Chapter 1: A Savior
A baby cried, its skin getting too hot. All around him, flames licked at the box and walls surrounding him. The simple, one-story house was red with fire, burning to the ground as the night made the flames brighter. The wind blew, moving the flames even faster, and ever so closer to the 6 month old child.
Outside, the boy's parents were trying to get away from the fire. Rather, the mother was screaming as her husband was pulling her away from her burning house, trying to talk some sense into her, his Scottish accent getting thicker as he kept talking. They were dressed in day to day 17th Century attire, as it appeared they had just put the child to bed.
The forest that engulfed the house and nearby barn was thick, but there was a road that led away from the house. Desperate, the man was half dragging, half carrying his crazed wife away from the fire. She kept screaming, cursing at her husband and calling out her son's name into the moonlight, reaching out desperately, as if she could grab him.
Finally, the husband put his wife down on the ground, about to yell at her again. As he looked down at her, though, he stopped. She had ceased with her yelling, and was now staring behind him, shock over her face.
He turned, trying to see what had quieted his wife. Behind him, a thick fog had engulfed the forest, blocking out the fire. It had come in fast, faster than usual and the forest was quiet now, and still. Too still.
The couple looked around, wondering if the wolves had come looking for easy prey, or maybe a bear. Their fear made them forget about the fire for a moment, until they heard a baby cry.
The woman stood up next to her husband, both of them listening intently, praying they hadn't gone crazy.
The baby cried again, in the direction of the burning house. The couple immediately began to run, hoping their ears weren't deceiving them
As they got closer, they abruptly halted as a ghost-like figure appeared in front of them. It floated just above the ground, looking like a cat-sized blue flame. "The willow wisps," the mother said, her Scottish voice lowering to a whisper. It disappeared, and another appeared deeper into the fog.
Cautiously, the man began to follow the spirit, stepping carefully, reaching out his hand. He was within arm's reach when the second blue figure faded away, a third fading in. They followed the trail of blue.
The last wisp floated above where the front door of the house used to be, and vanished. The couple stared at their ruined home, the black ashes covering the ground. Everything was destroyed, except for a lone box in the center of the ash field.
A laugh came from the box, and the parents walked forward, warily. As they came closer, they looked inside. As if a miracle had happened, the baby lay there, wriggling, no harm to his precious body. The woman let out a sob, picking up her son, causing him to cry out. The man laughed nervously, then stopped, staring around him. The fog was gone, it had left just as fast as it had come.
The woman kept crying, holding her son close, whispering half to herself and half to her baby boy. The moonlight made her pale face look white, and her son looked the same. With relief washed over her face, she looked up at the moon, saying:
"Thank you, thank you for saving my son."
Little did they know that the person who had saved their son was standing just inside the forest, her big, dark green eyes with gold flecks watching their every move.
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