CHAPTER ONE
Fern was a mere six years old when the new baby was born, but she should have been old enough to realize that he wasn't normal. He was considerably smaller, than most nymphs, and louder, too. And apparently, the elders noticed this as well. After all, he wasn't even assigned a plant to watch.
They named him Thorn.
* * *
"Elm! Grandpa Elm!"
"Fern!"
Her grandfather, the oldest of all the elders, was hobbling toward her. "Grandpa Elm!" she cried again.
"Fern! How's the...OOF! Come on, Fern, you're twelve now, you've got to stop running into me like that!"
Fern stepped back, a huge smile on her face. "What were you going to ask, Grandpa?"
"How's the babysitting job coming along?"
Her expression darkened and she snorted. "Thorn is a handful, all right. I wish someone else could watch him! But I have to. After all, the elders are making me do - oops!" She glanced at her grandfather to see if he had noticed. He had, a secretive smile crossing his face. She sighed in relief. "Hey, where's Granny Rose? Didn't she come with you?"
"Rose wasn't feeling her greatest, so she decided not to come."
"Oh. All right."
"Listen, Fern, I have to go speak to the other elders, all right?"
"Okay."
"Behave yourself."
"I will. Bye."
* * *
"Thorn! Where are you?" Fern shouted to the seemingly empty house, her voice ringing throughout the hall. "THORN! This isn't funny anymore. You win! Now come out!"
She received no response.
"THORN!"
Angered now, Fern proceeded to hunt for Thorn. Suddenly something heavy descended upon her head. She collapsed to her knees with an exclamation of surprise.
And then all was black for several minutes.
* * *
When Fern awoke at last, she was on the ground with her wrists and ankles bound with thick, coarse rope. Three figures, two large and one small, hovered above her.
The taller ones gripped her shoulders and hauled her unceremoniously to her feet. She fought fruitlessly as she was dragged over to a large iron ring embedded in the wall with a chain and a shackle dangling off of it. Her hands were released from their bonds for a brief moment before one of her captors held her fast while the other locked her right wrist into the shackle. They sliced the rope connecting her ankles in two and freed her from their iron grip.
As Fern recognized the smaller figure, she fell to her knees in despair. "How could you?" she wailed, resulting in a large, beefy hand smothering the rest of her words as its owner clapped it across her mouth.
"Stand up," said the short figure.
Fern seemed to be frozen, and her two taller captors had to force her onto her feet again. She screamed into the hand that covered her mouth and started to sob.
The smaller one spoke again. "I am your master now."
It was Thorn.
Fern was a mere six years old when the new baby was born, but she should have been old enough to realize that he wasn't normal. He was considerably smaller, than most nymphs, and louder, too. And apparently, the elders noticed this as well. After all, he wasn't even assigned a plant to watch.
They named him Thorn.
* * *
"Elm! Grandpa Elm!"
"Fern!"
Her grandfather, the oldest of all the elders, was hobbling toward her. "Grandpa Elm!" she cried again.
"Fern! How's the...OOF! Come on, Fern, you're twelve now, you've got to stop running into me like that!"
Fern stepped back, a huge smile on her face. "What were you going to ask, Grandpa?"
"How's the babysitting job coming along?"
Her expression darkened and she snorted. "Thorn is a handful, all right. I wish someone else could watch him! But I have to. After all, the elders are making me do - oops!" She glanced at her grandfather to see if he had noticed. He had, a secretive smile crossing his face. She sighed in relief. "Hey, where's Granny Rose? Didn't she come with you?"
"Rose wasn't feeling her greatest, so she decided not to come."
"Oh. All right."
"Listen, Fern, I have to go speak to the other elders, all right?"
"Okay."
"Behave yourself."
"I will. Bye."
* * *
"Thorn! Where are you?" Fern shouted to the seemingly empty house, her voice ringing throughout the hall. "THORN! This isn't funny anymore. You win! Now come out!"
She received no response.
"THORN!"
Angered now, Fern proceeded to hunt for Thorn. Suddenly something heavy descended upon her head. She collapsed to her knees with an exclamation of surprise.
And then all was black for several minutes.
* * *
When Fern awoke at last, she was on the ground with her wrists and ankles bound with thick, coarse rope. Three figures, two large and one small, hovered above her.
The taller ones gripped her shoulders and hauled her unceremoniously to her feet. She fought fruitlessly as she was dragged over to a large iron ring embedded in the wall with a chain and a shackle dangling off of it. Her hands were released from their bonds for a brief moment before one of her captors held her fast while the other locked her right wrist into the shackle. They sliced the rope connecting her ankles in two and freed her from their iron grip.
As Fern recognized the smaller figure, she fell to her knees in despair. "How could you?" she wailed, resulting in a large, beefy hand smothering the rest of her words as its owner clapped it across her mouth.
"Stand up," said the short figure.
Fern seemed to be frozen, and her two taller captors had to force her onto her feet again. She screamed into the hand that covered her mouth and started to sob.
The smaller one spoke again. "I am your master now."
It was Thorn.
