Aeclectic Feybles ~


Greetings everyone- after all this waiting, we finally have some faybles to tell~

please see this thread "FEYble"

these are stories that you can vote on- the favorite of the group will recieve a book box hand crafted by our own Dadsnook..

To cast a vote,
just send the title of your favorite story & FEY written in the subject line
"FEY: Pentacle's Ace"
I get lots of crap mail and I'd like to be able to pick these out easily~

send your vote to:

I will be taking votes until the Full Moon the 3rd of June :D

***Story writers are allowed to vote***

here come the FEYbles-


The Feyble of the Lazy Ace

The Feyble of the Lazy Ace

Once upon a time a young Fey named Ace Pentacleese sat mesmerized with her paints, content at doing nothing except to draw patterns on her hands. Suddenly two gnomes came by, watching intently. "Young Fey" said they, "why do you sit doing nothing in your parlor? There is a great big FeyLand out there to explore!"

Young Pentacleese was startled at first, but recognized the gnomes as old pals. "My friends, in order to explore the world, one needs to know where one is going! I do not know where I should go, so why chance such an endeavor?"

"Not true" replied the gnomes, "remember the fate of Nathan High Tower? He knew not where he was going, but took the journey anyway. He ended up with a happy life because he took that first step. All he knew was the vehicle for that journey. He put his faith in his flying Tower and found true happiness".

"I will grant you that argument" said Ace, "but Nathan knew how he was going to get there. Do you not need to know how you would get there in order to make the journey? I lack the resources to take such a journey".

The gnomes looked at each other and then replied in tandem "Ah, but you forget the story of Dottie EightWands! She ran recklessly on her journey and got caught in the bramble. For eight days she was stuck. She did not know how she would free herself. She suddenly lacked the ability to make the journey, yet she knew where she was heading. Because she was resourceful, she utilized the bells adorning her clothing to summon help. In the end she learned that one must temper themselves; you cannot take the journey lightly."

"OK" retorted the Fey, "but you have convinced me that one can take a journey even if they know not where they are going as long as you have the device to get you there, and you have shown me that you can also make the journey even if you know not how to get there, as long as you have the determination and cleverness to rise above the lack of that device. But even you must admit, that for any journey to be successful, you need at least one of these. I have neither".

"Mr. Fey, have you forgotten old Herm? Mr. Herm It was caught in that stairwell for three long years, not knowing where those stairs led, nor even how to maneuver them. He was lost to his own thoughts for those three years. Whereas Nathan High Tower taught us we can rise above bad times and become happy, and Dottie EightWands taught us that even though one is in haste, in the end one can achieve their goal but must have patience, old Herm teaches us the most important lesson of all".

"What is that?", replied Ace Pentacleese.

"Why, enlightenment of course! Herm learned that it was not important to always know where one is going on their journey, nor is it a must that they know how they will get there. He taught us that the journey IS the thing. One will always learn something if they take that chance and venture forth. Do not sit here doing nothing, thinking nothing, being nothing. Go and experience life so that your adventures will someday help teach future generations of Feys".

"Thank you my friends! I will indeed heed your advice".

And with that, Ace Pentacleese ventured forth into FeyLand on the beginning of his adventure, one which would ultimately lead to fame and fortune.

The End


The Mandala of Escargoliad

The Mandala of Escargoliad

Maiela sat atop an array of colorful cushions, in the quiet of her retreat; her tousled carrot hair and her wings, creating shadows on the wall as the candle flames danced behind her. Her amber colored eyes fixed on the mandala, she painted a mandala on her palm letting a trance-like state transport her to the core of her very being; the place where one becomes part of the all, and the all becomes the one. The place where potential is born, and wisdom is found.

The kingdom of Escargoliad was a blessed kingdom. Its rulers were strong and benevolent; their daughters full of potential and gifted. Emperor Martan was stern but kind, his appearance foreboding to those who did not know him. Saia, his eldest daughter was a dragon warrior, found most of the time in practice drills atop her gleaming white dragon with sword in hand. Maiela, his youngest, was gifted with the sight, a rare gift. Emperor Martan would preside over Maiela’s initiation. Upon its successful completion she would join the ranks of his advisors, assuming her place in the kingdom and leaving her feyling days behind her.

“Spook, I think I am ready,” she said with a satisfied smile crossing her generous lips, as Spook slid down her right shoulder and hit the floor with a little thump. The design of her mandala was the reflection of the life giving sun. She stood, straightened her clothes, carefully capped her gold and orange paints, straightened her clothes again, and started walking towards the Dragon’s Tower where her initiation would take place.

