Moving on, by Verley Lazuli

21 June 1882

I was accused of being a witch again in the village that has been home for the past few weeks. It becomes wearisome after a while, continually having to pack up and move on because a scraggle of idiots can’t tell the difference between a cup of tea and a magic potion. Each time this happens, I find myself tempted to ask what makes them think, if I did have supernatural abilities, I would waste them on such trivial endeavors as unsettling the cows or making the babes colicky. Those are the pastimes of faeries, anyway. Yet I know better than to goad fools. I count myself lucky when they simply ask me to leave – being chased from town by torch-wielding madmen is still too fresh a terror in my memory.

So it is that I find myself celebrating this summer solstice under the stars in a clearing hidden safely within the forest, away from superstitious busybodies. The sky is pitch black, without even a cloud to mar the vivid constellations and cool moonlight. Sitting in the doorway of my cobbled together caravan, I am finally able to enjoy a peaceful cup of strong black tea (made in a kettle, not a cauldron, thank you very much). Absinthe, the impish puppy who joined ranks with me last month after I fed her some scraps, has turned herself into a blanket over my feet. She is an unusual fellow, her unruly brown fur and imposing size making her look rather like a bear cub, while her eyes (as green as the drink for which she is named) seem almost human with their mischievous intellect. At first I was exasperated by her uninvited company, but I have gradually begun to appreciate it. The mechanical horse who pulls my caravan along, although a wonder of science, is not the friendliest of associates.

It is only at times like tonight, in the quiet of the dark woods, that I admit to myself how lonely my nomadic and solitary life can be. When I set out two years ago, captivated by the allure of the open road and eager to leave the drudgery of my hometown behind me, I expected adventures around every turn. That hasn’t quite turned out to be the case. Not that getting chased out of town with torches and pitchforks or befriended by characters stranger than myself aren’t adventures, just…not exactly the sort I had anticipated when my dreams were bigger than my experiences. But who knows, perhaps this summer will change all that. Dreamily I gaze up at the stars, finding a particularly bright one for my solstice wish: An adventure.