I’m assured the sun is shining furiously outside though I am happier to be cloistered away in the writing cave than charring and/or melting out there. Do you know the weather people describe our forecasts with things like, “Plenty of sunshine,” and even, “Abundant sunshine,” if a quick glance out the window won’t answer the question in amazing, blinding glory? As an aside, thank you, Summer, but you’re now working overtime. Please kindly vacate the desk and allow Autumn to take over the next shift. Trust me, we’ve all earned this particular break.
Well-protected from such brightness and heat, I’m tucked away thinking about faerietales within the dark fantasy world of The Damning Moths. The legends which would inevitably shape the cultures found throughout Gantiri, not to mention the function of our own real-world grim tales. Our traditional “fairytale” form is often a veiled warning about the danger of wandering off alone in the woods; of strangers; of the dark; of waterways; of eating unknown foods. They are methods to impart knowledge, too. Stories of changelings which seem to mimic modern behavioural disorders, or tales to impress upon the listener the value of morals and proprietary.
Do fae also fear for their children exploring in nature, even when the forests are their homes? Would it be the risk of injury where no one can come to the child’s aid, or the hunting of predators, the necessity of keeping magical things secret? Do their faerietales teach the babes not to stray near a griffin’s lair, or keep far from the rival Goblin tribe? To hold back the little ones from being swept away by the playful, but ultimately immortal Elementals who will have no concept of the child dying if it falls, or drowns, or is burnt (especially when the Elementals think in terms of energy transference, rebirth, and the persistence of existence)?
What tales and superstitions and strange remedies would be passed down through generations of magical folk? Would they have even more outlandish stories to tell their children, as we speak of witches, and trolls, and werewolves? Or would the humans be the bogey? The loss of their powers? Naughty little fae can’t do magic, so be good, eat your vegetables, don’t taunt the Urisk just because he’s hairy…
~A
The Fane 
Considering the usual fates of humans who cross paths with the fae in standard fairy tales, depicting fae with similar fears of encounters with elementals is sort of ironic. Yet, at the same time, it speaks sadly of mankind’s own blindness to how we interact with “lesser” creatures.
That is a very good allegory to draw, in truth. I might find certain animals irritating or just downright disgusting, yet I would never choose to react to them cruelly in any conscious fashion. Animals are, however, not high up on the list for many others.
Taking a “course of nature” attitude with a creature in need seems like a cheap way out – you only have so many opportunities to provide a direct kindness to those in need unexpectedly, I myself will not wave my hand lazily at life and say “maybe tomorrow” when that situation arises, but how many others are willing to play the quiet hero to the insignificant?
Some of that I’ve learned through Ashlee who continues to be a grumpy godmother to all living things, however. I can’t allow myself to take credit for her influence. It’s not necessarily my first choice to be suffocating in found cats, for instance, although we’ve determined together that it’s a great way to do your drowning.
“Grumpy godmother” is kind of like the ultimate title for me. Excellent.
~A
Gives us an awful lot to think about, doesn’t it?
~A