He sat now, on a throne of vines and twigs, logs and broken antlers, all of which were formed and held together by a twisting green vine. It was not his idea, in fact, the title and throne he thought were preposterous, if not because he wasn’t royalty but because he was a Ranger and to take such a thing with him would have been beyond foolish.
The sprites and spirits that sometimes followed him disagreed, moving about unseen and unheard even by one as highly trained as William. He knew he was a mystery to the small fey creatures, he surely was no man, but nor was he like any fey that had ever encountered before. He possessed the grace and fluidity of the fey people, he had the powers, and could hold their weapons, yet he was not wholly fey. The elders often referred to him as the boy that should of never been, Prince of the Nymphs.
William Hawk sat in that throne now only because he had grown weary of trying to avoid it and in truth the sprites and spirits antics had put him in a light mood, why not indulge them? He was quick to keep his bow, currently a seedling, attached to his left wrist on that left hand secure to the pommel of the sword on his hip. They’d take anything they could get their small hands on to.
“Alright, I’ve sat in this throne. Are you happy now?” He asked, his musical, yet strong and manly voice, carrying out with the rolling wind. The only response he got back was the laughter and chitterling of the small fey creatures all about him. William could only guess at how silly he looked, especially after he felt what he knew to be a crown of roses placed on his head.
“Touching. Truly touching.” He added, putting his chin into the palm of his right hand as he looked about to see what else the small creatures would do. Even after spending half of his life in these woods he could never predict what was on these little feys minds, only that they had never hurt him beyond minor scrapes and bruises.