The evening sun had begun to set. The gentle breeze caressed her face and ruffled her short hair. The purple dragon, the Watcher, peered over the edge of the tower watching her ascent. Verdoso, the green fey responsible for caring for the Watcher and the Dragon Tower, made his way through the air to join the dragon for his vigil. The dragon warriors, including Saia, continued their practice session on the eastern border of the kingdom.

Emperor Martan waited patiently, for Maiela to arrive. He sat on his free moving stone throne with Pegicorn, as always, by his side. In attendance were the kingdom’s advisors and priests, sitting in a circle around the inner walls of the tower. The atmosphere was solemn and reverent.

Maiela, trailed by Spook and Link, could feel her heart beat within her chest as she approached the entrance to the Dragon’s Tower. Feeling awkward and young as she peered at the gathered advisors. Before her was not her dad, but the Emperor of Escargoliad. Link squirmed passed her legs caressing her with his tail as moved to hide beneath a chair. Spook had long since scurried behind a column to watch the proceedings. Taking a deep breath, and closing her eyes in effort to ground herself, Maiela stepped into full view.

“Maiela, daughter of Emriele, Martan, and Escargoliad, are you ready to step forth and take your place in this kingdom” called the Emperor. “Yes, I am ready” she replied with a surging confidence that amazed her. “Then enter this circle and reveal your wisdom of our world, for this is your initiation.”

Maiela entered the circle, raised her arms above her head to display the mandala on her palm, she slowly walked the circle, making eye contact with each member of the circle. Reaching the Emperor, she extended her left palm towards him. “This is Escargoliad” she said. “Escargoliad is one of the living worlds within this vast universe” she continued. “Our kingdom is perched atop the Great Mother Snail’s shell, traveling through the universe at the whim of our host. This circumstance is a reflection of us, as we are also subject to whims of our leaders. Our very existence is subject to the whims of the Great Mother Snail who constantly seeks the light of the sun to bring us life, our roles in Escargoliad are subject to the approval of our leaders.”

The advisors, priests, and the Emperor discreetly looked around at each other somewhat confused by her words, but she did not waiver. “Escargoliad sits atop the spiral of her shell, enjoying the bounty of her journeys in the form of light and air. Her deliberate pace allows us to savor each moment and bask in the security of her direction. As rulers of Escargoliad our every decision is for the better life of the fey living in this kingdom. The sun and Great Mother Snail are our symbols forming the circle of our lives. There is no beginning and there is no end. We are all connected to her and to one another. We are all one. It is this symbiosis that makes us who we are.”

Raising her left hand, palm outwards, she began walking the circle a second time, feeling her way through this initiation through the power of her words. “We Escargoliads are a flower that continuously blossoms as we journey forward with the Great Mother Snail. Each of us plays a role that ultimately defines our kingdom. The role we choose to play is what we each give this kingdom, it is what makes us who and what we are, and weaves the tapestry of our history and our future. As leaders, it is our duty to let each member of this society fulfill his or her role; for this is our gift to the universe. This is the mandala of Escargoliad.”

Martan, his advisors and priests, nodded in silent agreement as Maiela fell silent and lowered her hand. Martan’s feyling had grown up and gained a depth of understanding of the meaning of leadership that he would not have believed that one so young could possess. In a seemingly simple symbol painted on her palm, she had summarized the wisdom of their world.

“Come forth and join us Maiela. Take your rightful place among us and fulfill your role.” Allowing herself to breathe, a small smile forming on her lips, Maiela assumed her seat among the advisors; Spook and Link crept up until they safely hidden beneath her chair. Now, Maiela’s real journey would begin.



Una’s Celebration

Una’s Celebration

Una da Pentagli whistled as she walked through the forest. The sun was shining high above the trees, dappling through the emerald leaves and turning the morning dew into diamonds. Best of all, Una was on her way to Feymarket to meet her lover.

As she neared the forest’s edge, though, she slowed as a strange sight came into view. Quatrina de Bastos and her sister, Quatra, were hanging all manner of strange items from their tree home. Ribbons garlanded the massive trunk, hung with bells, rings, stars and yet more ribbons.

“Good day to you, Senoritas de Bastos,” she called.

Quatrina, who was trying to hand a heavy brass bell up to her sister, turned. “Happy Feystivus to you, Signorina Una.”

