Pella, the beautiful capital city of the Kingdom of Patel, stood surrounded on either side by dominating mountains that ended at the sea and stretched across the eastern and western horizons. Nestled behind these ranges were rolling hills and fertile farmland blanketing the land as far as the Crown Peaks of the north. Creating a mystical landscape that inspired the town’s very name: Mystic Valley. This town acted as the hub connecting farmers with merchants who transported their goods to and from various cities and back to Pella. Not all could gain access to the markets behind the city’s walls as a pass was needed for the guards. This requirement played well for those in and outside the walls of Pella as prices from everything to goods to counterfeit passes are haggled.

A top the city walls, watchmen patrolled the high, gleaming gray stone structures. These walls encircled an expanse of homes, schools, and bustling markets filled with a skillfully crafted array of goods. 

At the heart of Pella lay the seat of power for the kingdom: Greystone Castle, the ancestral home of the Vang family. Constructed from the same grayish stones as the walls, the castle stood in stark contrast to the other buildings in Pella, which were made of bricks covered with painted plaster.

Timing was everything, and no one understood this better than the flower girl. Swiftly, she made her way toward one of the many watchtowers. Flowing seemingly unnoticed through the crowds of farmers, merchants, common travelers, and even so-called adventurers, she moved with purpose. Her small stature allowed her to slip between the towering adults, clutching a satchel of assorted weeds. As she approached the market gates, she was careful not to draw attention. One could never be too careful. Most times, she went unnoticed, blending in with the group that had just been cleared. With a blink and a glance, she vanished again. The little flower girl was now navigating the bustling streets under the swaying hands of the adults above.

Delving deeper into the crowded walkways, the little girl forged a path toward the marketplace. Drawing nearer, she veered off the main thoroughfare into a secluded alley, hidden from view. Gently, she caressed her satchel of thistles, and with a whispered “please,” a glint of light sparked from her eyes, transforming the contents into lush, multi-colored flowers. Their petals, rippling with vibrant hues, that would captivate onlookers.

Content, she peered from the alley, surveying the streets before her. Her destination was in sight.

Upon reaching the market’s lively heart, her presence was met with joyous welcomes from the vendors, who eagerly cleared a space for her. Their assistance, though self-serving, was welcoming, her unique flowers, unattainable by any other means, lured the ceaseless flow of patrons with their colorful allure.

The flowers’ demand remained high and steady, and word of her arrival spread swiftly. Each new customer that discovered she sold only one flower at a time and did not agree were quickly reminded to keep the peace by neighboring merchants.

This surge in visitors brought a corresponding increase in coins within the market, where her prized flowers were sought after. Thus, all prospered, even long after the flower girl had vanished once more. As day surrendered to night, the sky donned a shade of orange, and having sold all her flowers, she used her earnings to procure the modest supplies she required.

Satisfied with the state of her replenished supplies in her satchel, the flower girl brushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes. She cast a final glance at the now sparse market before vanishing unnoticed once more.

Upon reaching beyond the formidable gray walls of Pella, she hastened across a meadow, the city’s distant silhouette looming beyond. Ensuring solitude at the forest’s edge, she darted into the woods, her nimble form gaining momentum with the help of the underbrush.

The moss and grass beneath her feet seemed to buoy her along, carrying her deeper into the forest with ease. Her eyes sparkled with flecks of white light, her smile broadening as the wind played with her hair.

Matching the speed of the tiny birds darting through the trees, she stretched out her arms, emulating their flight. Laughter bubbled up as she weaved faster than her avian companions, plunging further into the woodland depths.

As dusk enveloped her, she slowed to a stroll, surveying the towering trees. One, in particular, caught her attention, and she brushed back another curly black lock.

Placing her hand on the tree’s rugged bark, she whispered, “Please…”

After a moment, she stepped back, waiting patiently. The tree groaned and creaked, beginning to stir. A wave of joy illuminated her face, awash with wonder, as she watched the tree awaken.

