Dimly lit faces had gathered in the great hall of lords in the village of Dunbar. They were eating haunches of meat and engulfing flagons of mead when Colborn entered, ignored the rabble, and sat at a private table at the back the room. When they weren’t stuffing their faces, the men were going on about common trade and land disputes. A maid offered him a drink with hesitant, distrustful glances and quickly walked away.

He took the drink, half-expecting her to have tossed the mead in his face. The other night had been passionate but it was one of compulsion. She was a nice girl, thought Colborn, but a little on the heavy side. He scratched his groin and took a long gulp, making sure the other men hadn’t noticed. Being a suitor in a commonwealth of wealthy barons had lowered his status as of late. The desire for companionship had gone out of his heart and the others seemed to feed off of rumors and whispers, whispers that were on their lips even now.

It wasn’t like they would choose a bride for him or even cared for the wives they chose. His heart sank when he thought about his past transgressions and his duty to be betrothed, of the deceit and perpetual squawking that he had to endure. He had heard of men who grew old and still had kindness and compassion for their spouses but he could never see himself in that same position, no matter how hard he tried.

The room grew dark when the torches flickered in the wind from the open door. The chill bolstered the cold stares that he received. He heard the words “loaned” and “owed coin.” Colborn shifted in his seat and realized his cup was nearly empty already, having drank most of it without even realizing. He looked inside the cup and considered how wasted it was. Drinking it slowly would have yielded more enjoyment.

Several voices came to his ear as he was pondering. Two fur-wearing barons were arguing over a fairy tale. The mention of a beautiful woman caught his attention. He stood and approach a passing bar matron.

“You can’t believe such stories.” One of the men said. “She is bewitched by dark magic. Any man who goes in search of her would face certain death.”

A man with a well-groomed beard argued with a smile, “But the bounty would be worth it if she could yield children.”

Colborn stood closer to the two men and uncomfortably shuffled his feet. “I couldn’t help but overhear. I have not heard this tale before.”

The man with the beard, who Colborn recognized as the baron of Draycott, stared at the suitor with disdain. “You wouldn’t have. You spend too much time questing for mates throughout the taverns. However, I suppose this tale might be one for your ears. You might even find what you’re looking for.”

The other man snickered before the baron of Draycott continued, “You see, my friend, there once was a maiden, fair and sweet like an autumn mist,” there was more snickering, “who was promised to a knight of Gilberton. She came from a wealthy family but the father was going through a bit of misfortune. She had no desire to wed and ran away to Blackwood Forest with only the gown on her back and a small bag of provisions. Her father’s men refused to journey into that dark place and instead sent their dogs. The dogs were never seen again. The tale goes that the winds of the north were brutal and a harsh winter came to the forest. The gentle maid did not fare well. A lone wolf was said to have followed her, making its presence known by straggling close behind. She attempted to shoe the beast away with a branch but it kept on her, trailing her for some time. The cold became bitter and feet had become frostbit. To alleviate some of the weight and to perhaps assuage the wolf she tossed several hard apples at it. The white wolf didn’t take the bait and ignored the appetizers. Instead it followed her still, sniffing the air and watching from a distance. To her pleasant surprise she heard the noise of a stream and struggled down a ridge towards it. She noticed the stream hadn’t been frozen over and she drank from it. The wolf growled. She offered apologizes but the wolf bowed his head and approached. From shock she slipped and fell into the water.”

The Baron of Draycott slammed his flagon down and splashed liquid onto Colborn. “She was now drenched and shaking. A brilliant glow came from the stream’s source, stretching a yard into the trees. A voice spoke to her, ‘Lo human, you have violated the sanctity of this ancient wood. This is my guardian, Brennar. He was a poor wondering sap like yourself, who supped from my stream of purity. For violating this sacred ground, I turned him into the creature you see before you.’ The woman crawled backwards while staring inside the glowing visage of the nature deity. Her body became numb as the entity spoke, ‘for this indiscretion you shall be forever changed.’ With that the entity disappeared and the rushing water surged forth and engulfed her, carrying her immobile body down the stream. She became transfixed in that position and floated through the forest like a log on the current. As time passed her body lifted away from the water and was carried deeper into the woods like a drifting ghost, her body forever frozen that sleeping position. Lost travelers have said to come across her floating body but don’t dare approach.”

Colborn scoffed, “Your attempts to mock me have failed. You can keep your fantasies of a floating woman.” and turned to leave.

“Don’t be so quick to judge.” said the baron of Draycott. “Go and speak with Brennar yourself. He works at the local smithy.”

“You wish me to speak to a dog?” Colborn was growing impatient and had enough of this nonsense.

“Wolf. The forest entity returned his body to him.” The baron and his friend were smiling from ear to ear.

Colborn left the great hall and passed the smithy of Dunbar on the way to the stable. He laughed to himself and entered. A middle-aged boy had turned and shyly welcome the man. They spoke at length about metal working and the boy offered some horseshoes for a lower price. Colborn put up his hand and instead brought up the legend of the floating woman. Brennar suddenly became stone-faced and went back to filing an iron piece. He didn’t speak for several seconds and when he looked up the boy had the appearance of an adult man trapped in guilt.

