From far away, a wind that resembles you rises

It blows over to me hello, hello, hello

• Windy Day, Oh My Girl

The chore of gathering petals from the glade was, for most of the villagers, a source of frustration for the past few years.  Typically, it was a task that took far longer than it should, and was work that was least desired.  

This was one amongst many reasons why Yooa was so beloved by her people.

The woman reached the middle of the glade and sat, setting her basket nearby and idly brushing her hand over the bed of grass she decided to rest upon.  It was a beautiful day - the spring sun shone down on her upturned face, bringing a soft red glow to her closed eyes.  It was peaceful for her, being in nature away from the quiet industry of ambitious people.  This was a privilege not everyone got to enjoy - she was fully aware of it.

An immature pest - that was the best way to describe the forest sprite.  For years, the winds had been tempered, mild, and far more predictable and natural.  However, there was little dissent now in the debate of whether or not such an intelligence truly lingered in the wood.  Each gust and gale conveyed emotion.  Whether that emotion was joyful or petty, there was an intelligence behind the unnatural breeze.  It was as if a regime had changed in the natural order that controlled the world, and some bored nuisance had risen in power.  

Her thoughts were interrupted by small tufts of wind lightly tussled brown strands of hair, lightly demanding attention and bringing a smile to the young woman’s lips.  The wind was warm, similar to a light hearted greeting in the marketplace.  It seemed welcoming, like an old friend’s invitation for a visit, a cheerful hello.

Yooa opened her eyes, catching sight of dandelion seeds swirling playfully before being dispersed in a more natural fashion.  

As far as she could remember, the sprite seemed to have a soft spot in its heart for Yooa.  Memories of running through the central glade with the wind at her back, the gusts playfully tussling at her hair and ruffling her skirts, were plentiful.  The sprite was more like a childhood friend than some unseeing force of nature.  It was welcoming and eager for her visits, remaining playful but not crossing the line into disruptive as she grew with responsibilities.

Such a reception was uncommon for those who bothered to risk the hassle of visiting the area - more often than not, the soft gusts that would welcome Yooa would send flying the hats and possessions of her friends.  The hours of labor gathering ingredients for remedies or stews would be constantly tested by the impish gales.  It was frequently discussed with bitter words, frustration mounting due to a lack of solution to the minor problem of a supernatural brat.

“Good morning,” Yooa greeted softly out loud, plucking up a dandelion of her own.  The soft, light seeds stirred only slightly, as if her friend was being careful not to cause trouble.  Not for the first time, Yooa became lost in thought as her focus sharpened and she wondered what gave her such favor to the forest sprite.

A flash of red dashing behind trees caught her sight, and Yooa felt the dandelion slip from her grasp in surprise.  It had been brief, but it had been far larger than a bird with vibrant feathers.  Too tall and slender to be a deer. No, it had the silhouette of a girl.  Perhaps imagined?

Yooa rose to her feet and narrowed her eyes, focusing on the trees.