When an entrance had formed, she skipped inside the animated tree, oblivious to the shifting wood. The interior transformed into a cozy abode, furnished with seating, her possessions, and a nook for slumber.

She embraced a carved wooden doll, then set it on a newly formed table. “Tamika” was etched on its back. As the tree sealed itself, Tamika lit candles, settling in for the night.

As the morning sun’s embrace warmed her, Tamika basked briefly in the light streaming through an opening above. She then resumed her routine, ensuring she left nothing behind. The tree would soon revert to its original state, obliterating any forgotten items, a lesson she had learned the hard way.

Stepping into the world, she surveyed the forest, whispering a soft “Thank you again” to the tree as it regained its former stature.

Tamika’s worn clothes hinted at her lengthy solitude. She had to rest often; running too swiftly for too long drained her.

She roamed from place to place, selling her unique flowers and departing before her presence became too well known.

Midday found her playfully walking after a sprint, when a snapped twig sent her heart racing. She froze, scanning for danger while trying to calm her racing thoughts. Her ears detected it first, the growling.

A wolf, larger and closer than any she’d seen, materialized before her. Panic rooted her where she stood as the beast snarled, surrounded by a dark aura that withered the nearby foliage.

Tamika’s will to live surged, fueled by memories of joyous faces admiring her flowers. She commanded herself to run, and her shout startled both her and the wolf. She fled with her remaining strength.

The wolf gave chase, its powerful strides closing the distance. Tamika, in a frenzy, sought help from the forest, but her fear clouded her focus.

Fortune, or perhaps the forest’s own will, caused roots and vines to lash out, tripping the wolf. But the black smoke of darkness around it grew, and the plants’ efforts waned.

Tamika’s breath grew labored, and the wolf drew nearer. A glance back caused her to stumble down a hidden slope. Never before had she been able to be kept up with, now she was panicking.

Scattered belongings surrounded her as she landed, but she clutched only her precious wooden doll. As she struggled to rise, the wolf pounced.

Pain engulfed her as the wolf bit into her arm. Her screams were met with its violent shaking.

A rock flew, striking the wolf and freeing Tamika. The beast, wounded but defiant, faced its assailant.

Tamika’s vision blurred with pain and blood loss. Another rock hit the wolf, and it collapsed. The unknown man rushed to her side, asking if she was alive, but she couldn’t respond.

Her consciousness faded as the man wrapped her arm and lifted her. He questioned her solitude and her well-being, his fatherly concern evident.

He called out for others, but no one answered. With urgency, he remembered a nearby cabin and ran, carrying Tamika closely to his chest.
Exhausted and drenched in sweat, Mosi’s muscles screamed as the cabin finally came into view. With his remaining strength, he shouted for help, praying the place wasn’t deserted. A woman, previously obscured by her garden, stood up in response.

“A wolf attacked her!” he cried out, his voice edged with desperation.

The woman sprang into action, helping them into her modest cabin. Tamika was gently laid on a bed while the woman collected supplies to tend to the wounds inflicted by the ravenous wolf. Mosi, gasping for air, watched from the sidelines.

“You seem to have some knowledge of…” he began.

“Are you, her father?” she interjected sharply.

“No,” Mosi managed between breaths, “I found her… she was screaming.”

The woman eyed Mosi, assessing his intentions, but her focus quickly returned to Tamika. “She’s fortunate. She’ll survive. You found her alone?”

“Yes,” he confirmed.

“It’s odd to find a child so deep in the wilderness,” the woman murmured, then louder, “And you? What brings you here?”

Mosi, still catching his breath, replied, “I’m a wanderer, seeking a place to call home. And you?”

“This is my home,” she retorted. “Your name, traveler?”

“Mosi,” he whispered, the pain subsiding enough to speak.

“Strange name. You’re not local, I take it. I’m Deanna. Fetch some water; we need more to clean her up, and she needs to rest.”

She nodded toward a bucket. “There’s a well out back.”

Mosi picked up the bucket and limped out of Deanna’s cabin.