Una cocked her head to one side, birdlike. “Feystivus? What’s that?”

“It’s a holiday,” Quatrina said. “Humans have them all the time.”

“What’s a holiday?”

“A holiday is a day off from work when you celebrate.”

“No work?”

“None at all,” said Quatrina. She set down the bell. “That’s what makes it a holiday.”

“So, you don’t cook on Feystivus?”

“Well, you have to cook. How are you going to celebrate without food?”

Una pointed at the beribboned tree. “And this isn’t work either?”

Quatrina rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue. “You obviously don’t know anything about holidays, Una.”

Just then, Quatrina’s cousin, Dizaine de Batons, came staggering into the clearing. She was carrying an enormous orange, at least twice as big as she was, and was bent double under its weight. She stopped in front of Quatrina, her face red and drenched with sweat.

“Is,” she breathed, “is this orange good enough for the Feystivus feast, Quatrina?”

Quatrina sighed and shook her head. “Oh, well, I guess it’ll have to do.”

Una ambled away, quite puzzled by all these goings on. She decided to seek out the wise lady of the streams, Fantina di Coppe. Una leant down over the stream at the next footbridge and rippled her hand through the water. In seconds, Fantina appeared, her flamelike crown glowing brilliantly as the sun.

“Good morrow, Una,” she said. “What brings you to see me today?”

Una explained to her about Quatrina, Feystivus, and this holiday where no one was supposed to work, but the fey were working twice as hard as they normally did.

“Hmm,” Fantina murmured. “We must consult the oracle.”

Fantina pulled her stone chalice to the surface and stared into its crystalline waters. Within a fey second, a golden fish swam to the surface and mouthed its silent fish words at Fantina. She smiled and thanked him. The fish leapt in the air and dove back into the chalice. With a flick of its fin, it disappeared from view.

Fantina looked up at Una, who was clearly puzzled by these events so entirely out of her realm.

“A holiday is about celebrating your identity and your heritage, Una,” she said. “You say the de Bastos are decorating their tree? That is because they are of the Bastos clan. You are a Pentagli. Your strength, your identity comes from your body, your hand, its five fingers. Celebrate that, Una.”

Una thanked Fantina and rushed home. She took out her paintpots, held up her hand with its five strong fingers, and celebrated her identity with the most spectacular pentacle a fey ever painted.


I will be opening this thread once a winner is determined.
There are other stories to add- and I'm sure everyone will want to talk about the Feybles.

happy voting



The Mandala of Escargoliad

written by Jewel

Congratulations- and thank you everyone who participated!

stay tuned for another wonderful story for your enjoyment


Congrats Jewel! :D :D :D


Great story

Jewel, that was a great story and represented the concept of the Ace quite well. Each of the stories were so different and deeply thought provoking. I think we all benefited from the insights offered.

You can contact me directly at in order to help me ship your prize to you. Thank you, and the others, for taking the time to share your imagination with us. Dave.


Sammo’s Mandala

Sammo arrived home that night all aglow with the Idea. For an hour on the subway she’d listened to her friends, gushing and waxing poetic over their new oracles, comparing them, doing subterranean readings for each other. Restless and a little wistful, she didn’t participate much in the conversation, though she managed an appropriately timed “ooh,” or “ah” at least once or twice. When the unit finally stopped in her neighborhood and the door sighed open, Sammo had long since quit listening to the external voices, for the one within was whispering something intriguing. She didn’t begrudge her friends their new toys, but Sammo didn’t have the money the other earth fey had for buying oracles and fortune telling gear. She wasn't overly disturbed by this on principle, seeing as she’d incarnated this time to learn about being without money, at least for the next phase of her life. But it certainly was trying at times to be so restricted, to not be able to run out and indulge every whim on the physical plane as it struck her. Over the years, however, Sammo saw how such restriction had helped her to grow. It forced her to be creative, to fulfill her whims in other ways. Creativity was a gift in her family. It was another, greater gift of the Lineage that she turned to during this latest craze of oracle acquisitions.

