Gráinne Muireann

“Harpy Hare, where have you buried all your children?”

Prologue

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THE TRAVELER AND THE HARE May 1340

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Once upon a time, forty years ago, a little girl lived in Wandering Stones, in a little underground home made of stone.

The great trees of Wandering Stones stretched their branches high into the sky, their leaves whispering secrets in the gentle breeze. Nestled among the roots was a cozy underground burrow, its wooden door weathered by seasons past. The chirping of crickets and the trilling of birds formed nature's symphony, while bugs scurried across the rocky earth.

All around, creatures big and small made their homes in this peaceful woodland haven. There were no streets or sidewalks to be seen, for the houses were few and far between, each one embraced by the warm embrace of the forest. The sweet scent of burning firewood mingled with the earthy aroma of a flourishing vegetable garden, filling the air with the familiar comforts of home.

Instead of houses lining orderly roads, the dwellings of Wandering Stones were carved into the hollows of ancient trees or perched high among the branches, as if the very woods had welcomed the people into its bosom. Here, one could live in harmony with the land, each day a celebration of the simple joys nature had to offer.

The sun peeked through the canopy, casting dappled patterns on the mossy ground, inviting barefoot adventures and lazy afternoons spent listening to the wind's whispers. In this realm where time seemed to move at a gentler pace, the rhythms of the natural world reigned supreme, and the true riches lay in the beauty that surrounded all those who called Wandering Stones their home.

Here, a family of hares lived. The earthy scent of tilled soil and fresh vegetables hung sweetly in the air, for this was the domain of the gardeners and green-thumbed folk. A merry clan of demihumans they were, with the littlest one named Gráinne boasting a spirit as bright and inquisitive as the summer sunshine filtering through the canopy above. While her parents tended the rows and sold their wholesome wares to any travelers passing through, Gráinne would perch atop a mossbed, her velvety ears standing at rapt attention.

Oh, how her eyes would grow wide with wonder at the wanderers' tales of high adventure! Tales of slaying foul beasts, of romance with faraway princes and princesses, of getting delightfully lost down roads less traveled—each story was a magical window to wider worlds. Gráinne drank it all in.

When no wayfarers had yet arrived to mesmerize the little rabbit lass, she would turn her gaze towards the source of constant entertainment all its own—her rambunctious brood of siblings. No fewer than eleven of them there were, all spilled out in a tangle of wiggling noses and fluffy tails as they rollicked through dirt patches and dodged under the billowing protection of their mother's skirts.

The joyful chaos brought an adoring smile to Gráinne's muzzle as she watched Niamh and Saoirse playfully squabble, or little Oisin attempt to construct a ramshackle den from twigs and leaves. Her maternal heart swelled with pride to count herself their elder by a mere hour, a fact she never let them forget as she lovingly herded them inside come evening to scrub off the day's dusty shenanigans. But before that nightly routine could commence, there was one more ritual dear Gráinne simply had to keep. As the first twinkling stars began to emerge, the wee bunny would carefully slip out amongst the thriving vegetables. Stretching out on her back amidst the tangled vines and plump fruits, she would gaze contentedly skyward through the latticed branches.

The night-blooming flowers seemed to wink at her in greeting, while the rich loam soothed her twitching nose with its grounding aroma. A tranquil certainty would envelop Gráinne then—that she was exactly where she was meant to be, surrounded by the simple yet profound beauty of the natural world. Inevitably, her parents would find their wandering daughter, gently chiding yet unable to stay cross with one so purely at peace with herself and her woodland home. With tender words and a warm embrace, they would scoop up their dreaming babe and tuck her securely into her mossy bed, the garden's whispers lulling her to sleep with promises of more stories yet to come.

Though many seasons have passed and the years have carried her far across distant horizons, Gráinne's heart remains forever anchored in those cherished days of her earliest youth. If she closes her eyes, she can still smell the hearty stew simmering over the crackling fire as her family huddled close, their laughter and squabbles echoing through the cozy den they called home.

They were an unruly litter to be sure, a rowdy pack of rambunctious siblings constantly leaving trails of mud and mischief. Yet through it all, the unbreakable cords of love bound them as tightly as the branches shielding their burrow from winter's chill. For in that sanctuary amongst the whispering trees, even the smallest chore became a celebration when they tackled it as one.

Gráinne can still picture her mother's gentle paws meticulously working each knot from their unruly fur as the first rays of dawn peeked through the canopy above. Her father's deep chuckle would rumble through the burrow as he roused them, calling out in that warm timbre that a new day's adventures awaited. Then it was Gráinne's honor to help wrangle her raucous nestmates, ensuring each paw was scrubbed pink and shining before they gathered round the bountiful breakfast spread.

Oh, how Gráinne cherished those simple moments amidst the happy chaos! Weaving wildflowers into her sisters' sleek coats, listening raptly as her father spun tales of his own wayward youth, or watching with equal parts pride and mirth as the little ones toddled about underfoot. Their humble den was a kingdom unto itself, and though their riches could not be measured in coin or jewel, their cups overflowed with love, laughter, and the priceless bonds of family.

When the first chill winds ushered in the long slumber of frost season, their bustling burrow became a cozy refuge bathed in the flicker of firelight and pungent scents of preserves being jarred. Though Gráinne's rambunctious siblings grew restless within those snug quarters, she delighted in the closeness, in bearing witness to the effortless affection between her mother and father as another year's harvest was lovingly tended.

Yet as much as Gráinne adored those tranquil respites, her soul yearned for the woods to rouse once more with the song of birds and scurry of fresh life. For it was then that their home flung open its hearth to the world once again, welcoming the wanderers and travelers with the same warmth shown to family. Gráinne would sit for hours, mesmerized by their stories of realms unseen, her paws reverently caressing each gifted treasure as if it may whisk her away to those distant adventures.

