Once upon a time in a place a long way away live a little girl.
She loved to run through wild flowers as tall as she was and chase the butterflies.
Leaping and tumbling and rolling down hills. And filling the field with laughter from her thrills.
She sometimes stood very still as butterflies cover from her head to her heals.
Sometimes she stopped to smell the flowers or just lay in them and felt their power.
The power of the smell of the flowers was so intoxicating that she smiled and giggled and took little naps.
With the sun on her cute freckled cheeks, she felt the warmth of the love of old mother earth. Like being cradled in her arms.
The girl was fair complexed and had three colors of hair. A pattern of freckles across her cheeks and nose almost like a mask.
Some days she rode the wild ponies that visited the wild flowered fields. They loved to play with her when she visited. Some they raced and sometimes they let her ride them.
Leaping and dancing in the air. Like flying. And sometimes the did fly. The nickering and giggling mixed together could be echoed across the glen and near the village.
She was called The Wild Child. But the girl never paid mind of it.
Very rare did she venture into the village. To her the village was wild. While going down the cobbled streets for her mother on an errand, she longed for the wild.
She was often so far away in her thoughts, that the people thought she was daft, though she was very smart. She never heard the harsh words towards her.
It seemed she had powers to hear only good words. Like a sieve. The bad ugly words would stay out of her hearing and only words sweet as honey was heard.
She was a lovely child in ways not normal for children her age. Always helping with sick animals and children.
Laying her gentle hands on them and softly talking to them, made them well or calm in a little while.
People that saw her do these things said she glowed like the sun when performing these simple acts.
She couldn’t stay around people for too long because they drained her energy from her body.
When she starts her way back home, she’d stop by a bubbling brook to drink the water and sit with her feet in it. Sometimes she would sit against an old oak tree and fall asleep while hearing and feeling the tree humming lullabies.
Her life was simple and happy. Especially in and with the wild.
When she got older, she never married. Never had children and never wanted to.
She went into the woods and built a little place and worked with plants and magic to heal others, herself and the land.
Before she died, all the animals, birds and forest friends stood around her and laid flower petals on her. They sang as she went to sleep forever with a smile on her face.
She was known as the Woman of the Wyld.