Media is our new character...any guesses who?

'You don't suppose you've got a few flowers to spare to cover me?' Quill raises his voice over the birdsong to complain. Sybella and I have makeshift clothes made of blossoms and flowers and vines, but he's still cold and naked.

'Punishment,' I say.

'Brilliant,' Sybella murmurs. She's following behind Quill, and when she sees my questioning look, only mouths one word.

Wow.

I suppress a snort— of disagreement. She can have Quill.

He leads us through the woods, which is apparently the outskirts of the large perimeter that is the Spring Court. Nobody but the Queen can warp to the centre. The woods expand in every direction, and the trees are so tall the sky above is a distant streak of blue. I see creatures I've never seen before— things Quill calls squirrels, foxes, hedgehogs— creatures that had begun to die when winter became eternal.

'But why did winter become eternal?' I ask at some point. We're stepping through the overgrowing flowers. There's no chance for paths here. 'There's spring and autumn. Why didn't they...?'

'Spring is needed to overcome winter,' Quill replies. He bends down, thumbs at the soil. The tiniest saplings are found beneath his fingers. 'Spring is a beginning. A rebirth. Without starting anew, there can be nothing after. All events need an origin.'

A while later, and we cross a stream running through the wood. It bubbles and gurgles as we walk along it, and I enjoy tiptoeing down it, my feet magnified beneath the water's surface. Sybella finds the water too cold, but it doesn't stop her kicking a splash of the water over me, and I shriek, startling birds.

I find Quill watching me, his head cocked to one side.

'What is it?' I say, leaping from one rock to another down the stream. Ahead, I can see changes within the trees: we're reaching the centre.

He stops, a little ahead of us. Sybella folds her arms, eyebrows raised. The man is facing us and standing utterly starkers. I keep my eyes raised, avoiding the temptation to look there. His abdomen is very chiselled...

But he just looks at me, and something like sadness is in his eyes.

'I was just thinking...' he swallows. 'You look at home here, Nerissa. Should you have been raised where you should have— in Spring— I believe we would have been very close.'

For a moment, I can almost see myself, growing up here, with the other children of Spring. We'd play through the waters, and climb into the trees. Birdsong would have been our music and the only blood would have been the blood red of the roses. Nate wouldn't have suffered.

I wouldn't have died.

And maybe, in that life, Quillan and I would have grown up together, had feelings for each other. He's handsome enough; that white blond hair is striking, and his eyes are the deep green of a forest, and he's built sideways as well as tall. Yes, I could almost see it: two lovers of the Spring Court, and not a single dark day would have shadowed our lives.

I could almost see it.

'It would have been nice,' I say. And it's the truth. Nice.

He nods, and then carries on.

'What was that about?' Sybella mutters, but follows him closely. I take the rear, reluctant to leave the beautiful woods of a thousand blooms.

But what's beyond is even prettier.

Everything is made of gleaming wood, and I blink: have I walked into a fairytale land? The clearing contains cottages made of wood and flowers and delicate stonework, and there's animals— cows, sheep, horses— roaming free with the citizens of Spring. They're all shades from pale to dark green, with hair the shade of a pastel palette. They're all petite, wiry, almost like trees with branch-like fingers. Their eyes fix on us, and they're any colour of green imaginable. The noises of activity quieten as they see Quill, first, followed by Sybella and me.

Then they get down on their knees.

Quill motions for them to rise. Gradually, they do, and the noise of the clearing resumes.

'Dryades. Spring Nymphs,' he explains to us, as he signals to another. A male nymph— dryad— steps up, with pale apple skin and deep green eyes. His hair is shaved and a faint yellow.

Quill murmurs something to him, and he dashes away, towards a cottage. My eyes dart around, trying to make sense of my surroundings. A dryad is giving out baked bread, and the smell makes my stomach twist in hunger. The young dryad beside her carries a basket of woven garlands with fresh flowers. Another has bottles of milk, and another displays clothes like the ones the dryads are wearing: green dresses, green trousers, green tops, green boots...