She might not have been blessed with money, but the gift of Art was hers at birth. She skipped up the station steps as the unit sped away, and exited the station into grey light and quiet streets. Most fey were home eating and socializing at this hour. She scuffed her feet over cobblestones, and raised her eyes to examine the sky when she felt a drop of water hit her wing. All the while, the internal dialogue continued, and her excitement grew. Sammo unlocked her front door, entered, and shrugged off her coat and bag. She hurriedly lit candles, saying a prayer to the Mother that the light would last long enough to allow her to birth the Idea, to give shape and physicality to an impulse. She kicked the pillows into a heap that invited her body, and flopped down, eyes roaming the small shelf that held what was left of her paints. True to the laws of abundance, Sammo was never without at least one or two colors. Drawing surfaces were easy to come by: Floors, walls, furniture, all were personalized and adorned with the Art, and most were even signed, in case she one day achieved fame, although Sammo didn't meet many fire fey, the self proclaimed art lovers of this world. The earth fey didn’t have as strong a yearning to fill their spirits in this way. Surely they adorned their walls and homes, but to the earth fey, it was a practical way to raise energy, and keep things light. Sammo sometimes wondered in which realm she truly belonged.

Reaching for her jars of paint, Sammo brought them onto the table and floor beside her, and popped the lids hopefully, although she knew to the ounce what she’d find. She had plenty of Sienna, and a good amount of Dark White, and just enough Tomato to make things interesting. Sammo squinted into the jar. She always had at least a little Tomato. She used this favorite sparingly, in spite of the fact that every cell in her being cried out to her to brush it lavishly over every surface in sight. Smiling ruefully, she left Tomato on the shelf where it would be safe until it was time to mix and outline. She glanced at the candles which still burned heartily. She picked up her brush and focused her gaze on the palm of her hand. Oracles relied on energy, after all, and her hands were the source of her energy, the font of her creativity. She gazed steadily, drawing deep breaths, willing her heart to slow, willing her right brain to give way to the left. She felt, rather than saw, Memo and Hoofer draw near. They weren’t usually interested in the Art. They must be lonely and bored, said her right brain, as the left brain noticed a pang of guilt flow through her solar plexus and float away as the two little ones chortled a rebuke for the way she chastised herself. A smile began on her lips and then was stillborn as in the palm of her hand, the Mandala slowly revealed its shape. Sammo drew a quick breath and stilled herself as the shapes began to form and meet in her hand, without even the benefit of paints. Sammo watched the shape and her painting hand itched to get to its task. She alternately clenched it into a fist and stretched her nimble fingers in order to harness the energy there while her third eye watched the Art do its magic. The time to birth the Art into the physical was when she knew where to begin. As Sammo gazed she felt the urge develop. She waited until the urge became the knowledge, and took up a ration of Sienna paint on the tip of her brush. The Mandala started with a sun. There were two in this realm, and Sammo knew it was the smaller, more intense sun, the male one, Khala. She touched the paint brush to her hand and, with almost no assistance, Khala took his shape against the lines of her palm. She spent a bit of Tomato giving form to his passion and to delineate him from his ring, Cephos. Tomato came forth again t o lend more fire. Sammo stopped to gaze again. She could see the star, waiting, but couldn’t birth it until she understood it in her heart.

Memo chattered and sunk his claws into her shoulder, drawing her jarringly back into her body. Laughter in Sammo’s belly quelled irritation as she realized the Knowledge had wended its way into her mind in its own way. She dipped her brush again into Sienna and began to birth the star, the eternal link to the heavens and divine knowledge. In drawing her Mandala, she was drawing an oracle, a way to bring wisdom into the physical. The star was of both worlds and provided the conduit, the pathway for Sammo to access the information. She chuckled and cooed to the little ones as a physical stirring in her stomach showed her where this link was located in her body. She realized belatedly that fey didn’t need physical oracles at all. She mixed Tomato and Sienna to fill in some of the open bits. She formed another Siena ring and stopped, watching the shape of the Earth take place on her hand, framing the rest. Many fey didn’t believe in the Earth, the fabled otherland, and many others spoke about it regularly, wistfully, although they hadn’t incarnated there in countless generations. Sammo was an earth fey, in tune with her planet and the lushly vibrating female sun, Khali. Sammo knew that the Earth was real, existed somewhere, in some time, and sealed this knowledge with a kiss of Tomato, a bold final outline, and her mandala was born.

