“To Wake a Forest Spirit”

Crouched in the forest, a man hides in the dark green brush of the forest, watching his prey. Whispering a prayer to his goddess, he opens his eyes and steadies his bow.

Standing to get a better view of the creature in the clearing, he strokes his beard and listens to the rustling of foliage. With his sharp horns and goat’s legs, it is clear that he is not a human man. He is a satyr. 

But Fendryl is certainly not the merrymaking kind. Not with what’s happened to the world. With his brows furrowed, Roman nose, and sharp jaw; he looked more like a warrior than a creature of wine and epicureanism. His broad shoulders spoke of strength and years of fighting to survive. 

Drawing the string on his longbow, Fendryl aims right at the heart of the graceful deer. 

“Dionysus be with you!” Says a female voice, breaks the silence.

A whizzing sound cuts through the air, ending in a thud as Fendryl’s arrow hits a tree stump. With a groan, he turns around to confront the intruder. “You speak of the old ways. But he abandoned us, and he is no more.”

No one is there. Puzzled, he raises a curious eyebrow and squints in concentration. The creature should have a smell - but all he smells are trees. His ears prick up to detect movement.

“Why so melancholy, satyr? Are you not creatures of merrymaking?” The voice replies, echoing mellifluously through the trees. It is surrounding him. Bracing himself, he prepares to nock another arrow.

“That may have been true once.” The satyr calls out. “But the old ways are no more.”

The sudden abundance of flowers alerts him to the presence of a fellow nature spirit. He is in the presence of a dryad. The nearby trees and their leaves turn lush and vibrant as she takes up form. Vines and orchids descend from the air, to a single spot, before revealing a nymph’s graceful figure and ruby-red hair. 

She is Amora of the Court of Dionysus — with large, expressive eyes and heart shaped lips; she looked lovingly crafted by Aphrodite herself. Clothed in a white linen dress and a golden necklace, she is the picture of youthful beauty. Her wavy locks fell to her waist as she suns herself on a mossy rock and shoots him an inviting look. 

“Aren’t you going to ravage me?” 

Silence ensues between the two as the satyr struggles to comprehend her question. After some thought, he furrows his brow. “No. And that was my prey you chased off, you careless nymph.”

She gives him a pleased look, and stretches her arms into her red as if waking up from an age-long slumber. “Well, you’re certainly better looking than the other ones.” 

Satyrs were usually a little chubby from all the drinking and feasting. But this one was built like a god, with strong muscles and veins that pulsed in his sinewy arms. The nymph sits up on the rock, and looks him all over, from his sharp horns and scruffy beard down to his strong chest and shoulders. Amora looks at him expectantly, anticipating her compliment to throw him off. 

But he does not reply. Instead, he walks to the tree he shot, and with a great heave, Fendryl pulls the arrow out of the hard bark. Returning it to his quiver, he balks when the dryad appears behind him. 

“I don’t like competition.” She says, playfully, referring to the deer. ''Now that it’s gone, you can chase me.” 

Amora shoots him a coquettish glance, and starts to run away. She is a master of the love games played by nymphs and satyrs in the thick of the woods. The enchanting forest air and the romantic hues of flowers, a rough-looking satyr with a devil may-care outlook - it was the perfect setting for her exciting new love affair. 

After all, forest spirits lived for little else but exciting new romances, wine, and 

“I don’t have the time. I’m hunting, and I’m on a quest.”   

“What do you mean?” Her expression turns dumbfounded and genuinely shocked. “No man, or satyr for that matter, has ever refused me for that matter. One look! One look at me is usually enough to drive you lot wild!”

Had she lost her touch? She was determined not to. 

“You speak of Dionysus, but he left this forest long ago. You think of satyrs as merrymakers, but our celebrations ceased when the god of Wine forsook our people. Do you have amnesia?”

Amora gives him a quizzical look. “Last I remember, I was at the Bacchanalia.”

The satyr smirks. “You would have liked my grandfather back in his day.” 

“Oh gods!” Amora gasps, feeling faint. “Pray tell why you think this way?”

“The last one of those festivals was a hundred years ago.” He retorts. “Anyway, I have to continue my quest. You can follow if you want.” 

The nymph gathers her thoughts, perturbed by everything that was happening. Satyrs wear clothes, hunt, and no longer salivate at the mere sight of a nymph. Dionysus no longer throws lavish feasts. And the courtly games of love are no more. What went wrong with the world!? 

It took them a while, but Fendryl explained that the god left because of “urgent business at Mount Olympus” which he never returned from. Their group of nymphs and satyrs were left to fend for themselves and survive on their own, fighting for their turf from other races such as humans and elves. But accustomed to constant merrymaking and partying, many died or gave up hope, convinced their glory days were gone with their god. 