Those memories shaped little Gráinne.

Why was she reminiscing? Well...

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It was forty years ago. The first time she witnessed a wandering traveler visit her parents' farms, the first memory of asking the traveler for his tales while handing him some lemon juice and a cookie. The traveler was an elf, who had just passed through from rescuing a princess from a tower.

The elf had given her a trinket, a piece of jewelry the royal princess had given to him in thanks. She wore that necklace around her neck as she brushed her fingers against the shelves dedicated to trinkets.

The steady pounding of raindrops formed a calming drumbeat against the soil above Gráinne's underground burrow. She smiled at the thought of her poor vegetable garden finally receiving a respite from the unrelenting summer drought. Soon, those tender green shoots would stretch towards the storm-swollen clouds, greedily soaking in nature's overdue offering.

As Gráinne made her way through the dimly lit kitchen, the burrow's interior was illuminated in sporadic flashes by forks of lightning streaking across the dark sky. Those familiar cozy sights were temporarily awash in an ethereal glow - the lovingly scrubbed wooden table with its intricate whorls, the row of mismatched crockery passed down through generations, and the faded needlepoint cushions she had stitched in her girlhood.

In the stillness between thunderclaps, Gráinne could make out the steady drip of rainwater seeping through the earthen ceiling, a soothing cadence accompanying the crackle of flames in the hearth. With each inhale, her lungs filled with the fresh scents of rain-soaked soil and newly sprouted greens mingling with the earthy aroma of a well-tended root cellar.

Pausing to smooth the worn folds of her apron over her lap, Gráinne settled into the familiarity of her rocking chair. As the storm's low rumbles resonated through the burrow's thick walls, a melancholic pang rippled through her heart. Her gaze drifted to the family table, and she was transported back to those halcyon days of her childhood.

The once-silent room now echoed with the phantom laughter of a dozen siblings squabbling over the last biscuit, the clatter of tin plates, and the lively chatter of kinfolk trading stories of the day's adventures. Gráinne reminisced about her mother's weary yet radiant smile as she surveyed her unruly brood, and the tender way her father would steal an embrace meant only for her eyes.

So many moons had waxed and waned since those cherished memories now lived solely in the halls of Gráinne's heart. Yet in moments when rain pattered against this sheltering refuge carved from the ancient oaks' gnarled roots, she could almost glimpse the vibrant tapestry of her younger years.

A solitary tear traced its path down Gráinne's furrowed cheek as she blinked back to the present, to the burrow's comforting stillness once more. While those she loved most dearly now dwelled in the sweet hereafter, their spirits endured in every beam of this sanctuary wrought by their calloused hands. Gráinne may wander through autumn's twilight alone, but the warmth of those kindled memories would forever burn eternal.

Her husband loved the rain. He would pull her into it, and they would dance until they came back inside. The multiple fevers and flus, he stated with a lopsided grin, only strengthened them. Aengus was her love, and although they only had a little over a decade of being married, Gráinne cherished him dearly. She missed him terribly, but she knew she had to move on, at least until she reunited with him again.

Looking out the window, lightning struck and lit up the front of her burrow in the gardens. A shadowy glimpse caught her attention, her ears pricking and nose twitching curiously. No one should be out here in this rain - it was pouring cats and dogs out there. That poor soul would surely catch a fever! Gráinne gathered an umbrella, her ears folding beneath as she reached to open the front door of her burrow. The wind howled fiercely, whipping the rain in harsh, stinging sheets across Gráinne's face as she bravely stepped out into the tempest. Her skirts were drenched within seconds, the heavy fabric clinging and dragging at her legs. She clutched the umbrella tight, but it offered little shelter against the storm's relentless onslaught.

All around her humble burrow, the raging downpour pounded the earth into a muddy quagmire. The vegetable garden, usually so lush and vibrant, was now beaten down by the deluge. Tender seedlings lay flattened and half-buried beneath the torrent as if weeping at their cruel battering. Even the towering trees of Wandering Stones swayed and creaked in protest against the gale's powerful gusts.

Gráinne squinted through the gloom, straining to catch another glimpse of the shadowy figure she had seen from her window. "Hallae? Can ye hear me, mo chridhe?" she called, cupping one hand around her mouth in a vain attempt to project her voice over the thunderous roar of the storm.

Her eyes scanned the front garden, searching for any movement or sign of life beyond the whipping boughs and cascading rivulets. A shiver ran through her, and not just from the chill of the downpour soaking through her clothes. The thought of some poor soul trapped out in this tempest, with no shelter or warmth, twisted her heart.

"If ye're oot there, I mean ye nae harm!" Gráinne pressed on, sloshing a few more paces into the mire. "You'll catch your death staying out in this! Please, come inside where it's dry and we can get you warmed up!"

A sudden crack of lightning split the sky, the brilliant flash briefly illuminating Gráinne's surroundings in stark whites and blacks. Just for an instant, she caught hints of disturbed foliage near the edge of the garden, as if someone or something had pushed through the shrubbery recently. Gráinne stared hard through the torrent, her eyes straining to pierce the gloom, but the darkness swallowed any further details.

Drawing a deep, steadying breath, she made up her mind. Gathering her sopping skirts, Gráinne began wading in the direction of the disturbance, her free hand outstretched to feel her way through the deluge. Aengus would not have approved of her wandering blindly into potential danger, she knew. But the thought of leaving a fellow creature, human or otherwise, to fend for itself in this brutal maelstrom was unthinkable.