Once Upon a time...

     Arthur stared at the bolded gold script on a letter in his lap. He had read the first sentence several times, but could never bring himself to get passed the golden words which stopped his heart in its track. 

      The letter was the last thing he had of his father. His father who raised him. His father who was his only living family member. His father who had disappeared exactly a week prior. Arthur still hadn't wrapped his head around that terrifying fact. One morning Arthur had awoken to a large crash, and when he rushed out of his room, his father was gone, only leaving a letter behind. A letter Arthur had tucked into a drawer and ignored. The fact that the letter existed eluded to another much more terrifying fact; his father had left of his own accord. 

     The cottage was suffocating. Being there all alone was killing him. Where could he go though? The forest would become a death trap in the night, and he couldn't make it over the northern mountains to the elven village before nightfall. Even if he did manage to make it he'd have nothing to do once he got there. Of course he could always go south, but he'd risk falling onto troll territory by accident. Trolls were not nearly as forgiving as elves. Though elves were known for being cheap, and wouldn't be much more help. If he went north he'd be looked down on, and if he went south he'd be killed. 

     So he was trapped. Trapped in his village. Trapped in his home, which he had refused to leave, despite the pitied glances. The human village was small, and too tight knit for Arthur's liking. Death or scorn. He thought again. Where was he going, though? Was he going to find his father? His father had clearly used fairy magic to leave, based on the shimmery gold powder left on the woven rug. 

     Fairies, at least good fairies, were by far the most welcoming of the creatures he could pass, but choosing to leave was choosing to figure out the mystery of his father's disappearance, which he wasn't sure if he was ready to yet. 

     He was startled by a knocking at the door, and turned to see the shadow of a woman on the curtain covering the window over the door.

     "Arthur dear!" The voice of a particularly annoying village woman called. "Let me in dear, I've brought cookies!"

     Arthur frowned. He couldn't handle another pretend pitiful conversation with a nosy person hoping Arthur had something to say they could gossip about with their friends. That made the decision for him easy. He turned on his heel and entered the bedroom. If everyone was going to make up stories anyway he might as well know. 

     The fairies' territory was to the east, and a significantly shorter journey than anywhere else he could go. He'd never met a real fairy, though his father had several times. From what he understood they were primitive like insects, but if they were strong enough to maintain territory in a warring realm, they should be able to at least be able to point him in the right direction. The more he considered the idea the better he liked it. A week alone in his cottage was torturous, and waiting for his father to return had done him no good. 

     Arthur began packing his things into his small brown horse's bags. Traveling in the cart would be more comfortable, but would draw unnecessary attention, so he planned to travel by horseback. Arthur had never been a talented rider, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He took a last look around his old cottage. The thatched roof, timbered farmhouse was pretty, and would always hold space in his heart. But his time there had soured, and couldn't become as it was before unless his father returned. Closing the dutch door he looked to the old fireplace, and saw the letter. Sighing he grabbed it stuffing it quickly into his bag, knowing if he didn't he'd regret it. 

     It was morning, the best time to travel, being the wood was unwelcoming in the night. So he took off immediately sparing the peasant village only one look over his shoulder. Thankfully the village woman had given up while he was still packing. The rolling green hills seemed to beckon him outwards, East toward the thinnest section of the forest. His horse trekked casually along the dirt path stopping rarely. An old horse, but a strong one. He was moving towards The Whitewood Forest, a section of birch trees with white trunks and emerald green leaves. The sun shinned brightly, but the trees were far in the distance, and he couldn't quite make them out yet.

     Suddenly from the east an arrow flew across the path aimed at a scurrying rabbit in front of them. Spooked, his horse reared back lifting its hooves into the air, shaking Arthur from his seat. It came back down and began to sprint throwing him to the side as he clutched desperately at the horses neck. The horse was unstoppable moving West; toward the King's castle.