"Coterie"

"How will I know where to go?" Cinda whispered at the group's edge to no one in particular. She was hardly aware the thought had escaped her lips as she stared at the moon through the lacework veil of bare branches. "Oh, darling," a woman with an avalanche of white hair answered sweetly from nearby, "you really don't have to whisper." There were creases on her face everywhere you could fit a crease, with a few more for good measure--an unfurled origami sculpture, intricate and complicated. "Nobody here but us witches," she said with a wink. Cinda gave what she hoped passed for a smile in reply. "Are you nervous, dear?" the woman asked. "I don't know where to go..." Cinda said meekly. "How do you know what place needs you?" The snow capped woman listened patiently. "I've been pouring over maps for weeks and all the towns seem so far away and they don't show the ley lines and..."

A tall, robust figure from the crone's cohort broke away and strode toward her. "Maps! Ahaha" the woman's laughter rumbled like summer evening thunder. "Maps only show us what we think we know about the land. Tonight it will tell you!" She was younger and larger than the first, with a strong, proud face. Her hair was darker than the shadow of her cloak's hood in which it sat. Time had only just begun to wear tracks across her brow. "Start slowwww; fly lowwww" she sang. "You'll knowwww when you knowwww!" she boomed with operatic flair, letting her voice ring across the glade. The other women stopped their conversations to look over at the commotion. Some laughed. A few applauded.

"Be nice, Shayla!" another voice chirped. "It's her first time. She's the one from Fircrest." Cinda blushed an autumn's apple red. "I see," said Shayla. For a moment, her panache was replaced by compassion. "Leaving can be hard," she continued, giving Cinda's shoulder a friendly pat which shook her whole frame. "Or it can be easy!" And with that, she turned with a billowing flip of her cloak and rejoined the others. "She's right though," the chipper voice piped. "You'll know where to go. I'm Palla."

Palla's evergreen eyes were striking. Even in the pale wash of the moonlight, they were vibrant and alive. They flickered and glittered like the iridescent emerald sheen of a hummingbird. "I can stay with you for a while, if that helps?" Palla said with a smile. "I'd like that," Cinda sighed. "Thank you."

The pair passed the time like reunited old friends. Cinda told Palla all about Fircrest and her family. Palla spoke of her home in Violeton, her brief stint in Rosewatch, and misadventures in nearby Blinkard. This would be her third journey. The coterie of women drifted apart as the moon drew overhead, but Palla stayed at her side until light flooded the clearing in a silver noontime. "Ready?" she asked, beaming. "I think so?" Cinda replied. She felt light. Wind swept around them and kicked up the fallen leaves in a whirl of crimson and gold and russet. There was rustling and laughter and the sound of Shayla's song. The world expanded and exploded into a kaleidoscope of facets. And then there was only...air. 

Through new, crystal eyes Cinda saw a hundred moons and a torrent of butterflies taking flight. A cloud of frosty white moths made their way southward at an unhurried pace. Another flock--black with streaks of boisterous gold--braved the headwinds of the north. Even when all the other colors had trickled away, a fluttering flush of green remained. They spiraled slowly upwards together in a shifting, winking mass of blush and sage. 

The maps had been useless after all. There was only this wingbeat and the next. Only one place had a name--Home--and it called to her from somewhere out in the distance. Without a word, green flew eastward towards the dawn, and red went westward, called deeper into the night.