A peasent and the faerie
Two Formorians had been on the look out on a bridge:
"Why can't we just go back home? Pack something and go into the wildest parts of Greece and hunt for a year and a half the last of the golden stags, the boars of the Thracian groves, wilder and more ferocious than lions or the rats of Crete large as dogs? Why must we stay here, clad in glamour, hiding, monsters amongst men? When was the day where we could posing not as humans but as what we are formorians giants and pick on a Faerie, until it went mad with fury and burned the woods and the countryside? Where are the talking fishes which granted wishes when you released them? The things of man have made them all disappear, their apples taste like grass, their corn makes my stomach ache and spear in bronze and sword in iron wards off our kind and kills the things of the river if they don't turn them blue with their tanners and soaking textiles. When will we depart? I herd that some have left for ever, some deep under ground..."
A peasant and the faerie
Once upon a time lived a peasant, who had lived all his life working, praying and toiling the land of the lord of the land to which he belonged to. Opposite to the castle of the lord lied a forest black inhabited it was said by wicked creatures, daemons, spirits of old and was filled with powerful magic which had never receded with the passing of man.
So our peasant lived a hard, tough life, toiling the ground unconcerned about stories of witches, wolves and spirits save when it came down to listening to bedtime as a child or as a parent telling those stories, his heart in hand and love on his lips as he told about bogarts, sprites and dragons. A heart which broke in two as his land was torn apart by a wicked king, who's person under the form of statues of wood, stone or iron watched all over the country, their eyes ever opened. As with all kings who give themselves the chance to excesses, this king became a blight on the poor, a pig to women, a executioner to men and a terror amongst