Entry for the Last Ship Sailing Competition II

Round Six

Prompts:

(AU) Greek Mythology - Nymphs (Potamides)

(word) alone

(colour) silver

Entry for The Ultimate Doctor Who Challenge/Competition

Fourth Doctor - Write about curiosity

Wherever Curiosity May Lead You (Magic You Shall Find)

Marcus' father had told him to never leave the path when he traveled through the forest on his way to the village; stories of moors swallowing incautious wanderers and whimsical and mystical yet vicious creatures luring people into their deaths had ensured that he would cross the woods as fast as his long legs would carry him. Never did he break the promise to always stay on the path, his will (and fear) stronger than any curiosity he might have felt while wandering the intricate dirt road. He might have been alone every time, but he knew that nothing would happen to him as long as he stuck to his father's advice.

However, Marcus couldn't keep his curiosity at bay forever; he grew up to be a strong young man, ready to discover the world. Sometimes he would enter a tavern after handling whatever business his father had sent him to the town for, sitting down with a beer to listen to the stories the elders told. They talked about the forest in a completely different way, as a place full of fascination and magic. Marcus always paid attention to what they were telling everyone willing to listen, and so it happened that he left the tavern one afternoon with a rumour lingering in the back of his head: At twilight, the whole forest came alive, and mortal beings could witness the spirits of the earth roaming the vicinity of their homes.

For a young man who'd done physical labour for the entirety of his life, magic was something he only knew from the fairytales his mother used to tell him at bedtime, and the thought that it really existed seemed impossible to him. Elves, mermaids, the spirits of the earth and the rivers… to him, they all belonged to stories, and not to reality.

With that mindset, he left the tavern, shaking his head about the old man's vanity – he must have lost his mind. He knew that alcohol, loneliness and high age could do that to people.

And yet, as he walked home, he couldn't help but let his gaze wander over the landscape left and right to his path, taking in the lush green of the mosses covering the ground and stones, the wildflowers blooming here and there and the faint rushing of water in the distance. How far was the river from here? Its sound was like a song in his ears, and his muscles trembled slightly, as if they wanted to carry him to the water.

There was a tingle in his stomach, the desire to venture from the safety of the path and explore the depths of the forest that had remained a mystery so far growing stronger with every step he took. It seemed like the flora had a tempting glow to it, the light filtering through the crowns of the trees high above him making everything look far too inviting. Marcus almost felt like the forest, or at least a certain place within its depths, was calling to him.

Could it really do any harm if he left the path and had a look around? What was his father so afraid of that he'd taught him to be afraid of what lay beside the path? If magical creatures were only a myth, a story to tell to young children who still had untainted fantasy, all the horrible traits and deeds associated with them were only a story too, weren't they?

The thought of his father brought him back to reality and managed to chase the desire to discover the new realm away; Marcus shook his head and continued his way, on the path, trying to only think of home, the meal that was awaiting him and the night's rest he would have.

However, his mind wasn't as free from the temptation as he thought it to be; that same night, he lay awake for hours, staring out of the open window of his small room and yet again wondering if the stories the men had told in the pub were true. Was there something magical about the forest that sometimes became visible? Fairies, elves… did they really exist? It was impossible to find sleep for him, and by the time he realised that the morning was approaching, the curiosity brewing inside of him had caused him to form a plan.

Marcus slipped out of his bed and put on his clothes before sneaking out of the small house as silently as he could, despite his father's snoring swallowing all noise in the house anyway. He lit a torch when he was at some distance from his home and warmed his fingers with the heat of the flame for a moment, then he took a deep breath and walked towards the forest. The darkness was something he wasn't used to and he drew comfort from the fire he was carrying, hoping that the animals of the night that surely lurked in the shadows were too afraid of the flame to attack.

As familiar the path through the forest was by day, as foreign it appeared in the dim light of his torch, and Marcus repeatedly reminded himself that adventurers had to be courageous as he made his way deeper into the forest.

