Moon Song by Elen Sentier

branches, was the young crescent moon. Isoldé watched it transfixed, it was beautiful, the silvery sickle shape floating upwards amongst the spidery twigs in the top of the trees, at the top of the valley, above the house.
    There was a sound, almost music, a long quavering note, eerie, making her hackles rise. She turned back to the hare. Its mouth was open, the sound came from the creature, calling, plaintive, wistful. It devolved into a very simple tune, three notes up and down, da di di da da da, the first note repeated, longshort-short, then up a note, then up again, then back down to where it started. The tune sounded again and again.
    ‘What …? What is it you want?’ Isoldé asked the hare.
    Still there was no response but the little beast stopped singing and dropped back onto all fours, sat for a moment then turned to disappear into the undergrowth.
    Isoldé stood for a moment then shook herself, it was like waking up, had she been dreaming? The hare was gone. She crouched down. Yes, there in the soft earth was the fresh print of little paws. It had been real. She got back in the car and drove up to the house.
    ‘I saw your lights come in the gate,’ Mark said as he came out to meet her. ‘Then you stayed there a while. What happened?’
    ‘It was the hare again,’ Isoldé told him, following him through to the kitchen.
    He poured her a glass of wine, refilled his own. ‘The hare was there?’
    ‘Yes …’ Isoldé paused, took a sip of the wine. ‘It was like she was waiting for me again. She didn’t speak, or shift, but she seemed to sing. Something made me look up at the woods above the house and the new moon was just rising, it was beautiful.While I watched, this sound came, then it became a tune, very simple.’ She hummed it for him. ‘And when I looked back it was like the hare was singing. Her mouth was open and I swear this sound was coming out of her.’
    ‘Strange …it’s not like any noise I’ve ever heard of a hare making and it does sound like a simple tune.’ He turned back to fussling with dinner for a moment then took his wine and came to sit with Isoldé at the table.
    ‘Hares are moon creatures,’ he said.
    ‘That’s right,’ Isoldé agreed.
    ‘And Tristan said about the Moon’s song in that letter.’
    ‘He did.’
    They were both not saying it, skirting round, not coming in close, it was too personal.
    ‘OK.’ Mark grimaced. ‘Is it the beginning of the song you’re getting?’
    ‘I don’t know but it does seem awfully coincidental to see the hare, right at the gate, and just as the moon is rising. And then to get this tune,’ Isoldé said.
    ‘What shall we do about it?’
    ‘I vote we have dinner, do whatever, go to bed, let it all find its own way. Straining my brain isn’t working. I’m hungry. I’ve missed you all week. I want to be with you for a bit, not ferreting about after lost songs. There’s plenty of time for that later. Can we just have now to ourselves?’
    Mark pulled her hand to his mouth and gently sucked each finger.
    ‘Will that do for starters?’ he asked, grinning wickedly.
Woodfolk – Gideon
    Isoldé woke in the big bed to the crepuscule light of pre-dawn. Her skin prickled, she looked up, something had passed the window but now she looked it was gone. She pulled some clothes on, went to the hall, pulled on boots, threw Mark’s fishing jumper over her shoulders and slipped outside.
    The air was fresh, the grass covered with dew, the sun tangling with the branches at the top of the valley above them. That way drew her; she set off up the path. The going was steep, difficult right from the start. Mark had shown her the way on the map, saying they would go up later this morning, but this was different, exploring on her own. The quiet was emphasised by the chuckling stream, the birdsong echoed in the trees reminding her of the cathedral in Exeter. A cathedral of trees. The light was indirect, sparkling off leaves moving in the almost