The Faeries of Teaghlaigh

Grá pounded tiny fists against the crystal wall until they turned bright pink. The giant could rattle their impermeable prison again at any moment. The faeries would last a long time absent air, but that time would run out— even if they survived his torment. They needed to escape.

Áthas’ wings turned to a green blur, but the confined space of their prison permitted little manipulation of the air beneath them. She barely lifted from the invisible floor. “Grá please— do not harm yourself. We will find our way out of this.”

“Always the hopeful one, aren’t we?” this from Íonachta. Her green jerkin, made from the same willow leaves as those of her sisters, was torn from the hopeless battle with the giant. She still held her tiny thorn hewn cutlass. All of the faeries could smell the giant’s blood on her blade. The countenances of the two betrayed such. “What then? Should I have let him take us without protest?”

Grá’s wings sagged while Áthas’ perked. Each faerie's reaction to their seditious sister denoted their contrary natures. Íonachta though, her nature was eccentric beyond even Áthas’, a thing to be feared.

“We can bend the giant’s will— make him open our prison.” Grá opened her arms beckoning her sisters— listen and unite.

“He is too strong. I can feel it,” disputed Íonachta. “It is all we can do to hide our true forms.”

“We must do more, sisters. Fighting amongst ourselves is not the way.” Áthas’ tone showed the end of her tolerance for either sister. Neither meekness nor rage would free them.

“What of the other giant?” asked Íonachta? “His will may be bent. He is not so strong.”

“He is not,” agreed Áthas.

“But we must be cautious. This one is innocent,” warned Grá. Her wings fluttered divulging a sense of guilt, guilt at risking an innocent to save herself. “We endanger him.”

Íonachta frowned through the crystal wall at the innocent giant beyond. She narrowed her eyes, as if glimpsing his very soul and simply said... “I know.”

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