It was unclear how long he'd been walking as the forest made him lose track of the time, but suddenly he noticed that the forest seemed less dark, less scary; despite the sun not having risen yet, the air seemed warmer and a glow was making every colour appear more intense. From one moment to the other, the forest felt alive, and not because of the few birds that were already chirping. Something seemed to be flowing through him, easing his worries, his fear, and Marcus didn't hesitate for a second before he set his foot on the soft soil to the right of the path. A second later he was convinced that he could hear some amused giggling behind him, but when he turned to look over his shoulder there was no one to be seen. He took a step forward, now completely off the path, and turned again, almost expecting laughter again, but this time, it was silent.

Marcus took a deep breath before slowly starting to walk; he didn't have a particular goal, so he wandered around aimlessly without feeling lost at all. Sometimes he thought he caught a glimpse of flocks of tiny, shimmering dots hovering in the air, but they always vanished behind a tree or a bush before he could inspect them more closely. It didn't take long for him to realise that the magic was everywhere, but it was hiding, as if he weren't permitted to see. Still, it didn't frustrate him, he simply continued to walk. Even without the magical beings showing themselves, the sight of the forest in this magical hour was enchanting enough in his opinion. He didn't understand why anyone would be afraid of the beauty he was allowed to witness; it was utterly fascinating what the twilight did to the forest, and he was convinced that he could feel the magic floating through the air.

Suddenly, a heavenly sound reached his ears and Marcus froze for a moment. It was a voice, most likely not human as the melody it sung confused his mind briefly and then he seemed to instinctively know where it was coming from. His heart started to beat faster in excitement and he started moving, following the entrancing sound down a steep slope; he was too focused on the song to notice that the rushing of water he'd heard the previous day was getting louder.

Soon he reached the bottom of the slope, which was now leading down softly, and he spotted a stream between the trees, only a few men's lengths of width; the crystal tide gurgled as it flowed through the sandy river bed, carrying small pebbles with it.

And then, he finally spotted the source of the wonderful song that had brought him here: it was a woman of a beauty that was definitely not from the mortal world. Her long brown hair was flowing over her shoulders and covered some of her chest, yet it was more than obvious to Marcus that she was naked. She had flawless, tan skin that looked smooth and had a certain glow; his parents would have scolded him for staring at her so shamelessly, but he just couldn't help himself, and not only because he hadn't seen many naked women before. It was because he'd never seen such perfection, and even Pansy Parkinson, who had many men turning their heads, wasn't this appealing to the eyes – and he'd seen a lot of her during their little 'meeting' behind the barn during the village's summer festivities last year.

She was still singing, a soft, almost dreamy smile on her lips, and only now did he notice the small girl that was with her – now he did feel a little ashamed about having been so fixated on her body, and his cheeks flushed lightly. As whimsical the woman was, as human and ordinary the girl was, and by the look of her clothes, she was homeless. They were dirty rags, her face was covered with smudges of mud, though there were some freckles visible, and her braid was an unkempt mess. The woman didn't seem to mind though, giving the girl a warm gaze while taking her hand and leading her into the water, where the current was gentle and the clear water shallow.

Marcus and the little girl both looked at her with fascination as she started to wash the dirt from her face and hair, still humming her magical melody; while Marcus watched her gentle fingers open the girl's braid and clean it, he slowly realised what kind of magical being she was.

A nymph, a spirit of the river; his mother hadn't told him much about them, and if he remembered correctly, she'd always gotten angry with him when he'd asked her more about them. Nothing for little boys, something that would give him the wrong ideas, she'd mumbled once or twice, and he figured that it was because the nymph had little modesty. She didn't seem to mind being naked at all, comfortable in her skin.

The little girl giggled lightly when the nymph washed her face and Marcus blinked a few times in disbelief when he realised that the freckles of the girl were disappearing, looking as if they turned into drops of silver water upon the nymph's touch. And like droplets they ran down the girl's face before they vanished into the stream.