Sammo was still peering into her hand, enthralled, and feeling maternal, when the bell above the door sounded. Berutha was always the first to arrive on Feast Nights. Sammo glanced quickly around the place, seeing her home as Berutha might, before opening the door to admit her friend. Berutha smiled and glided in, her dress immaculate, arms clad in gold, her eyes elegantly enhanced with a simple glamour (the like of which Sammo could never seem to hold), and every lilac hair artfully arranged into a state of playful disarray. She handed a platter of delicacies to Sammo with a flourish. Twitter perched on her head as usual, a living, feathered, expensive chapeau, and preened his feathers as he looked slyly around the room. He spied Memo and Hoofer lounging on the pillows Sammo had just vacated, and cawed at them belligerently as he dug his talons more securely into Berutha’s hair. Berutha, for her part, seemed not to notice as she sunk onto her favorite chair. Sammo knew without a doubt that the throne-like shape and design of the chair helped Berutha to imagine that she was royalty, or at least a member of the Earth Fey Court, and even noticed that Berutha seemed to act a bit regal when she was ensconced in the chair. Sammo had thus far in their acquaintance kindly refrained from pointing this out.

‘Are we expecting the others tonight?’ Berutha intoned from her throne.

Sammo smiled and nodded. ‘We are! It should be fun.’ Berutha nodded sedately and sighed, visibly relaxing her muscles. The bell sounded again and Sammo traipsed to the door.

She opened the door to Ver’ach, and her heart sped up accordingly as he smiled into her eyes and entered the room. Sammo accepted the bowl of libation from him, the beverage a fitting offering from a water fey. She had no doubt that his fluid vibration could be felt six stories into the earth, and she would pounce on the opportunity to make mud with him. The earth-shaped bowl was a fitting tribute to her own heritage, and she smiled up at him. Ver’ach fairly glowed, and was one of those who had no idea of his effect on others. For the most part at least. Sammo knew that he had to know of the effect he had on her. She herself glowed when he was around. She felt herself blushing a deep violet as she realized she’d been gazing into his eyes for quite a long time. Behind her, Berutha cleared her throat amusedly and Sammo attempted to turn casually to place the large bowl on the table near Berutha’s platter. Ver’ach’s family was very wealthy and royally connected. In fact, he was water fey royalty of some sort himself. It was evident in his bearing even when one didn’t know him personally. She didn’t care about his origins, herself, but wondered if his family would have a problem with hers. The idea didn’t seem fair; she was her own woman after all, dependent on no one. But she knew how these things went.

Sammo took the opportunity now to dart into the kitchen. She unwrapped the loaves of bread she’d baked in the early hours of the morning, and stifled a small yawn as she remembered kneading and flouring in the pre-dawn hours. She placed the loaves onto plates with hard and soft cheeses that melted on the tongue, made by the cheeseman down the road. He was her secret source, and flirted with her when she bought tubs and blocks of his wares. At the last Feast Night, Berutha had threatened to disguise herself and follow Sammo to market one day, if Sammo didn’t reveal the source of this delectable cheese soon. Sammo had grinned and invited her to try. Carrying the plates back into the living room, she glanced casually at Ver’ach who smiled at her again, in that way he had, before he turned back to hear Berutha’s endless story about the oracle she’d discovered last weekend in the market place, the one that gave readings so accurate that even fire fey were astounded and somewhat intimidated.

Sammo knew that her friends would like tonight’s Feast to be oracle themed, and that they would find something else to discuss for most of the evening, out of deference to her. Her lips twitched as she hid a secret smile. She would not only encourage them to indulge in their chosen topic of the moment, she would even start things off by reading for one of them with her Mandala. She put a neutral expression on her face as she went to answer the bell and opened the door to Mathos, Machos, and Seya. She greeted the twins by name, mostly to prove to herself that she could finally tell them apart. They were not only identical physically, but their energies were startlingly similar as well. It had taken acquaintance and study over several gatherings to begin to distinguish between them. Their younger sister, Seya, was a sweet and gentling influence on all Feast gatherings, and Sammo welcomed her with a hug.

Earth Feasts were the tastiest by far. Mathos and Machos headed directly to the table and placed down succulent bowls of root vegetables in herb sauces, and wasted no time in digging into everything on offer. Sammo rushed back to the kitchen, kicking herself, as she grabbed her best, mismatched (eclectically, she like to think) chalices for Ver’ach’s libation. She hoped he didn’t think her rude for not bringing them out sooner, and willed the knot in her stomach to smooth itself out.

The fey settled into their favorite nooks and crannies in the room and tucked into the feast, after watching Sammo light her Feast candles and thank the Mother and Khali for the food and celebration, and for the planet. Sammo could barely contain her eagerness to try out the gift waiting in her palm, but did her best to fill her belly and to converse with the others and to not laugh too loudly at Ver’ach’s jokes. She took a deep breath and listened to the talk about oracles and amazing readings the friends had given each other. Seya in particular seemed to have a singular talent for accuracy, perhaps because she listened more than she spoke.

