Chapter 3 - Marla of the Mothlights
Pippa stood still in the clearing, ears perked, nose twitching. The voice had faded, but its warmth lingered in the air like the scent of something sweet just out of reach. She turned slowly, her eyes scanning the treetops, the bushes, the sky.
"Hello?" she called softly. It came out more as a whisper than a bark.
No reply.
But the forest had changed again. Not in the way the field had changed, with shifting smells and sounds, but in something quieter. The silence wasn’t empty. It felt... full. As if the trees were holding their breath.
Then came the lights.
Small at first. Just pinpricks in the air, like drifting fireflies. They hovered near the edges of the clearing, weaving lazy circles through the air. One floated close and brushed her ear. It was cool and soft as silk. Another danced across her nose. She sneezed, then giggled quietly to herself.
More lights appeared. Dozens. Then hundreds. They moved together, not random, but with purpose. Swirling. Spinning. Gathering.
And from the middle of that glowing storm, something began to form.
Wings.
Long, delicate wings, pale green and edged with silver. They shimmered with every movement, trailing soft light as they unfolded. A pair of wide, dark eyes blinked gently at her.
The lights settled.
Before her hovered a giant moth — easily twice her size. Its wings moved so slowly they seemed to float rather than beat. Its antennae curled like tiny ferns. Its body shimmered with moonlight.
Pippa sat back on her haunches, eyes wide. She didn’t know what to say.
The moth spoke first.
Not with a mouth. Not with sound. But with something else. The words came into the air like music, soft and golden.
"You are welcome here, Pippa of Buttercup Field."
Pippa’s ears lifted. "You know my name?"
The moth nodded slowly. Her wings rippled.
"Names travel. So do hearts."
Pippa blinked. That didn’t make much sense, but it felt true.
"Are you the one who said I wasn’t alone?"
"Yes. And no. The voice was the wind. The wind listens. I only answered."
The moth lowered herself gently to the ground, her wings folding like petals.
"I am Marla. Keeper of Mothlights. Stitcher of Whispered Things."
Pippa tilted her head. "That’s a lot of titles."
Marla’s antennae twitched.
"Old creatures collect names. It’s what we do while waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
"The thread to stir. The paths to open. The new to find the old."
Pippa lay down slowly in the moss, paws tucked beneath her. She didn’t understand it all, but Marla’s voice soothed her like a lullaby.
"You mean the thread I heard?"
"Yes. You touched it. You heard it. That is rare now."
"Is that bad?"
Marla was quiet a moment. Her wings pulsed softly.
"It is what it is. Threads fray when forgotten. But some remember. You remembered."
They sat in silence together, the moth and the labrador, surrounded by slow-turning leaves and softly breathing flowers.
After a while, Pippa said, "I thought I was dreaming. But this feels too real."
"Dreams are real. They just have softer edges."
Pippa smiled at that.
Marla rose again, hovering just above the ground. Her wings spread wide, lighting the clearing in a soft green glow.
"Would you like to see more, Pippa of the Field? If your paws are ready. If your nose is brave."
Pippa stood and gave a small, eager wag.
"I think so. Yes."
Marla turned slowly, her wings leaving shimmering trails in the air.
"Then follow. The forest remembers you now."
As Pippa followed her into the trees, she felt the air change once more. Not just magic now.
But belonging.
Marla paused only once, just before the trees thickened.
"You’re not the only one who came through."
And then they vanished into the green-gold light.