Keeva

Keeva, while collecting acorns, saw a strange bird, nearly as tall as she and purple like an artichoke flower, hop between two trees crossed like swords into the dark of the woods. Delighted, she chased after it, her bright red hair trailing her like the tail of a comet.

“The birch here are poised like maidens,” she whispered to herself, having lost the bird. She then saw, holding court at the center of the slim, graceful trees, a giant oak. The roots on this oak are thick as a soldier’s thigh, she thought, but what does this low branch resemble? She reached for it and upon her touch it began to move.

“You have returned,” said the oak in an eldritch language she somehow understood, and from his bark emerged a handsome face–strange yet familiar.

As they made love, she remembered words her mother told her as a girl while collecting acorns: “One day, little Keeva, the Tuatha Dé Danann will be born into this world once again.”