valley, which I realize is truly tiny. It can't be larger than a city block. There's an ancient oak at the very back, as wide as it is tall, broad as a house and bare of leaves. A stream of the large bees floats in and out of a huge crack in its trunk, and we stop at a respectful distance. "There," he says, "is where she lives, and where the honey comes from."
"She? The queen bee?"
"No, but good guess. Maybe she'll come. Iminyë?"
I wait, eyes wide. Nothing. The bees, however, stop issuing forth from the crack. Silence. I glance up at Soren, who nods reassuringly to me. I gulp. What am I about to meet?
There's a faint buzz, and then a plump little figure flies up out of the crack. No larger than my hand, she glows with a faint golden radiance, and the air immediately fills with the rich smell of honey. Her skin is dusted copper, and her eyes are at once alien and beautiful. She floats up, leaving a shimmering trail of golden light behind her, and then stops before us, hovering in mid-air.
She's beautiful. And curvy, just like me. Whoever this Iminyë is, she clearly likes her honey and other tasty treats. And, I realize, she's inspecting me just as closely as I am her.
"Soren," she says, her voice rich and elegant like that of a cat that's had its fill of cream. "Who have you brought to visit?"
"Iminyë," he says with a short bow. "This is Anita Hall, of Honeycomb Falls."
In a moment of panic I sketch off a curtsy, which seems to please Iminyë, as she smiles and claps her little hands. "Hello," I say. "It's an honor to meet you."
"Hmm," she says, and then darts forward, circling around my head. I turn, trying to keep her in sight, but she's nimble and quick, and quickly moves to my pack that's hanging from Soren's shoulder. "In here. I sense something delicious. Wonderful. Magical. What is it?"
Soren looks at me in confusion. My mind races. What is she talking about? I shrug to Soren, who lowers the pack to the ground and opens the flap.
Iminyë points imperiously. "Inside. Hurry!"
Soren looks like he doesn't know whether to laugh or look nervous, so he quickly starts pulling out my belongings. Each time Iminyë shakes her head, until finally he reaches the bottom of the pack and draws forth my rhubarb and strawberry tart in its beige Tupperware container.
"Yes!" Iminyë claps her hands. "This! Open!"
I nod to Soren, who pries open the lid and sets the Tupperware down on a rock. Iminyë darts down and lands on the rock, leaning over the edge of the Tupperware to gaze at the crimson surface of the tart. "Ooh," she whispers, then looks up at me. "Did you make this?"
"Yes." My heart is racing. "It's an old recipe of my grandmother's."
Iminyë goes to sink both hands into the tart and then pauses and looks up guiltily at me. "May I?"
I smile. "Of course!"
The honey fairy needs no more urging. She scoops up maybe a tablespoon's worth, which looks massive in her hands. She happily licks the at the red filling, then groans. "Ooh. Delicious!"
Soren grins and sits on a rock close by, and I do the same. "You like it?"
Iminyë doesn't respond. Instead, she shoves an improbably large amount into her mouth, her cheeks bulging out like a squirrel's, and looks up at me, wide-eyed, lips smeared with red liquid, and nods emphatically.
"Here," I say, grabbing a cake knife from my pack and handing it to Soren. "Try some. I was planning to serve this as a celebration if all went well."
"Which," he says, voice a low rumble, "it looks to be doing." He cuts me a slice, then hesitates and cuts a large one for himself, and for a minute there's no sound but that of our chewing and Soren moaning as he frowns in surprise and delight, interspersed with high-pitched giggles from Iminyë, who can't seem to stop eating. I grin. I feel a pure and simple happiness. Joy. I'm sitting in a magical valley with a hunky werebear and the cutest honey fairy, and we're all enjoying my grandmother's tart. No matter what comes down the road, this
"She? The queen bee?"
"No, but good guess. Maybe she'll come. Iminyë?"
I wait, eyes wide. Nothing. The bees, however, stop issuing forth from the crack. Silence. I glance up at Soren, who nods reassuringly to me. I gulp. What am I about to meet?
There's a faint buzz, and then a plump little figure flies up out of the crack. No larger than my hand, she glows with a faint golden radiance, and the air immediately fills with the rich smell of honey. Her skin is dusted copper, and her eyes are at once alien and beautiful. She floats up, leaving a shimmering trail of golden light behind her, and then stops before us, hovering in mid-air.
She's beautiful. And curvy, just like me. Whoever this Iminyë is, she clearly likes her honey and other tasty treats. And, I realize, she's inspecting me just as closely as I am her.
"Soren," she says, her voice rich and elegant like that of a cat that's had its fill of cream. "Who have you brought to visit?"
"Iminyë," he says with a short bow. "This is Anita Hall, of Honeycomb Falls."
In a moment of panic I sketch off a curtsy, which seems to please Iminyë, as she smiles and claps her little hands. "Hello," I say. "It's an honor to meet you."
"Hmm," she says, and then darts forward, circling around my head. I turn, trying to keep her in sight, but she's nimble and quick, and quickly moves to my pack that's hanging from Soren's shoulder. "In here. I sense something delicious. Wonderful. Magical. What is it?"
Soren looks at me in confusion. My mind races. What is she talking about? I shrug to Soren, who lowers the pack to the ground and opens the flap.
Iminyë points imperiously. "Inside. Hurry!"
Soren looks like he doesn't know whether to laugh or look nervous, so he quickly starts pulling out my belongings. Each time Iminyë shakes her head, until finally he reaches the bottom of the pack and draws forth my rhubarb and strawberry tart in its beige Tupperware container.
"Yes!" Iminyë claps her hands. "This! Open!"
I nod to Soren, who pries open the lid and sets the Tupperware down on a rock. Iminyë darts down and lands on the rock, leaning over the edge of the Tupperware to gaze at the crimson surface of the tart. "Ooh," she whispers, then looks up at me. "Did you make this?"
"Yes." My heart is racing. "It's an old recipe of my grandmother's."
Iminyë goes to sink both hands into the tart and then pauses and looks up guiltily at me. "May I?"
I smile. "Of course!"
The honey fairy needs no more urging. She scoops up maybe a tablespoon's worth, which looks massive in her hands. She happily licks the at the red filling, then groans. "Ooh. Delicious!"
Soren grins and sits on a rock close by, and I do the same. "You like it?"
Iminyë doesn't respond. Instead, she shoves an improbably large amount into her mouth, her cheeks bulging out like a squirrel's, and looks up at me, wide-eyed, lips smeared with red liquid, and nods emphatically.
"Here," I say, grabbing a cake knife from my pack and handing it to Soren. "Try some. I was planning to serve this as a celebration if all went well."
"Which," he says, voice a low rumble, "it looks to be doing." He cuts me a slice, then hesitates and cuts a large one for himself, and for a minute there's no sound but that of our chewing and Soren moaning as he frowns in surprise and delight, interspersed with high-pitched giggles from Iminyë, who can't seem to stop eating. I grin. I feel a pure and simple happiness. Joy. I'm sitting in a magical valley with a hunky werebear and the cutest honey fairy, and we're all enjoying my grandmother's tart. No matter what comes down the road, this
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