"Go south now, sweet. My sisters will await you and give you a home," the nymph said softly, pushing the girl's wet hair out of her face with a fond smile, and the girl nodded before running off, the water splashing around her ankles as she followed the stream.

Slowly standing up, the nymph's gaze lay on the girl for a moment longer, then she was suddenly looking him directly into the eyes. Marcus didn't know what to do when she slowly moved towards him, crossing the stream; a part of him wanted to run away, but the other part, the one that was utterly fascinated by her, the way she moved, was stronger, and so he stood there, frozen into place. Her smile didn't falter, and his eyes widened in surprise when she stopped in front of him and reached up to gently touch his cheek; her touch sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. She smelled as sweet as the flowers growing by the stream, like the earth they'd sunk their roots into, and like the fresh water flowing past them – it was positively intoxicating. "You're here at last, Marcus."

"W-what?" he stuttered, completely captivated by her brown eyes, his mind unable to comprehend her words at all.

"We've been awaiting you. You're chosen, Marcus."

He opened his mouth to ask for what on earth he'd been chosen, but she placed a tender finger on his lips before a tone could escape him. "To receive our gift."

Before he really knew what was happening, she had closed the last bit of distance between them and risen to the tips of her toes, her body touching his. His breath caught in his throat when she pressed her lips against his in a soft kiss that made his knees feel weak; he wrapped his arms around her waist out of reflex, marvelling about how her skin was much softer than he'd thought. In the same moment, a flood of pictures rushed in on him: places, faces… and suddenly, he understood everything.

The nymphs sometimes chose a young man they saw worthy to receive their gift, the gift of poetry, which they valued greatly; it didn't happen often that they decided to offer a mortal this honour, and that was why he'd been able to hear the nymph's… Katherine's song. She was the one who'd chosen him, giving them a special connection, and Marcus felt like it was more than magic that bonded them in this moment as they continued to kiss. While he could feel the whimsical energy, and his body was reacting more than obviously, he felt like the kiss was something that had been destined to happen long before the nymphs had decided on him. It felt familiar, as if he knew the way her lips felt and tasted already, maybe from another life.

Katherine smiled as their lips parted briefly and she guided him over to a big patch of moss growing right beside the stream, their fingers entwined. He didn't hesitate for a moment when she gestured for him to lay down; the moss was thick and soft like a bed and he assumed that the sound of the rushing water could lull him into sleep easily. But when she joined him, pushing his cotton tunic up while straddling his hips, sleep definitely was the last thing on his mind; his clothes were gone in an instant and he let his gaze roam over her. Soon his hands joined upon her gentle encouragement, exploring the curves of her body with wonder, letting her guide him from time to time.

The soft moans that escaped her when he brushed a particularly sensitive spot were a more addictive melody than the song that had led him to her, and he couldn't get enough of it. He sat up with her in his lap so his lips could caress all the places that elicited these heavenly sounds from her, and his arousal only grew when she sang his name in delight.

Her hips lifted and their lips collided in a breathless kiss as she sank down on him, letting him delve into her depths. Their bodies rocked together in blissful unison as they swallowed each other's moans, and when they found their release together he was holding her as close as he possibly could, never wanting to let her go.

Spent from their union, they sank onto the soft bed of moss, limbs tangled and faces turned towards each other while the first rays of golden sunlight streamed through the gaps between the trees. Marcus gingerly pushed a lock of brown hair out of her face and Katherine smiled, her eyes closed in comfort, and he was astounded when he, who'd never been a man of big words, suddenly had a thousand ways of describing her beauty in this moment rushing into his mind. The way her warmth seeped into his body, how her soft skin against his still made him tingly, how she smelled… for everything he suddenly had the words.

She'd truly given him the gift of poetry, and had become his muse in the same moment.