Around the time of Beltane,
There wandered a sheylar,
Admiring the bees as they danced,
From flower to flower.
The sheylar noticed something odd,
She spotted a dangling pale thing,
Hanging from a tree.
It was too big to be a caterpillar.
She moved closer,
And waved at the swinging creature.
It was a little boy,
Upon the branch,
And he waved back at the sheylar.
The sheylar held her hand to a flower and spoke,
She held her hand to the sky and spoke,
She held her hand to her chest,
Pointing at herself,
She smiled at the boy,
And her smile stretched from one ear to the other.
The boy smiled back,
But said nothing.
Caredig held her hand out at the boy,
And the boy just stared blankly.
The sheylar waited patiently,
Before repeating her question,
And finally the boy replied,
“I don’t know my name.”
Caredig helped the boy down,
And took him back to her people.
The other sheylar enjoyed having a guest,
They showed him their treasured things,
They shared their knowledge of the forest,
And taught him about the magic within him.
The eldest of the sheylar,
Took the boy to meet,
The Lord and Lady of the forest.
They journeyed past the great oak,
Under the silver light of the moon,
Until they reached a hoof footed man,
Playing a tune on his pipe.
Oed and Caredig pushed the boy forward,
And he stood before the man,
He noticed his magnificent horns,
Peeking out from his long dark hair.
“I am the Lord of the Forest.” he said.
From the tree cracked bark,
And appeared a bare woman,
“I am the Mother of the Forest.” she said,
And she stroked the boys hair,
Out of his face,
And smiled at him.
The boy stepped closer,
Of his own will,
And spoke to the Lady and her Lord.
“I have no name.” he said softly,
Unsure at to what that meant,
Or what they could do.
A moment passed,
And as the breeze stopped,
And the flowers turned,
The Lady nodded to her Lord.
With her permission,
He guided the young boy through the forest,
Over jagged rocks,
And crossed sticks,
Past fallen acorns,
They reached a large tree,
Stood clear of all the other trees.
The Lord pointed to the tree,
And the boy approached.
Scribed onto the bark,
Was a word.
“That is your name.” said the horned piper,
“And we have had hold of it for a long time,
We waited for you,
And now you have come home,
This is your forest.”
The boy looked upon the tree,
And saw that his name was Averymunn.
And then he felt complete again.