“Do they tease you?” asked Colborn.

“No.” said Brennar, “but it is a shame that no one will believe the truth. It doesn’t matter though; I do not need anyone to justify my story. Or hers.”

Colborn reached over and touched Brennar’s shoulder, giving him some semblance of kindness. “Is she still there?” He asked.

“Yes.” responded the boy bitterly.

For once he felt pity. Something in the eyes of the young blacksmith told him that was all he needed. Colborn walked home, lost in reflection. The journey to Blackwood would take days by horseback and he couldn’t afford or trust a caretaker to look over his belongings. The coin he could get for his property would allow him to start over. Dunbar would put him in stocks if they discovered he left without paying his debts in search of a myth. And that uncertainty made the sudden decision to leave much more appealing.

He found an open provisions office and the man there eagerly gave him five days’ worth of dried meat, carrots, leeks, hay for his horse, and 400 coin for the keys to his abode. Colborn left in the dead of night and sped along Havan Road with thoughts of a new life and a new home, and hopefully a faithful prize. The faces of the women of Dunbar flashed across his mind. His life would no longer be filled with mistakes.

Old Havan Road took him three days to Rouster Village where he stayed at an inn and spoke to the townspeople. They had been closest to Blackwood and had heard plenty of tales of the floating woman. Her name had been Morbina, or at least that’s what the barman suspected. The patrons assumed she had been from the small inlet of Nessitudo. An older woman, a woman Colborn felt had no reason to lie, provided a brief description of the path to Blackwood from Rouster. The others had been chuckling when he decided to leave.

Colborn set off at dawn the next day with a knapsack of food, a bed roll, and a fur coat, along with his other provisions. He was certain he would overcome the colds and rocky cliffs of Blackwood. He reached out near nightfall and slept on the forests edge. That night he vowed to find the missing woman and if nothing else return her home, by whatever means he could. He had never met her and somehow, he was felt indebted to her, as if this search would strengthen him.

During the next day he made his way deep inside Blackwood, the deeper he went the colder it got. He hadn’t remembered seeing frost before entering the forest but snow began falling, covering his tracks and any hopes of finding any others. He built a tent out of branches and leaves but the weather turned fierce.

Several days later he awoke to find his horse frozen under snow. He said a prayer and started to remember the cruel yet warm streets of Dunbar. With the loss of his stead he wept, the tears stinging as they froze. The bitter winds blew passed as he looked behind him, the breeze tempting him to return from where he came. But his home was so far away and there was nothing and no one waiting for him.

The forest grew bleaker as he continued, carrying only the knapsack and a water skin. He would spend hours thinking of the woman he may never meet, considering how he could free her and how the poor blacksmith boy would wait to hear of Morbina. But it drew him on. The eagerness to see her gave him strength for several miles, until finally his legs gave out.

He collapsed in the snow and felt the coldness overtake him. The journey had been a folly. What man would trudge into the snowy darkness without clear direction with the aspirations of happy ending? It was madness but there was always madness in love. His mind started to slip away from him as he slowly froze to death. Wind churned in the air, gales pummeling him. He could have cried but he remembered the stinging and cursed himself for being so foolish.

But his heart beat faster when he saw movement through the trees. At first, he took it as a delusion of sight but as he regained his footing, he saw that it was a floating figure, dressed in a blue gown. He ran as fast as his frost-bitten feet could carry him. He wanted to see her, he wanted to touch her.

The snow seemed to fall around her, rolling off like raindrops. Floating three feet off the ground her body lay perpendicular. Golden hair flowed beneath her as she drifted along. Colborn, in a state of disbelief, grabbed her foot, feeling the warmth of human flesh. She stopped at his touch. A brilliant light knocked him to his knees. He turned around and witnessed a glowing being surrounded in luminous tendrils. A soft, yet menacing voice broke the silence.

“Who disturbs the guardian of the forest?” The glowing being had a feminine voice.

Colborn was awestruck and shielded his face, “Forgive me. I heard of a woman in need of deliverance.”

“She is not trapped.” Spoke the deity. “She chose this path when she wondered into my stream. I suppose you want to take her away.”

“It is the only thing I’ve ever truly wanted to do. I cannot leave these woods without her.” He saw his life in review and realized he had never really breathed until he saw Morbina. His hands shook but not from the cold. “I have nothing to offer but if you have to take my life then at least free her from her bonds.”

The deity seemed to contemplate this and then answered, “If you wish to be a brave and noble savior then perhaps she truly deserves a companion.”

Colborn felt his heart beat faster. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh of relief, his breath came out in a large puff. His state of mind, his essence of being became one of affection and appreciation. A strange calmness overcame him. He glided into placidity and lifted off the ground. He felt the woman next to him. He had never known her but now there was a sense of familiarity to her presence, like he had known her all along. The coldness dissipated and only a calm warmth remained, a bliss that he had been missing.

As his body lay flat, he floated alongside the woman, his mind fading into deep sedation. The deity vanished gracefully, with the forest now having two guardians. Guardians that acted as fateful warnings for those who wished to disturb the sacred woodland shrine. Their hands clasped each other as their bodies drifted away in eternal slumber.