Here you will find them gathered, the curious ones, the watchful, the mischievous, and the eerie.
Each sculpture is one of a kind, a being that has stepped out from a hidden world.
Come closer, and you might hear them calling you deeper into the Forest.
Amanthra
At first glance, she is nothing more than a toadstool blending seamlessly with the woods. But if you watch for long enough, you may see a glint of movement. Shimmering black eyes beneath the brim of her mushroom hat.
Her hat is not just decoration, it is alive, grown from the oldest mycelium networks that twist beneath the forest floor. It grants her the wisdom of the forests.
Her skin carries the scent of rain and damp earth. And though many pass her by without even knowing, some say if you leave an offering, she may reveal herself.
Amanthra does not speak with words, more like a feeling that grows in your mind like spores, blooming into understanding days later.
Seren stands beside the great horned creature many have likened to a jackalope, though the Forest has older names for him.
They have met before, though not as they are now. When the creature was small enough to pass underneath the dried grass, Seren found it caught in wire left by man.
He watched her as she knelt and cut the wire. The creature did not bolt when freed. It rose slowly, testing its legs and for a single moment he pressed his small brow against her palm. Then vanishes into the woods as though he had never been.
Years passed, as they do differently for the small folk and the four-footed and when the pixie came upon him years later, grown heavy in the shoulder and horned like a stag, he did not drive her off. He lowered his head, one paw lifted, uncertain.
The pixie knew him at once and she knew too the strength that stood before her. His antlers were wide now and marked from use. There was power in him enough to strike and end her small, bright life in a single motion. Seren placed her foot carefully, and kept one hand where she could draw back, not because she doubted him, but because she respected what he had become.
All the creature had ever known was the roughness of men who feared what they could not name. He watched her as creatures do who have been wronged too often, waiting for the strike. But it did not come.
This is said to be the first kindness the creature ever knew.
Seren & The Creature
Aíbell
Some say Aíbell shaped her woodland crown herself beneath a young birch tree, bending the supple wood with careful and mindful hands. Birch is a tree of beginnings and Pixies are fond of claiming such things.
Others say that the crown was found hanging upon a low branch, turning gently though there was no wind and no thread holding it there. As if the tree had grown it for her and released it when she passed below.
Aíbell will not say.
But when moonlight touches her crown, it gleams faintly and the birch grove seem to lean in closer as though they were watching and listening.
Whether she wove it, or whether the woodland chose her remains a matter of debate.
Aíbell keeps her crown.
And the birches keep their secret.
Nyxelle
Nyxelle first met this leaf winged creature knows as a Pixie Bat when he was just a pup, separated from his colony and grounded by cold & hunger, his wings torn like old cloth. She fed him fruit from a nearby bush, watched over him & waited as he healed. She wrapped a chain of silver around his neck, not as a restraint, but as a promise, one she keeps to this night.
They've flown together ever since.
She speaks to him in clicks too soft for human ears. When its time to rest he folds his wings around her & sleeps as she hums.
Theirs is a bond rarely seen in the wild. Some say her bat will not fly without her. Others claim she gave up her own wings to mend his. Neither tale has been proven.
She is not one for crowds but if you are very still, and the moon is rising, you may hear the soft beat of his wings pass overhead carrying her home.
And if you leave a sliver of silver in the hollow of a tree, it's said she may return the gesture...
with a dream so vivid, it feels like memory.
Torve
Torve found an old iron lantern half-buried and forgotten, its structure changed over time and its purpose disappeared. She cleaned it carefully, wove willow around it and moss through its bars, and set a lichen-covered stick inside to rest upon.
A snail arrived one afternoon and never really left. He travels the inside walls of the lantern with what seems like a never ending wonder and Torve greets him each evening with a gentle hand upon his shell. They share the solitude, and neither feel alone in it.
Each day Torve ventures out, as all Forest Children must, to tend to the Forest, guide small creatures and stand watch where the woods end. But when the light fades, she always returns to her small home that knows her well.
Nia
Nia spends her days walking barefoot along the damp forest floor, watching over the smallest creatures, those who are often forgotten.
When a wing tears, she mends it with a single strand of spider silk. When a beetle becomes trapped in a puddle, she lifts it clear on the tip of a twig. And when the snails, her beloved slow-kin, grow weary from their long journeys, she offers them a drink from her acorn cup.