The feasting slowed, and the fey licked their lips and fingers, with the exception of Mathos and Machos, ravenous earth fey, who headed to the Feast table for thirds. Berutha was coming to the end, thank the Goddess, of an in-depth description of the reading she had done for Machos. “It was scarily accurate, really. I amazed even myself, and I do highly accurate readings all the time!”

Sammo put down her plate and surveyed the others cagily. ‘I acquired an oracle today,’ she offered quietly, mopping up some sauce with her last piece of bread crust. Memo and Hoofer trudged over to lap the sauce from her plate. Twitter watched them distrustfully but whatever his opinion might be, he kept his counsel for the moment.

‘You did?’ said Mathos, surprise evident in his voice. He grunted when his sister elbowed him in the ribs. He shook out his wings self-consciously and tried again, in a more off-handed tone. ‘Oh, did you?’

‘I did!” grinned Sammo, and they leaned close to inspect her hand as she held out her palm. I birthed it this evening, just before you all arrived.’

‘Lovely!’ breathed Seya. ‘Oh, it’s lovely, Sammo. I can feel it speaking to me.’ Flushing violet with pride, Sammo continued to hold out her oracle, and allowed the others to peruse the symbols and praise her handiwork. Seya’s enthusiasm gushed freely.

‘Could we convince you to read for one of us?’

‘How about me?’ Ver’ach’s quiet voice floated to Sammo across the haze of fellowship in the room. She stared, not quite speechless, but trying to find a pleasant way to decline, perhaps blaming it on her inexperience. The words stuck in her throat however, because she couldn’t dishonor the flow of the Wisdom with half-hearted excuses. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to agree too readily. Who knew what the oracle would say? What it would reveal? About herself perhaps? In front of everyone? Seya’s sweet voice interrupted her though processes.

‘Oh, yes! Do, Sammo. I’m sure you’ll do fabulously,’ she trilled, with a twinkle in her eyes. Nervously, Sammo wondered if her feelings were a bit more obvious than she thought. Next, she cursed herself inwardly for not finding the right reply in time, one which would have spared her the experience she was about to undergo. She was an earth fey, and could create in a flash. She had none of the talents of the air fey, who had thoughts like wings, that moved and developed at the speed of light. Memo and Hoofer chimed in on cue, chattering their displeasure at her self-negating thoughts. Swallowing, she looked at Ver’ach and smiled through her jitters, and agreed, with a frog in her throat, to read for him.

Settling back on her pillows, Sammo breathed deeply, and instructed Ver’ach to do the same as he lowered himself onto the floor in front of her. Connecting their energies, she felt a bit of a thrill, and opened her eyes to see if he showed evidence of the same reaction. Her eyes opened to his smile, one he seemed to save for Sammo, intense and private, and feeling her breath catch in her throat, she shut her eyes again as quickly as she’d opened them. When all was right, and their energies were entwined, Sammo opened her palm and, keeping Ver’ach in her line of vision, she gazed into her Mandala, living Art painted onto her skin. She felt the attentions of the others draw close.

‘What have you been wondering about lately, Ver’ach?’ she asked. ‘There’s a great experience of mystery around you. Wondering, waiting, watching. You’ve been asking the moon, and she’s responding, yet you are not listening.” Ver’ach shifted his body where he sat on the floor in front of her, and made himself more comfortable. Sammo continued. ‘It’s a question I feel with you, and you are looking for answers and signs. And they are coming, and you are not seeing them, even though I feel they are giving you the answer you wish to hear. Which makes me sad.’ Ver’ach did not respond, but continued to gaze at her intently, as if he wished to see those signs in her face.

‘Your grandmother is here too, Ver’ach. She was half of the earth fey, and half of the water, an adventurer and traveler in both realms. She meets you in your dreams and draws maps and signs in the earth, things that you don’t understand with your mind, but your emotions are a bit more receptive to them. And yet you still don’t quite trust them.’ Sammo breathed deeply, once, twice, and went back in.