I blink. Are these dryads doing everything for free? Does nobody pay?

I watch as one dryad trades bread for something they've brought: a canteen of soup. They break the bread and share the soup. I shake my head in amazement.

Sybella looks the same. 'Is this the nicest place you've ever seen, or do you think they're all secretly plotting to murder one another?'

I cough, hiding laughter. Quill glares at us.

After another minute of silent assessment of the too-perfect community, the dryad returns with stacks of clothing. To Quill he hands a green shirt and even greener trousers. Somehow, he manages to pull the look off; it helps that the dryad has also brought a silver waistcoat for him.

Sybella pulls on a skirt of lilac and a blouse of white, tied with a belt of embroidered flowers. She slips on matching ballet pumps onto her feet. She wrinkles her nose in distaste. 'I look like a milkmaid.'

Mine's worse. A vibrant green dress, pulled in at the waist, and bursting into a skirt of flower petals of pinks and yellows. Sybella looks at me and blinks, and mimes shielding her eyes.

'That's bloody bright. Hell. Gives me a headache,' she eyes me with horror. 'You look like a fairy.'

At least I'm given a pair of brown boots.

Sybella shakes her head, speechless.

As we walk, we're accosted by the flower dryad, who insists on brushing out my hair until it rests down my back, and there's a garland of flowers in my hair. Quill has to wave them away as we leave, as they chase us, throwing petals in our wake.

'Dryads,' he says, as if this explains things. He leads us down a stone path, which winds through green meadows with grasses as tall as our waists. 'They live on the court outskirts, and the woods are their domain.'

'I think I'd rather be naked,' Sybella sulks.

'I'd rather you naked,' he shoots back, and I avoid their loaded gazes at each other.

There's not far to walk when the main body of the city arises. Trees arch into the sky, forming pillars around a palace made of stone. The meadows become grassy streets, filled with more citizens of Spring less green than the dryads. The sun bears down, and suddenly I'm grateful for how airy and cool the dress is.

'Welcome to our city of Spring,' Quill says, as we reach a magnificent archway sculpted from two bending trees. 'We call it Eleusis.'

'Eleusis,' I repeat, my tongue moving the word through my mouth. I don't recognise it. There's no déjà vu, no burst of longing for home. Eleusis isn't Minoa.

Eleusis isn't Hadrian.

Through the archway we go, into a city of trees and flowers and music. There's stone pillars lining the central walkway, and from this branch streets, and from the streets I see houses and markets and life. The central path is decorated with paintings under our feet, and as we walk Quill tries to give us a quick summary of who they are.

'This is our daily worship,' he says, pointing as we walk. 'We start at first light, or Auge, and then sunrise, Anatolia. Noon is...'

We're interrupted by a clatter of hooves as a party races past. Sybella covers a small shriek, looking at me with wide eyes. Men and women with the legs and hinds of horses speed past, cheering vicariously. One follows the rest of the herd, stepping with care and gentleness as he watches the youngest members race. A small smile splits his face before he spots us.

'Master Quillan,' says the male. His torso is bare and scarred, and his face older than even Jefferson's. I try not to stare as I realise that unlike the others, his front legs are human, and he's dressed like a man. He wears a long cape around his shoulders, tied with a golden brooch.Withered with wrinkles and loose, white hair, the creature looks straight at me with the keen intellect of an academic...and his latest study is me.

'Keiron,' Quill says, with all jovial humour. 'May I introduce Nerissa?'

He breathes in wonder. 'Is it true? They say you have power over Spring.'

I nod, abashed. His eyes are large and keen, staring disconcertingly.

'What kind of power is it? Elemental? Birth? Animal?' he presses me, and I give him a panicked look.

'I have no idea,' I say, and to my relief, he doesn't look disappointed. He looks, if possible, more curious. 'I only discovered it recently. I don't know much about what I can do.'

