The tribe didn’t understand her fascination with the moon’s glow. They couldn't see the fairies dance in the field after midnight. They didn’t see them because they were fast asleep, dreaming of the last hunt. They woke with the dawn, broke bread, and began their day. The women went to the fields to harvest the wild herbs and grain. The men of the clan spent their days hunting when the meat supply was low. When the day’s hunt was excellent, they sang songs and repaired their weapons, readying them for the next hunt. It was then that the mead flowed heavily, and the air filled with laughter as they worked.

Occasionally, the men would sit together and plan the next move. The journey would take them across the plains, over the mountains, to the seas to trade their furs and women with the other clans. Jihyo knew she was coming of age, and on the next trip she would be traded. She would lose the beauty of the fairies dancing in the moonlight as they spread the seeds across the field to become the wife of a man from another tribe, her days filled with cooking, cleaning, sewing, mending, and taking care of one baby after another.

I don’t want to marry, she thought. I don’t want to leave the fairies or this place again. There must be a way. Why do I see the fairies and they can’t? What’s different in me, and why do I wish for a life beyond what I have known? If I marry, I don’t want it to be a man of the clans, who cannot see the fairies, and his only thought is of the hunt, his belly, mead, and tales of adventure. The world must be more than that, or there would be no fairies.

She had learned early in life that talking about them brought about disdain from the clan, and that is why she hadn’t told Doeina why they were out that night. Instead, she made up a story that she heard one could find unique herbs under the moonlight.

Jihyo remembered when she was little and first talked of the fairies. The old mother was called, and Jihyo was given many beakers of a tincture to drink. It smelled of dirt, garlic, and mule dung, though she now doubted the mule dung or muck. Yet she remembered the smell well. That mixture made her drowsy, her mind cloudy, and her tongue unable to form words for a few days.

She never talked of them again. Even later when she’d talked one of the other children into staying out to watch the moon, she hadn’t told them about the fairies, but she waited to see if they saw them. As they stood against the rocks, EunHye chattered away until she eventually became quiet. But it wasn’t the night or the beauty that made Doeina quiet. She had fallen asleep, wrapped in her child’s cloak. Jihyo never brought anyone back, but that night she watched the fairies dance until just before dawn. Then she woke EunHye. The two of them carefully snuck back into the village, and into the orphan’s tent. Jihyo knew then that no one except her would ever see the fairies, at least from this village.

As she watched the fairies dance in the field below, she knew they couldn't be as small as they appeared from her vantage point. I’m small for my age, she thought, and in this clan, my head barely reaches the waist of the adults. The children I grew up with now tower over me. Who am I? I don’t look like anyone here, and the tribe won’t talk about my mother or who she was. Did she die or just leave me here? Jihyo wondered again as she had over the years since her brain had developed past childhood.
 

I’m afraid, she silently admitted to herself. Someone might notice the large growths on my back. I know if they marry me off at the gathering, my future mate will notice. How could he not? Will the growths become even bigger? What are they? As it is, they itch all the time now. “Who am I? What am I?” Jihyo whispered as she stood there in the cold night air, waiting for the fairies to come. She needed the magic badly tonight. Her mind had been terrified for weeks as her body began its changes. These weren't the normal changes of the other girls, and she dreaded what it might mean to her.

As was normal for the nights the fairies came to the meadow, she first heard the music of their flutes on the wind, and then the field below became an enchanted place of beauty. Bright colors lit the sky, and the dance began again — only tonight it called her more than it ever had before. Several times she caught herself moving toward the field, only to move back to the rocks, afraid. Yet, Jihyo was mesmerized, the pull too strong to overcome. Slowly, she moved out of the rocks, and as she walked closer to the field, she felt as if she glided on air. Her dark cloak fell off her shoulders. Then the back of her leather tunic felt as if it were going to explode. The pain between her shoulders grew as her body drew closer to the meadow below. A warm, sticky fluid flowed down her back, drenching her clothes.

The sweet, warm, tropical breezes of the field filled her nostrils, and her heart lifted as she drew close. She was so near now that she could see the faces of each fairy, their graceful colored wings gliding and glittering in the breezes as they halted, staring at her. Jihyo stopped, the pull toward them nearly as great as the fear that froze her into place, as they looked at each other. Her heart filled with the need to join them, yet she stood and waited. The leather tunic dripped and pulled tighter across her back. The stain spread further, leaving trails of a sticky, milky substance on her tunic.

As suddenly as the flutes stopped, they began again and filled her soul with their music. The lilting melody made her ache with the need to pull off the trappings of the clan, and dress in the flowing, gauzy, bright, garments of the fairies. Gone was her past and her memories of the clan. The fairy world filled her as she moved into the circle.

The fairy women gathered around her, cloaked her from the sight of the others, from the breeze, and from the world. “You are Song Jihyo. Your mother is waiting. Her heart may now recover from her loss of you. My name is Lee Hyo-ri. I’m her sister,” the red haired fairy said to her as she took a silver blade and cut the deerskin tunic from Jihyo’s body. “Your wings came late, we have been waiting for you to mature for many a moon now.” Eunhye’s voice was melodic as she used a soft, warm, soothing cloth, and wiped the gooey mess from Jihyo’s back. Soon, Jihyo’s wings were free of the last of the leather that clung to them. The damp cloth smelled like early morning dew, drenched in wild lavender, and relaxed her back. The agony was now gone.

Jihyo stood quietly, her mind too filled with questions for her to speak; instead she let them free her long red hair, clean her soiled back, and dress her in a long, golden dress, which flowed to her small bare feet. Her new wings opened, drying in the scented breeze. Her heart full of joy, she wanted to fly and join the dance, yet knew that she would need to build up the strength of her wings. She basked in the bliss of belonging.