A Heart's Crucible
2: A Grove

A lush grove sprouted white spring daisies. Bees buzzed, collecting pollen, whilst the blossom swirled and floated.

Apart from chirping quails, three Peri frisked. They lazed time before heading as an in-group to their annual spring party. They understood the symbolism of a grove, a place for reflection, yet they played footsie. The meadow provided greedy delights, meaty mushrooms and sweet strawberries to scoff.

Joq, the flaxen-haired sprite from the steppes of Kazakhstan, perched on a tree limb, savouring a berry. She lapped the frivolous scene below as Perdita, her Scottish friend, teased Zarella’s flesh. The redhead used a fortuitous dove feather as her toy of choice to titillate Zel’s ticklish spots.

The plume swept behind her olive-skinned playmate’s ear. Zarella ignored the prickle. Perdita angled the feather under her nose, inducing a tingle. She failed. Next, she trailed the finest edge over cupid’s bow lips. The plume’s graze made her friend’s wings flutter, yet her eyelids remained closed. Her chest heaved, and Zarella’s fawn eyes opened. Finally, Perdy sailed the downy softness across Zel’s collarbone and taunted the white tip along the edge of her light pink, shimmering sari.

Joq clapped because Perdita secured her wish. Zarella purred, and her slender fingers ambushed the redhead’s toes. Chic nails roused, and Perdy squealed as a gentle scraping startled her. Fun for two became a rowdy trinity of stimulation. Joq swooped and flicked behind the Scottish Peri’s knees.

The grass pressed into a bed beneath enfolded wings. Zarella’s sari glowed a classic offset to the white daisies. Perdy’s tartan earasaid caught dry seeds. Whilst Joq let her embroidered koylek form a pillow for her friends.

Fun has no limits under the sun unless interrupted. Joq felt a nibble on her calf. After rising and sitting cross-legged, she frowned. A wet nose nudged Zarella’s rear, and a moist tongue nuzzled on the grass husks stuck to Perdy’s thigh.

Alongside Joq, her buddies split their sides in an arm-waving chorus of “Shoo” only to be greeted by “Baa.”

Zarella and Perdita pulled faces at the ewe whilst Joq patted the twin lambs. Next, on an impulse, the trio of Peri rolled across the meadow. Their wings fluttered, covered in falling pink blossom. The sunlight highlighted stunning angelic feathers fanning in rainbow colours. The grass outlined two hourglass figures.

Joq’s curiosity made her a casual custodian of the sprite’s origins, gleaned from reading scrolls in the famed Library of Alexandria. The Peri were spirits destined to roam the world, denied Heaven because they couldn’t curb their desires, a child let loose amongst sweets; they didn’t mean to sample everything; they did. But their unreserved nature cost them the status of angels. Though uninhibited, they never befriended evil.

The earth contained one thousand Peri whose birth amounted to an accident. God tasked the seraphim Jeremiel to collect the dust of persecuted martyrs. The ashes of the saints belonged in Paradise. God wanted to avert any demon corruption of the apostle’s remains. Jeremiel ascended towards the heavens, his job complete, but an ambush occurred. Two Princes of Hell lurked to steal his bags. Beelzebub tore one of the precious silk sacks wielding the whiplash of his tail.

The fine powder of earthly saints floated on the wind, particles dispersed, devoid of consequence. Yet, the Peri spawned from the smidgens of ash that pollinated like a magic elixir within sun pitcher plants. The waggish sprites scattered to play their tricks around the globe. The tattered silk rolled across the Sahara Desert.

Joq pushed this knowledge aside as the blather spun by minstrels or scraps of gospel truth, unimportant in the shindigs and galas dominating Peri days.

“Oh bother, denied a gambol,” said Zarella, pressing wrinkles out of her sari and scowling at an unmoved ewe.

“Me too,” from Perdita, hoiking her tartan cloth above her knees.

She picked out grass burrs, revealing her Celtic torque ankle tattoo.

“I spy a herdsman talking to his dog,” pointed Joq.

The Kazakh perched beside her friends on a high ash branch, adjusting her koylek. A quick shake, and she brushed away fresh sheep droppings.

Moving closer, the trio swung into a sycamore and listened.

“Whom will I choose?”

Joq overheard the shepherd, who patted a black dog.

“This won’t do,” said Zarella.

“He needs company,” squealed Perdita, “Me, now!”

“No, you need an eyeglass,” from a pointing Joq, spying on two young village women unseen by Zel and Perdy.

One laboured at a spring collecting water, and the other collected wild strawberries at the forest edge.

“No wonder his sheep strayed, shy lovesick boy!” offered Zarella.

She entertained her cohort, acting out exaggerated smooching smacks.

Perdita spread wings shimmered with hints of cyan blue and crisp violet. Joq followed her flight as she trapped the maid by the water into the wellspring of human pleasure. Never outdone, Zarella flapped bronze-hued feathers wide. She swooped towards the sweet raven-haired berry-picking lass. Joq sniggered and realised she needed to prep the herder to choose.

She reached the young man, who scratched his head, “My lost ewe and lambs!”

Joq perched beside the lithe, curly-haired fellow.

Eyes agog, never having seen a Peri, her lash flutter seduced him. Plus, she knew her flaxen locks and downy wings folded held super appeal.

“Attention, shepherd. Pick a bride now.”

The shepherd’s hands covered blushing cheeks.

He provided, “I wish for them both.”

“Dear me and company coming fast,” noticed the Peri of the steppe.

Joq framed what he viewed—to his left, hustled by a bronze-winged sprite, questioning to replace out the girl’s name and status, scooted Kitty, the blacksmith’s daughter, a slim lass, her face freckle speckled. Her orange skirt, held thigh high, supporting her march, showed cute ankles. And to his right, jostled by an azure feathered delight, hustling for a name, scampered Fran. A woman whose blonde hair flowed and drew attention from a blemish on her nose. Her russet, tight-laced dress stressed her youthful figure.

Soon a lass nibbled both his ears. Joq hummed at the lad’s plight, though she added a dash of Peri mischief, guiding the shepherd to hold their hands and whisper sweet nothings into an ear hole left and right.

The Peri chanted the saucy melody of romance.

“Love is the softest of wet kisses, the mystery of skin’s touch. Love is the rapture of lips twined, the openness of a heart’s saturation complete.”

The sprites placed garlands of daises in the hair of the three Celts. Zel told the herder to grab the girl’s waists. Then, arm in arm, Joq and her friends stalked the shepherd boy between two lasses. The dog barked, scattering quails in the meadow, and raced around the lost sheep.

Joq pooh-poohed potential lover’s regrets. She pictured but dismissed rent Celtic hair and a trio of amends. For now, pleasure ruled a trinity of villagers’ hearts in the grove, courtesy of the Peri mischief. Wings fluttered, bees hummed, and doves cooed.

“Oh bother, time flies in fun,” said Joq, content with love’s machinations achieved.

“Don’t stray back,” she fluttered her lashes because Zarella glanced, approving the outcome before soaring sky-high.

Perdita clapped her hands and rocketed beside her friend.

Joq whooped. Her feathers vibrated and whirred. Eager words flowed — “Our spring fete awaits. Nothing can spoil our delight with every Peri in one merry place.”