“We now worship Mother Nature.” The satyr replies, holding a closed fist to his chest in respect to the goddess. “She gives us what we need.”

“Is she not absent as well?” Amora asks, curiously. “I do not see any Mother going around giving people food!”

An arrow hits the tree beside Amora’s head. Unaccustomed to fear, her eyes widen in surprise but she remains immobile. 

“Where is your sense of self-preservation!?” The satyr shouts angrily. 

Fendryl nocks an arrow and shoots it, eliciting a cry of pain from the nearby brush. “We have to get out of here!” His ears pricking up, he senses quite a few footsteps begint to surround them. 

“Why are they attacking us?”

“Humans can do a lot with the magic of forest spirits.” The satyr replies sharply, punching a fist into the earth. Vines shoot out from the ground, grabbing a would-be attacker by the leg. “They’re hunting us!” 

“They are!?” Amora shouts. Her mother had taught her a self-defense spell before. She only had to remember it. Running as fast as her feet would carry her as the satyr pulled her through the forest, she tried to recall what it was.

But his rough hands were on her wrist, and she felt quite a thrill in her heart. Was it the danger, or his hard grip on her? She felt like she was getting pulled away to make love, but it was merely to escape danger. 

“Κρύβω!” (Hide!) The words escape the dryad’s lips like a distant memory suddenly come to life. Their bodies are spirited away into the trees, and the humans express confusion at their sudden disappearance. Only they can see each other now. She puts a finger on his lips as they hide in the leaves. 

After walking in circles, the hunters shoot a deer instead and leave the forest. 

Breathing a collective sigh of relief, both realize Fendryl’s arms are wrapped around her as their bodies hang invisibly tangled in the vines. He apologizes profusely, but is unable to get himself free. As Amora cancels the spell, both are on the ground again. 

“I knew you couldn’t resist me!” She says slyly, prodding a finger into his chest.

“It was the vines.” Fendryl replies sternly. “Anyway, I’ll bring you back to camp. I won’t leave a poor girl out here in the woods.”

“I’m not poor! I’m a master at love games!”

The satyr shakes his head. “They won’t do much for you here.”

After an hour of walking, they finally reached the enclosure of the satyr encampment, only reachable by speaking a secret language to a giant Oak Tree. The camp is within a hidden glade, with tents made of animal skin and several wooden structures. Amora immediately notices a large shrine in the center, with a statue of a goddess, and flowers around her. Unsurprisingly, there are satyrs everywhere, both male and female but no nymphs. 

Were her nymph friends perhaps in the forest? Were they lost? Did Dionysus take them? She hoped so, but why was she left behind?

Her eyes turn downcast. Nothing like sleeping a hundred years through the prime of one’s life. She so missed the feasts and celebrations of her time. The romance, the laughter, the love. It was more than partying. It was the zest for life that was unlike the dull humdrum of work and struggling to survive. 

A heavy hand is warm on her shoulder. “I’m sure it’s nothing like you’re used to in your time. But it’s all we have.”

She nods, tears of nostalgia dripping down her cheeks.

That night, she climbed into Fendryl’s tent, wearing just her necklace, trying to capture some semblance of the old days. “Please, I need this. I am lost, and all I know are the love games. I fear I am nothing without them.”

She climbs into his arms, and unexpectedly, he holds her tight. “Amora, you are much more than that. It takes time to adjust, you just need to-”

A familiar warmth pricks up at her from between his legs, and she knows she’s already won. 

That night, after their lovemaking, she dreamt of Dionysus and his opulent feasts. Nymphs in dresses of gold, and satyrs with their pan flutes and boisterous voices. Once upon a time, she was so happy. 

“Amora.” It was the voice of Dionysus. And she was determined to give him a piece of her mind.

“Why did you forsake me?” She shouts with all her might. “Why did you leave me here?

“Come, child.” He beckons her into his arms and caresses her long, wavy hair. “You made your choice a hundred years ago, remember?”

The realization strikes her as clear as day. She was tired of being merely a sexual object for humans and satyrs to toy with, She wanted power, and purpose. She wanted a new game. But the price was a hundred years of sleep in the Tree of Gaia.

“I trust you will do well.” He says softly. “Rise and wake up once more, Mother Nature.”

True enough, when she went to the statue of the goddess the next day, it looked exactly like her. She steps back aghast, as if looking into a mirror where one’s reflection moved independently from oneself. 

The satyrs give her a warm welcome, as the only nymph in the camp, and as their goddess.

Fendryl’s quest is complete, to bring back Mother Nature. Now begins his second quest: to help her with her duties. Looks like he has his work cut out for him. 

“All right, where do we begin?”

And so, Amora, master of courtly love, found a new game to play: leadership.