((Reposted from Dragon's Tales))

Ah, the simple things in life.

Such things are easy to come by but so hard to appreciate!

Take for instance, one lithe, slender figure, laying casually on a branch that looks far, far too slender to support even the weight of his fae form. Granted, in this state he reaches nearly six feet, and while he may look like light and fragile is actually anything but. Clothed in multiple shades of green, he could almost be mistaken for another part of the foliage from the ground, were it not for the ethereal fae wings that shimmer at his back, just visible as the sun's rays catch them.

Right now, he's watching a pair of birds on the branch above, taking in the subtle intricacies of the mating dance they are going through, watching the male strut his stuff, watching the female pretend not to be interested. Were he not so enraptured, he might have laughed softly, watching this interplay. Even so, the smile on his lips is clearly visible for any to see, were they wanting to look.

He can be a trickster, true. Legends, myths and stories had reviled him for his ability to trick, tease and trap those who were unwary of his wiles and ways. To bring about the downfall of those who treated him and his kind with ill intent and behavior, for refusing to respect them as they should be. Wandering travelers led in circles by false lights, milk curdled in its bottle for forgetting to offer his people some when they had watched over and protected the homestead, simple little tricks to frustrate the unwary and remind them of their duties.

Other stories, just as bad, all true. Wives seduced and led astray, left hungering for more of his touch, in whatever guise he came to them in. Whether they were old women or daughters just over the cusp of womanhood (he did have some principles, after all), they had all been fair game, objects of desire to satisfy a momentary longing, the warmth of flesh against flesh, passionate cries and whispers in the night. Or in the brightness of day, for that matter - either way was just as good.

But there is the other side not so often revealed in prose and story, the Spirit of the Wood, the force of nature and lover of all that is good, caretaker of all life. He finds joy in the green, the growing, the fertile - whether it be animal or plant - all of these things are what sustain him, what give him life. Without them, he would be nothing.

And so this day finds him in the low branch of a young oak, living and growing and green, watching as the birds above him dance the dance of life, as the pretty female is plied and charmed by the male's good looks and bright plumage, a peaceful little smile on his lips.

So lost is he in his own, blissful little world that the intrusion of another into his own sanctuary of the wood is unnoticed. Well, not perhaps an intrusion as such - she had ever been invited, welcome anywhere he might be. The depths of such promises can know no boundaries.

Even as his thoughts are occupied by the dance of life above and all around him, they turn to the Sea Fox, the fiery-haired beauty he had promised his friendship to, along with whatever other part of him she wished to have.

A dangerous promise, that.

But then, all life is a risk, a game of chance. Bound as he is to the magic of life, he is slave to all of its principles, as well as master of it.

Even as his thoughts are turning in her direction, the mating pair flees the branch, distracted from their dance above him by a new presence. A simple touch to the threads of magic, the web of life that echoes and ensnares all around him, and the smile on his lips broadens.

"Hello again, Jacinta Malloy."

He doesn't have to look to see.

A simple, smoothly graceful motion of rolling backwards, turning over in the air, and he floats to the ground light as a feather. Cerulean eyes alight upon her form as he touches down to the ground with the lightness and grace of a lover's caress, his gaze still holding that ever present mirth, overshadowed by the happiness of seeing her. A hint of something else there, too, perhaps indefinable for the moment, guarded as it is. Not to protect himself, not at all, but rather because he does not know if she is willing to accept it yet.

His eyes can pierce any glamour - after all, is he not the knave that had mastered the trick of disguise? How many has he had? So many that one might think him to have forgotten his own true appearance, though the form seen now is it. His reputation for trickery is such that none would believe it.

And what he sees before him is no glamour, but the true appearance he had seen lurking beneath the painted exterior she had tried to project. Pleasure shows in his features as his cerulean eyes fade to be replaced by a deep, earthy brown, warm and soft.

"There's the lovely woman I have been waiting to see. I must say, this suites you so much better." A hint of teasing in his voice, but overall as soft and warm as his eyes, welcoming and gentle.

The warm, earthy tone of his eyes do not shift as he looks her over, that ever-present smile on his lips now a different sort of expression. Where normally it is seen as the mark of impish mischief, the trickster's grin, the smile that could indicate trouble is lurking somewhere just unseen, or, perhaps, could melt the heart of the willing, charming the very birds from the trees themselves.

Now it is a truer expression, one of simple, surprised happiness. Both at her being here, for he had not thought to see her again, and at the way she has been laid bare, something he had truly wanted to see but had not expected to.

