An individual politely asks Wraithvine if they would be willing to sell them a small lock of hir golden hair. Why? To turn it into a bracelet by braiding it and adding some shiny agates they'd found and shaped, and present it to their child as a 5th birthday present. Their child absolutely adored elves, and the family didn't have much money, but wanted to do something very special for the little one. -- Anon Guest
"Beggin' your pardon, yer honour," said the woman in the stained pinafore. It had been made out of flour sacks and scraps and showed a day's worth of working stains. The dress underneath was faded with the sun and worn thin through many washings. She was still wearing simple clogs and carried a tote also made of flour sacks and scraps. "Might I ask a small thing of you? And pardon if I offend?"
This had been twice that she had asked hir pardon. Wraithvine had put away hir pipe the instant ze'd seen her approaching with wringing hands. "Ask, I am only offended by wilful ignorance."
"My wee Salma is turning five soon, an'..." wring, wring, wring went those anxious hands. She had evidently spun and plied some work on the way, and was restraining herself from knitting it on the spot. "She's mad in love with Elves and I have little to give, but... I heard from others as a charm made from..." She trailed off, trembling in terror at the words that stopped her mouth.
Wraithvine saved her the woe. "A charm made from Elf hair is said to be a charm to protect a child for a lifetime. It's also usually a great offense to request an Elf to cut their hair." Ze smiled warmly for the woman. "I am not your usual Elf."
She reached into a bag, for a little pouch dyed black with oak gall and inkwort. She pulled it open to show a rainbow of agates. "I dug these up myself for her. Shaped and polished and drilled every last one. Working since the day I could leave th' birthing bed. There's some in there, reckon they look like dragon scale. If you'd take one in trade..."
"You meant these for her charm, did you not?"
"Aye, that I did. I know the stories. I told them all to my wee Salma, and begged others for more. A heartfelt gift to pay a grave insult."
"I will not steal a heartfelt gift for a child... just for hair. You may have what locks you wish, and I will visit the child and bless her myself."
"Aye, yer honour. Thank and bless ye, yer honour."
Wraithvine followed her back to her little farm, where wee Salma was tending to the animals. A very tiny child bent at an impossible angle to haul a pail of water to a trough. A very tiny child who almost exploded in enthusiasm when she spotted a real Elven Wizard.
She bounced, her hands flapped like a hummingbird's wings. She wiggled and squiggled and garbled her words in an effort to get them out as fast as possible. She almost passed out a few times for want of breath to talk at all.
"I'll not steal you away, you have a happy enough home," assured Wraithvine. After wee Salma had finally announced, and that's it. "I can tell you a few things of Elven history. The stories about stealing children came about when Elves found out about Humans. Children don't come easy to our kind, and the very concept of unwanted babies shocked us to the very core. And we all said, If you don't want them, we'll have them, and they said, Not on your life, and that's how the wars started."
"People are silly," opined wee Salma.
"They frequently are."
"How do you keep your hat pointy up like that?"
"You're going to laugh," said Wraithvine. "You are going to laugh yourself silly and you may even laugh yourself sick. Ready? I can show you."
Wee Salma held tight to the table, eyes wide in anticipatory glee.
Wraithvine took hir hat off. Under the upright cone of the Wizarding hat was an upright cone of braided Elven hair. The hat, shorn of its support, collapsed in a heap on the table.
Wraithvine had to speak over wee Salma's unashamed cackling. "As you can see, I have an abundance of hair, and no qualms about getting a trim. Or even a shearing, if it comes to that. All wee Salma has to do is name her favourite colour."
"Primrose!" Wee Salma managed between gales of laughter.
As Wraithvine unwound hir previously mousy brown locks, they became a perfect bright yellow primrose. Ze let wee Salma run her fingers through the lot of it.
"Elves grow hair at an inch a year," said wee Salma. "You have to be a billion quijillion years old."
"I may yet be older," Wraithvine smiled. "How much do you need, Mother Bauer? As you can see, I can give you twice that and never flinch."
She had grown used to not apoligising for wee Salma, but was still nervous. "I only meant to have her a bracelet and hang the beads off so they click. She likes to make them click."
"I was the same when I was small. Clicky-clack bracelets and bird-wing hands and waggity feet. There was a time when I had too much energy for one small body to hold in." Ze measured a length of thin braid. "Spin that on your spindle. Ply it, too, then make your charm as you see fit. It will do her well."
"As you bid, m'lord."
"And for the blessing. The usual trio are health, wealth, and beauty. Two of those can be curses to some folk. In my billion quijillion years, I have a much better one: Health, Happiness, and Satisfaction to you, wee Salma Bauer. May you do well wherever you choose to go."
They shared a simple stew and bread baked on the hob. Mother Bauer sighed into her knitting. "All this and more and I never asked you your name. You must think me terrible rude."
Wraithvine was busy cutting hir braids into a much more manageable length. "Oh, I have helped many who never knew my name. I'm far used to it. But if you must know, my name is Wraithvine, and it has been a pleasure to meet you both."
Mother Bauer dropped a half-dozen stitches.
[Image by Susan Wilkinson on Unsplash]
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