivered, and wait for a reply.
((Note: Cross-posted to Sonnet 44))