A myriad of questions occur to him, a variety of things he seeks answers to, but none that seem terribly important. Well, save for one that he can think of.

But is he really ready to ask? As close as he is to his true appearance, one thing has yet to be revealed, the everlasting windows to his soul. Caution still reigns for the Spirit of the Wood, overriding that hope that, at last, he might have found someone that is his equal, a companion, one to ride out this eternity of life and magic.

And so, rather than ask the question that weighs so heavily, he settles for one that is far more easy to answer.

"How have you been, lovely Jacinta?"

He smiles, and for just a moment there is a strange shifting of colors in his eyes. In that moment it near seems to shift through every color in the spectrum before settling back into the warm, earth brown hue.

His eyes have no single color of their own, but rather, they are all colors. It is the closest that he has come in ages upon ages of showing that last little bit of himself, though he is unaware of it.

His voice is soft, warm, his eyes fixed on hers. "The world has treated me as ever it has, Jacinta...for the most part kind, with the occasional hint of cruelty."

Risk. Chance. Is that not one of the principles of life, what makes it worthwhile, worth living? Without chance, without that element of surprise, life is just a meaningless series of events, the safest path taken leading to boredom and stagnation.

He knows this, and yet caution with her has been his way. Why?

Abruptly, he throws that off his thoughts, and on impulse he walks over to her, closing the distance. Caution at last thrown to the winds as he stops just before her, near enough to touch, reaching out with both hands to take hers in his.

"I had hoped I might find you thus, Jacinta...though for a time I had thought that there would be no chance. It seemed to me that you had perhaps found your way back to the one you had been with before."

For a time, the knave is silent, unsure of what - if anything - needs to be said. Even amongst the purest of Fae the Malloy sisters have a reputation of sorts. None of it bad - it's hard for a Fae to consider another of their kind 'bad', per se. And in particular the pair of Jinx and Spade have managed to gather quite a following.

For Jacinta, he had coveted for himself, had even declared it openly to their king, and dared the man to challenge him for her.

Auberon had refused the challenge with good grace, for he had found a challenge and unmistakable beauty in another.

He's no mind reader, but it isn't hard to guess which one the king wanted.

At least the good king had managed to develop a sense of humor at last.

As long as you don't poke too much at sore spots.

His hands, still interlaced with hers, move slowly, disengaging from hers to slide up her arms, following the silky smoothness of skin over sleek muscle, then up over her shoulders to her neck, turning her face back to his with one, while the other moving down her back.

Every motion made with that same slow, deliberate grace. Pulling her in closer to him, to have him held against her, craving the physical contact of her. Warmth flooding from toes to fingertips as his hand reaches the small of her back and presses in, drawing her ever closer.

The eyes are now shifting color, rapidly, so fast they appear to be composed of every conceivable color at once. No guards, no trick, simply trust and happiness.

Still, he laughs softly. "Aye, I suppose that you wouldn't...still you most likely have legions of men hanging on your every movement...and yet you choose the one with the worst reputation of the lot."

He laughs at her protestation, his head falling back as he lets his mirth out to the air and wood around them both. Rather than sending those animals around them scurrying for cover, however, it brings them forward, curious to see what the Will-o'-the-Wisp could find just cause for such levity. From the smallest of rodents to a large stag deer, his crown of antlers worn proud upon his head, many come out of their places to look with interest. They linger only for a moment, though, before moving on, granting Puck and Jacinta their privacy once more.

This is, after all, his place, his domain, as none of the surrounding woods are. He has made this his home.

"My lovely Jacinta, you doth protest your own beauty mine eyes behold." He smiles, falling back into the older, courtlier patterns of speech so well learned in the realm of his father. "I have known many great beauties in my time, yet none to hold so much as a candle to you, and the true shame of such a thing is that so few seem to be able to truly appreciate such a fantastic thing laid before their own eyes."

He grins as he looks down at her, and in his eyes there is held every color imaginable, from the pure spectral shining of the rainbow, and beyond. No more masks for her, then.

"I cannot tell you where the path leads, my dear Jacinta...though I would say, were I asked, that we go forward from here." The smile upon his lips now is one that is all hers, shy and tender, hopeful and happy. Perhaps a hint of the love he has felt stir within him since their first meeting showing there, as well. His musical voice is softer now, as one hand, slender and graceful, comes up to touch her cheek softly, the caress of a seductor turned to a more loving purpose. "And I would like it if we could go together."