‘Your grandmother draws the sign of the crescent, the female, in the earth. Female of the earth? And she holds the crescent walking stick, a tool to get you to where you need to go. She kneels as she draws, and her eyes implore you to understand. She’s pretty frustrated, in fact. She thinks you are simply refusing to understand, out of fear. And she has little patience for fear.” Ver’ach had begun to flush a beautiful midnight blue that almost matched his tunic. He jumped up quickly to fill his chalice with libation from his earth bowl. ‘Look!’ exclaimed Sammo. ‘Your libation, born of the element water, is housed in a bowl like the earth. Interesting.’

‘Yes, interesting,’ Ver’ach responded in deep tones before he buried his face in his chalice, peeking over the rim to see if anyone noticed his discomfiture. Seya lowered her head and smiled into her own chalice, and Berutha simply smiled into his face. Sammo watched all of this with confusion, and wondered what she was missing, from her own reading. She continued, nonetheless.

‘You grandmother points to the moon now. She’s telling me that she was the black sheep herself, and it was the best thing she ever did for herself, to follow her heart, and shape her own life. She intends to incarnate again soon, and will insist on being earth and water fey again. She says she wants to be with those she loves again, and that you are making things exceedingly difficult, fighting nature the way you are.’ Sammo shrugged, and raised her head. ‘That’s all I’m getting.’

Berutha was leaned over in her chair, shaking with silent laughter that she didn’t attempt to conceal. Seya gazed at Sammo and Ver’ach with uanabashed glee and affection. Sammo wondered if she’d said something wrong, offended Ver’ach in some way. The thought made her mildly miserable, she noticed. Machos and Mathos gazed at each other, clueless, but aware that something big was going on. They broke the silence.

‘Well done, Sammo, and lovely Feast. We have to get to class early in the morning though, so we’ll have to say goodnight.’ They rose and brought some dishes into the kitchen, straightened some pillows and chairs they’d moved to suit themselves, and waited for their sister to make her good-byes.

‘Me, as well,’ added Ver’ach. ‘Early. Bright and Early. Before it gets bright even.’ Sammo saw Berutha’s face slide into a gentle smirk on the other side of the room, as Berutha straightened the space around her and hunted for her wrap. Twitter had perked up considerably, ostensibly happy to be on his way to somewhere where Memo and Hoofer were not. Seya frowned at Ver’ach and gazed at Sammo with disappointment on her face. Sammo thanked the crew for coming and walked them en masse to the door, Ver’ach first in line to depart, which he did rather speedily. As Sammo closed the door, Seya’s disappointment was echoed in her own heart, although she wasn’t quite sure why.

She meandered into the kitchen, where Memo and Hoofer scurried up the cabinets and hopped onto her shoulders. They knew she’d be wrapping the cheese now, and hoped for a morsel or two to fill their bellies while they slept. Sammo obliged them as she put the food away, and when she felt their bodies go slack, carefully placed the little ones onto their favorite pillows for the night. She blew out the feast candles, and noticed that the candles she’d lit to birth the Art, while low, were still burning. The bell over the door surprised her, and as she turned towards it, she noticed one of Berutha’s gold bracelets lying in the center of the seat of Berutha’s throne. Grabbing it up, she held it triumphantly with a bit of a smirk in the palm of her Mandala hand, and opening the door to Berutha, was instead forced to raise her eyes to meet those of Ver’ach, who stood there without his usual smile, and in fact looked a bit nauseous and perturbed. She’d never seen this confident fey look off balance before, and was struck. He gazed at the bracelet, and his eyes of course went through the center of the bracelet and locked on the Mandala. She watched him swallow with difficulty.

‘I’d like to come in,’ he said. ‘And I’d like to explain that reading to you.’ Finding she had no ready reply, she stepped aside and let him enter, grateful for the chance to apologize if she had indeed offended him as she’d suspected. They headed for the small table where the Art candles still burned, and each grabbed a little one to hold in their lap as they sank onto the pillows. Sammo rubbed Hoofer’s head, and looked up at Ver’ach, and waited, a little anxiously, for him to speak. He didn’t speak immediately, and her distress grew, but a glance at her Mandala told her perhaps good things were coming, and many questions would be answered in this night of the Earth Feast, so she settled in, and gladly allowed him to take his time, and hers.


A feast of "food for thought"

That was quite a Feyble, Sammo's Mandala. While taking place within a feast setting, the story was a feast of interplay and implied feelings -- a nice blend of earth and water.

In all, the Feybles have given us exposure to a lot of information and symbolism. I think I can speak for many of us in saying that the format that Luna has provided for us has been richly exlplored and that all of us have benefited from it. Dave.