His nostrils flare in what I must assume is joy. 'Wonderful. I have a keen interest in teaching, Nerissa. Once you have met the Queen, I would ask that you come and see me. Perhaps we can find out a little more about this power of yours.'

I give him a genuine smile. 'Of course.' If the Queen doesn't throw me out.

He gives us an elegant bow, before strolling on, after the rest of the herd.

'Centaurs,' Quill explains, seeing our questioning expressions. Sybella looks almost repulsed and I frown at her.

'You have a three-headed guard dog,' I say, shaking my head. 'You can't judge.'

I think the centaurs beautiful.

As we continue along the path, more citizens turn and look at us from where they appear to be drinking, playing instruments, and dancing. I find myself thinking, why would Hecate want to rule the Underworld? Here, she could drink all day and party all night.

Quill catches my glance at a particularly drunken batch of gods and goddesses and he smiles. 'That will be Dionysus's influence,' he explains. 'He splits his time between here and Olympia, but wherever he goes...he brings wine.'

'Wine?' Sybella and I echo. I say it with confusion, whereas she rubs her hands with glee.

'He's the God of Wine,' Quill says, and I hear him sigh. Judging from his flat expression, he likes the God of Wine as much as I do.

'Who is the God of Wine?' we hear a low, sultry voice say behind us. Quill makes a small noise that sounds suspiciously like a groan. 'Q! You never told me you were back!'

We turn to face the voice in unison.

As Jefferson would probably put it, Dionysus is to die for.

He has beautiful dark skin on a tall and muscular body. He wears thin, colourful trousers that hang loosely over heavy thighs and a robe that hangs open over a sculpted abdomen. My eyes reach his face, and nearly sigh aloud. He has waves of dark hair, swept to one side and banded into a ponytail at the back. A crown of laurel leaves of gold burnish his hair, and he has a boyish, feminine face. He beams at us, and leans down to clap Quill on the back.

'New friends?' he peers at Sybella and me. 'Don't be telling them I'm the God of Wine, Q.'

He loops an arm around my shoulder. He's warm, buzzing with energy. 'I, Dionysus, the mere God of Wine! I am much more than that, my beautiful.' He takes my hands, enclosing my palms in half of his.

I hear Quill make another choked noise. Sybella snakes her way to my side, where she leans against me to stare at Dionysus. 'How much more?' she breathes.

Quill puts his head in his hands.

Dionysus grabs us both by are hands and spins us around, dancing to a tune being played on a flute. 'Many things!' he yells, sending us whizzing out and colliding back into his body. He dances with us, expressive and joyous. 'I am the God of wine! I am the God of Winemaking! I am the God of the Grapes!'

'So...wine,' I say, but he claps his hands and summons the group nearby to bring goblets. They fill our hands with golden glasses of red.

'I am the God...' Dionysus grabs me by the shoulders and whispers into my ear. '...of madness.'

I swallow, and move away. 'I can see that.'

He grins even harder. 'I am the God of Fertility. Can you see that?' he smirks, and Sybella spurts out wine from her nose.

That makes me giggle. Seeing my laughter and taking it as affirmation to carry on, Dionysus continues in his crazy introduction.

'I am the God of Theatre! I am the God of Religious Ecstasy, whatever that means!' he yells, raising his wine to toast the sky. Red liquid sloshes, dripping down his chest. 'And lastly...'

Sadly, he chooses me once more to demonstrate his final title. I roll my eyes as he pulls me in and makes his final pose, nearly dropping me to the floor in a dramatic bend.

'I am the God of Epiphany! The god that comes,' he says.

Then he gives me a slow, suggestive wink. 

----

A/N: So? What do you think of Spring so far, about Keiron and our new character Dionysus? Is he going to cause trouble, do you think...? ;)

please vote and comment if you liked <3

lots of love

Larissa 

x