Once upon a time in a small hamlet enchanted by stories of yore, there lived a young girl. Trom the moment of her birth, the girl had believed that it was possible for even the smallest incidents to lead her to a final destiny. This girl's name was Blyss, and blissful she was. Every day, she danced gaily in the pastures as she tended her father's goats.
Once day as Blyss tended the herd, she heard hoofbeats in the distance. Being mid-summer, Blyss was clad in a soft tunic that slipped off of her sun-gilded shoulders and was belted at the waist with a knotted length of rope. Even though she rarely considered her appearance, Blyss knew that she was not properly dressed to meete anyone. Yet, her curiosity beseiged her, and she found herself peering into the clearing from wence the clatter had come.
With one hand, Blyss had parted the dense goliage and with the other she brushed a tangle of dark coppery hair from her rosy cheek. What she saw was a snow white stallion gtallopping through the fragrant clover. Upon the steed sat a tall young man who was surely royalty. The glint of the sun on his clothing, his saddle, and even his golden hair announced his royal presense. Blyss saw all of this from her shadowed viewpoint, and instantly, she was intrigued by the sight.
That eve, the enchanted girl returned home with stars in her eyes. To her, the sighting of such a prince was a dream come true. Blyss could hardly sleep, for she wondered if she would ever see the man ever again. But she did sleep, and her dreams were filled with images of him carrying her away to some mystical palace.
The next day, Blyss returned to the clearing. Sure that he would never come throught this spot again, she began combing the plush greenness for anything that might be of him. Be it a feather from his hat or a nail from his steed's shoe, she would cherish it. He was, after all, royalty.
Blyss was totally consumed in her search when she suddenly realized she was hearing the thundering of hooves once again, but this time it seemed so much closer. Startled, Blyss leapt to her feet. The dewy grass spilled her back to her knees. Somehow, the girl was able to find her feet long enough to dash into the underbrush.
Safe. She thought she was safe, but he saw her. Tall upon his mottled white horse, he saw a tanned maiden of the meadows slip into the shadows. Lore, as the young man was named, drew back the reins and called out, "Whoa, my boy, there is a maiden."
Then she was gone. Lore's mind filled with the stories his mother had told him as a young child. The stories she told were of fairies, gods, and nymphs that filled the world just beyond the shadow of imagination. Ah, but he was a man now. No such wood nymphs existed, or did they? A little boy in his heart cried out, "Yes! Twas a nymph! Mother was right! Remember!"
Lore shook his head and laughed, "Remember to kiss the nymph of the dewy wild rose for her love is everlasting..." Even though it was just a child's tale, he had always somehow believed that the nymphs held the secret to the love of the world. The one he had just seen-- or thought he had seen-- was lovely enough to trust with all of the world's love. Her hair, her skin, the way she made flight to the wild rose's shelter. A smile played at the corners of Lore's handsome mouth. She was not the beauty from the village, but a softer, kinder, simpler beauty. A sudden shyness came over him and his princely mannerisms dissapated.
Oh, but all they were were mannerisms, anyway. Lore carried himself as royalty did, but truely he was but a soft-spoken villager. Every day he sold his wares on the street just to help feed his family. Mostly he sold brightly colored feathers. Feathers like such were worn in the hats of statesmen and even royalty and of course, by Lore.
As the man sat upon his horse looking into the trees, Blyss sat just beyond their shadows and watched him. The wind came up, and the bright plume on his hat shivered in its gusts. Then the wind caught hold of it fully and pulled it from the man's brim. Lore reached for the feather but a gust caught him off guard so he had to clutch the saddle to keep himself from falling. Gently the wind carried the plume into the forest and laid it to rest at Blyss's feet. Timidly, she stooped to pick it up, but her attention never left this luring figure on the snowy steed.
Slightly distraught at the loss of his plume and even more distraught at the fact he could not find his mystical nymph, Lore turned his horse and began to leave. Blyss ran the feather softly over her cheek, but never noticed the tear that escaped to mat it's delicateness. He was leaving and this time she was sure to never see him again.
After she was sure that he had gone, Blyss sat in the grass and cried silently. Then, as if in mourning for a chance lost, she began to gather delicate wildflowers and soft greenery into a bouquet. Carefully, Blyss pulled a string on her tunic to tie the bundle, and almost as an afterthought, she included the feather in the peculiar arrangement. Tightly she tied them and left it laying beneath a small wild rose bush that was blooming firey red. Then she left the place for only her memories.
Lore did not sleep that night. His mind was filled with his nymph. She had already taken part of his love. Mostly, he was intrigued by her, though. As soon as the dawn rays broke the horizon, Lore was on his horse riding to the clearing where he had seen her. When he arrived, Lore tethered his mount and bullied his way through a tangle of vines and tree limbs. All was green and cool beneath the shade of the large trees. But wait! Amidst the soft greenness was a vine glowing fervently with red roses. It was a wild rose. Lore knelt by the roses and inhaled their sweet aroma. It was intoxicating. He just knew in his heart that she had watched him from here as he had searched the forest for a sight of her. Then he saw it. His feather. When he picked it up, he realized it was bound to a beauty wild bouquet. It was a bouquet for him, from her. And a tear slid down his cheek as he realized she might be gone forever.
