Roseberry Faire

No winter-loving creature, this ouphe. They called her Summerthorn, for though the frost curled her toes in her boots the colour of violets, and the snow turned her pale as the moon, came the sun and she blossomed like a daffodil, and the roses came out in her cheeks.

She was prickly, too, like the tips of holly leaves. Sharp were her nose and her fingers and her chin; sharp were her eyes and her tongue, too, for she missed nothing, and never suffered fools. She lived in a bower of ivy under a mossy stone bridge, the stream it had once spanned long since drained away. The villagers of Wyld Cou

No winter-loving creature, this ouphe. They called her Summerthorn, for though the frost curled her toes in her boots the colour of violets, and the snow turned her pale as the moon, came the sun and she blossomed like a daffodil, and the roses came out in her cheeks.

She was prickly, too, like the tips of holly leaves. Sharp were her nose and her fingers and her chin; sharp were her eyes and her tongue, too, for she missed nothing, and never suffered fools. She lived in a bower of ivy under a mossy stone bridge, the stream it had once spanned long since drained away. The villagers of Wyld Court built it, long ago, but their cottages now lie in tumbled ruins, and a

They called her Summerthorn, for though the frost curled her toes in her boots the colour of violets, and the snow turned her pale as the moon, came the sun and she blossomed like a daffodil, and the roses came out in her cheeks.

They called her Summerthorn, for though the frost curled her toes in her boots the colour of violets, and the snow turned her pale as the moon, came the sun and she blossomed like a daffodil, and the roses came out in her cheeks.

faintly; ‘Hoy,’ she

She was prickly, too, like the tips of holly leaves.