and found herself in a cabin

"Who are you?" Jena tried not to shriek. He wasn't moving toward her threateningly or anything. He was just so large. The mountain man's head was only a foot shy of the high ceiling, and his massive shoulders strained at the fabric of his flannel shirt. His warm brown eyes stared at her out of a luxuriantly bearded face, and his enormous hands were actually twisted together nervously.
"I'm Declan. I found you in the river, stuck in some tree roots. I thought.. I thought you were going to die."
Jena breathed in as she remembered falling, the icy grip of the water squeezing her life force. She knew fairies were supposed to stay warm, and that kept so many of them indoors most of the winter. She shivered. Maybe she wasn't as invincible as she felt.
"Thank you," she said softly, staring at the fire. "It was stupid of me to go out in the first place, and I wasn't even paying attention."
The fire crackled. The warmth seeped into Jena's bones finally, and she felt a great tiredness creep over her. Her eyes started to close of their own volition, but then snapped open. "Wait. Where are my clothes?"
Declan turned from the fire, startled. She actually saw a red stain creeping up his cheeks out of the brown beard that she suddenly wanted to touch. Was it as soft as it looked?
"Oh sorry. I uh... I can get you some of mine. Yours were pretty shredded and I had to uh.. " he cleared his throat, "get them off you so you could warm up."
Jena raised an eyebrow at him. "Your clothes?" She stared up at his massive bulk. He saw her looking and grimaced. "I'll do what I can, I promise." Declan disappeared into a back room.
Jena felt warmer now, a little too warm. Was her face as flushed as it felt? She must be too near the fire. She wrapped herself snugly in the bearskin and scooted back until she was sitting against a large wooden chair that held a worn blue cushion. Leaning her head against the soft edge of the cushion, she closed her eyes for just a moment...
And woke up to the feeling of being lifted into the air by a pair of well-muscled arms. She gasped and clutched at the air and almost tumbled to the floor. "Whoa!" said Declan, "I was just going to put you in my bed. I mean, wait. Just you in my bed. By yourself. I uh. I'll be in the other room. I won't bother you. Um..." She could see his face dimly in the darkened hallway as he shook his head and closed his eyes. She took pity on him. "It's fine, don't--" her words were interrupted by a huge yawn that overtook her. He moved down the hallway again and deposited her gently on a large, soft bed in a shadowed room. "There are some clothes on the chair in the corner. Just yell my name if you need anything. Sleep well." And with that, he shut the door on her bemused expression.

who fell in a river one evening...

The man ran toward the river, speeding up as he saw the walking staff with its top still glowing lying on the ground next to the hole in the thin ice that covered the dark river. He immediately thrust his arms into the water, ignoring the icy chill as he swept them back and forth. One of his hands caught on a wad of fabric and he reached farther until he felt solid flesh, then grabbed on and pulled with all his strength. It was a fairy. She was still wearing a red shawl, now sodden and dark. He couldn't remember which colors meant what, but he knew that her blue lips were not a good sign. The man laid her on the ground on her side and pushed on her until river water came spewing out of her mouth. She still wasn't breathing, so he threw her over his shoulder and took off toward his cabin. He momentarily regretted the loss of his kill, but knew that the forest would absorb it and use it to nourish its own. It was more important to save this life than to add venison stew to the week's meals.
The man crashed through the woods until he reached his roomy home in a small clearing. He was panting as he pushed open the solid oak door and a bundle of dried herbs and bells hanging from the door frame jingled as his head brushed past it. The fire in the fireplace was dying down, so he threw logs on until it built up, then got to the business of getting the fairy out of her wet clothes. He respectfully tried to avert his eyes as the layers came off, but he couldn't help noticing that she was pleasantly rounded in all the right places. Her abundant mass of dark hair would surely be beautiful when it dried.
The man covered her nakedness with a bearskin and then hurried to his cupboard of healing herbs. He pulled out a small jar of breathewort dust and shook some on her face as he returned to kneel beside her. There was nothing to do now but hope and pray the dust would work and that he had warmed her up in time. He gazed at her pale face. Suddenly, she gasped and opened her eyes and he found himself staring into the depths of emerald green pools.
The man found himself having trouble breathing and considered reaching for the breathewort. The blood rushing to warm her showcased a truly beautiful face that the cold river had tried to steal for itself. The fairy gasped and coughed and trembled, struggling to sit up. He helped her sit up, his hand electrified by the feel of her bare back. He quickly drew it back when she had her balance.
***
Jena stared wildly at the giant man in front of her. Where was she? Who was this man who smelled of cedar and pine and earth? WHY WAS SHE NAKED???


to be continued...

once upon a time, there was a girl named Jena

Jena the doula fairy stared in disbelief at the empty jar tucked in the back of her overcrowded shelves. She could see from the late afternoon sunlight streaming in that there wasn't even a smidgen of moonflower dust left. She wearily pushed back a strand of hair from her sweaty forehead and set the jar on the work table in the middle of her small cottage. Her potion cauldron bubbled merrily above the fire, and several specific herbs lay drying on the hearth. She had been all set to make another batch of anxiety elixir for her clients--one of them was due any day now and would definitely need some of the elixir.
Outside, the sunlight was dying and the cold, snowy evening approached quickly. Thankfully, the moon was waxing; otherwise, Jena would not have been able to find the delicate flowers from which the moonflower dust was made. They only opened in the moonlight of a waxing moon, releasing small puffs of dust to be collected by the waiting fairy. And of course, only a fairy could collect that dust because humans didn't have the reflexes or the sight necessary to do so. So it was to be a late night again, hunting for patches of ground where the earliest moonflowers would hopefully be blooming despite the chill.
Jena wrapped herself in her bright red shawl that was the signature color of all the doula fairies and pulled a wool cap over her lustrous hair. She stamped her feet into a pair of stout boots and grabbed her collection pouch and the walking staff with the gem at the top that carried a glowspell. Twitching her fingers at the fire until it died down to coals obediently, she opened the door and stepped out into the twilight. Her breath hung in the frosty air as she stood for a moment and greeted the moon.
"Moon mother, bless me tonight with your precious flowers. Help me find them, please." She gazed at the fat gibbous orb in the darkening sky and then set off toward the forest across the field in front of her home. It was hard work tramping through the snow: the wind had come strong the night before and there were drifts and bare ground and treacherous crusts of snow concealing hollows and rocks. She soon found herself huffing and sweating and wishing she had not worn quite so many layers. The moon rose higher as she searched in vain for the moonflowers, and her eyes failed to notice that she had stepped onto the edge of the mountain-fed spring that ran through the woods. With a sudden crack!, she fell through the ice and into the bitterly cold water beneath. She had time only to gasp before the current sucked her under the crust. Her walking staff lay abandoned on the bank.
Not far away, a man turned from ritually burying the inedible entrails of a deer he had killed. The crack of the ice had echoed and he felt in his gut that something was wrong. He got to his feet and ran in the direction of the stream...
to be continued...