The cup itself is a treasure, polished smooth by her own hands. Each morning she fills it with clear water. Many believe that the moss grows greener where she dwells, and remain damp and thriving even in times of drought.
If you ever find a perfect acorn cup filled with water resting upon a stone, tread lightly. It may be Nia’s gift left for a weary traveler yet to arrive
Sereth
Nestled in the heart of the forest, a pixie sleeps in a nest not her own.
Curled around a single egg layed by a eager young blackbird, too naive to know what to do and who vanished when the frost set in. Yet the egg remained, and Sereth found it.
She did not lay it, but she guards it all the same. Her warm wings form a cradle around them both.
She wakes only to shift the twigs, to tighten the lining with down and moss, or to sing the songs that wake the spring from its sleep.
Eirlys
Eirlys walks for months, around the edges of woodland and fields, passing unseen through hedgerows and empty gardens.
It is said that the snowdrops follow the warmth of her light, and that they would not rise without it. Because of this, people once watched the first flowers carefully. If they bloomed early and close together, it meant Eirlys had been, and spring would come gently. If they bloomed late and scattered, winter was not yet finished.
Some still believe it is unwise to disturb the first snowdrops of the year. They are not merely flowers, but signs, and to break them is to interrupt a promise made between winter and spring.
When her wandering is done and the snowdrops are strong enough to stand on their own, she returns to her hidden nest of woven twigs, moss and feathers that are gifted to her by the birds who know her name, it is a place she has made and remade many times as the seasons turn. There she will wait, gathering moss, listening to the thaw, until the forests call for her again
Sirelia
She has spent an eternity traveling with the tide, chasing the Moon.
She rests in a glass bowl filled with pure sea water charged by the full Moon, always just enough to cradle her. Though the bowl never spills, it is said to shift ever so slightly on the full Moon, drawn gently toward the sea.
Sirelia hums in the night when the Moon is high and strange things have been known to happen near her. Her scales seem dull until moonlight finds them. It is under that light that her magic is strongest.
But remember, if you see her during a new Moon, tides will shift, not just in water, but in luck
Eydra
She is one of the old kind, what the wise ones once called a lantern keeper. These beings were said to dwell where the forest grows thickest, taking shelter in hollowed things like tree stumps, burrows and rusted metal left behind and overtaken by green. Eydra has made her home in such a lantern, tucked among fungi and lichen, the air around her faintly aglow though no flame burns within. She does not speak. She does not flee, she simply watches.
There are stories, of course, some say she once guided lost animals through the thicket with the flicker of her lantern. Others claim she marks the threshold between realms.
What is certain is this… wherever she is found, the forest feels deeper, older and strangely alive.
Cindrel & Marrowen
Most Pixies live their life in solitude, or within the company of animals and creatures. They slip between shadows and leaves, tending to the unseen threads of the natural world. It is said that when a Pixie walks with another, something unknown has awoken.
Cindrel and Marrowen met by the old pond, where the water holds secrets and magic older than we will ever know.
The line that they cast is more of a ritual than a tool. They dip it gently, as though they’re trying not to disturb the world too much and not to startle the magic that’s settled beneath the water.
What called them to the same place, on the same day remains unknown. But you should know this, when they are together, their own magic and the magic around them, grows considerably stronger.
Nimryl
Nimryl is a watcher and a dreamer. She spends her days listening to the world around her, the hum of the roots and the sighs of sleeping snails.
Young pixies like Nimryl rarely wander far from the safety of their homes. The world beyond the mossy walls is vast and strange, filled with unfamiliar rustlings and shadows that move in curious ways.
She has no need for such adventures yet.
For now, the soft glow of lichen light and the familiar company of her snail friend are all she needs
Elderra
This tiny winged mouse fell from the sky one night, back when his wings were too new to carry his own weight, and Elderra found him lying helplessly on the forest floor.
She said nothing, only placed her hand upon him, and from that night on, they were inseparable.
They say she speaks to him in a language no other can hear, and that he listens closely with black unblinking eyes.
Together they sit quietly for hours. Her hands rest gently around him, never gripping, only holding.
His wings now strong, he still chooses not to leave her side.
Some believe she once lost something precious and the mouse was sent to guide her.
Whatever the truth, the bond between them is older than we will ever know.