The Voice of Moss

My voice had burrowed in a tree,
shaped like a small gray mouse, shyly
nestled in gnarled roots, entwined
in moss, lost
among the green and vine.

‘So there you are,’ I thought, then eased
a tiny offering of cheese
toward my old friend, my steadfast curse—
my breath—escaped,
transformed, and then dispersed.

Yes, I had made an rueful trade,
for I was young and unafraid
of mysteries’ conniving.
I—naive, meek,
day to day surviving,

was once servant to a princess child,
a charming girl, loving and wild,
but cruelly also marked to be
forsaken, taken
by fairy trickery.

The night that the Fae came to claim,
the girl slept on, but I, awake,
spoke out, my eyes turned down in fear,
“No, please, go,” 
so soft only a fae could hear.

“Is that a mouse?” the fairy spoke.
His skin was moss. His voice was oak.
“If I spare her, what would you give?”
I had no purse, no words—
And yet the Moss Fae grinned.

He drew three breaths from out my mouth
and wove them till they were a mouse.
Then he and mouse both disappeared;
bereft, left
with just a scream no one could hear.

Years passed. Time did what time will do.
I listened, served, and worked, and grew.
I learned to read. I made a choice,
traveling far to far
to find my wayward voice.

Though silent, I did many deeds
by foot, by boat, by spectral steed.
Though mute, my hands had much to say
in art, in aid,
I aged, I grayed.

Then finally my journey crossed
me with a tree covered in moss
and a familiar skittish squeak
that I knew, knew
once when I could speak.

It took the offered cheese and hid, 
all while the sun’s bright fingers slid
down moss and over a green Fae—
unfazed, unaged,
enjoying dawning day.

“Ah, little mouse, have you returned
to bargain for your share of words?
Has it been hard for you to live
choiceless, voiceless?
Tell me, what would you give?”

And standing tall, my gaze aligned
with fairy eyes, cryptic, cervine.
I showed my strong and time-worn hands
fine-lined, divine,
and walked away,
content with what I had.

Written in under 48 hours for the NYC Midnight Rhyming Story Challenge, third round finals. Prompts were given at the beginning of the weekend. (Genre: Any / Theme: Cross country / Emotion: Bashful) It had to rhyme and be under 400 words.

I think I might adapt it into a short story one day. Hmm…