Once there was a little lynx kitten, who lived in the Wood with her family and her relations and all her neighbors, and her name was Liela. She ran all about the Wood, and played games as children do, but her favorite person in the whole, wide Wood was her grandmother, who was known to many and held many names and titles, but to the little cub she was Gramma Mew. And every day Liela would bring her MewMew tea with honeycakes, and she would curl up on her knees and her gramma would tell her a story, or she would sit on the floor besides the fire, with Gramma in her chair, and draw or sew and tell her grandmother everything that she had seen or done or thought about. Gramma Mew would chuckle and sigh, and ask interesting questions that made Liela think hard enough for her head to feel like it would spin right off her body.

Leila knew that Gramma Mew’s birthday was coming – on Faelivrin, no less! - and so for months she had worked hard and in secret to surprise her most favoritest gramma. At last the day arrived and Leila, leaping out of bed with a bound, carefully collected her present, neatly wrapped in many-colored bows, and dashed into the sitting room… but Gramma Mew was not there, only her mother and father, shoulder to shoulder, looking like they had been waiting for her.

“Where is Gramma MewMew?” blinked Leila, curious as ever. “I made her a present!” and she shook the package gently and looked about, as if expecting her MewMew to suddenly appear as a birthday surprise.

Her father sighed, and glanced at her mother. Her mother smoothed her fur in a way Leila knew she only did when she was worried. “Well, my sweetling, you see, Gramma Mew isn’t here anymore. The Isles have called her away.”

Leila paused and thought. “So she went on a trip? But the Isles have to know that it’s her birthday, and that they should have just come to visit for the holiday! I’ll go and tell them right away, and give her my present too!” And despite her parents protests she was out the door and bounding away into the Wood, her present tucked away in her bag. Pausing among the great trees, she stopped to think, peering all about. “Now, which way would Gramma have gone?” Spinning around, she laughed as her gaze fell upon a circle of little white mushrooms, glittering in the morning dew. “That’s right! ‘Mushroom circle, mushroom circle, at the break of day! Step inside, step inside and you’ll be on your way!’ That’s what Gramma Mew would say!” Giggling at her own rhyme, she skipped over and landed with a plop in the middle of the ring. “Take me to see my Mew Mew!” she commanded to the trees all around.

Her words echoed through the trees, and the great trunk before her began to twist and to creak, the wood wrinkling and bulging into the gnarled face of a great catamount, a cougar hoary and ancient. It’s whiskers drooped with mosses, and mushrooms sprouted all about her, shuddering up through the soil.

None may pass onwards until they are called, sapling. And she heard its voice, the voice of the Isles, in her bones and her stomach, like it came booming from her very heart itself. Leila shivered, but held herself bravely, brandishing her bag.

“I have a present for my Gramma Mew! It’s her birthday, and I worked hard on it, so you gotta let me give it to her!” And she stamped once, in emphasis, even though she knew Gramma Mew would scold her for her temper.

The great wooden face before her creased into a snarl, and a growl peeled through her like distant thunder. Your grandmother has come to me, child of the Wood, and those who do cannot return. Such is the way of it.

“Please!” and Leila steeled herself, staring straight into the great and shadowy face. “I… I must give Gramma her present! A-and I… I didn’t even get to say good-bye!”

There was a quiet, so deep it was as if the woods, or the world itself held its breath. Very well, for you honor those who have passed on this day of all days. But know this, lynx-child; should you break trust, should you tarry overlong, you will not see the Sun again. Do you accept?

Leila nodded, and then the mushrooms rose up all about her, their web-like roots creeping up her legs, up her chest, until with a crumbling, falling sensation they closed over her, and she slid down, down, down into the deep dark. She felt the rustle of a thousand, thousand seasons of dead leaves, and the quiet work of the forest floor to clean it all up, to replenish, to transform. And down and down and down, following the roots of the mushrooms that began to glow gently, like veins running deep under the skin. And then the falling sensation became a growing one, up and out until she emerged, blinking, from another fairy circle, sprouting out of it into a vast, dim space. The air was dank and still, and dark motes drifted in the glow of the mushroom ring. All around, there was a gentle whispering of voices, just on the edge of hearing.

Leila picked herself up, peering into the gloom. “Gramma?” she called, her voice a whisper even though she had meant to shout. “Gramma MewMew, are you there?” Even at the softness of her words, the muttering voices seemed to grow louder, and she shivered down to her toes. Even so, she lifted one paw, a little hesitantly, and went to take a step into the dark.

No, child! Wait…

“Gramma?” Head up, ears forward, she paused, straining to see, to hear. The mushrooms all about her shook, and the ground before her shifted as new ones sprouted and swiftly grew, and grew, before with gentle sighs, they puffed glowing spores into the air, which swirled in mesmerizing patterns. Leila stared, transfixed, as the spores drifted and swirled into shape, the shape of her beloved Gramma Mew. “Gramma!”

“Oh, my sweet darling Leila,” murmured the shape of her grandmother, barely louder than the whispering voices. “It is so good to see you… but no, why are you here? This is not your place, it is not your time…”

“It’s your birthday, Gramma! Surely you didn’t forget?” Leila rummaged in her bag, shyly holding up the carefully wrapped present, decorated in many ribbons. “I made it for you special.”

“Oh!” A look of surprise, and then Gramma Mew’s brow wrinkled in thought. “Why… so it is! It must have slipped my mind. But come, show us, show us what you made, dear child! Go on, unwrap it for me. These old paws aren’t quite as steady as they used to be.”

Leila worried at her lip, but nodded, and carefully un-knotted the ribbons and unfolded the paper to reveal two gorgeous lynx dolls, lovingly stitched. The larger was grey and rich brown, with striping embroidered about the eyes. The smaller was tawny, with spots carefully stitched. Gramma’s breath seemed to hitch as Leila nudged them both forward. “See, Gramma? I-it’s us!” And all at once the little lynx kitten burst into tears.

“Oh, my darling child,” her grandmother breathed, phantom tears sliding into her fur. “I am so, so sorry. You worked so hard on these.”

“I d-don’t want you to go!” Leila stammered, looking forlorn up at her grandmother. “C-can’t you come back, MewMew? I c-can’t… I miss you so much!”

“Shhh, I know you do, child,” her grandmother soothed, even as the mushrooms grew and crept closer to Leila. “But I cannot, for none may return after they have been called by the Isles. And you cannot stay, or the Isles will not allow you to go back to the world.” And she held up one paw, before Leila could even speak in protest. “And you must go back, my sweet Leila, for you have your whole life, your whole story ahead of you. You must go back, and keep the memory of me.” And Gramma Mew reached out, spores swirling around her, and gently nudged the doll that was her towards Leila. “My dearest grand-child, you have learned so well, all my stories and all my lessons. And I will keep your memory close, and I will be there to guide you.” Gently, she plucked up the doll of Leila, holding it to her chest, the spores dancing over it.

Leila slowly got to her paws. She gathered the doll of her grandmother to her chest, still sniffling. “I’ll n-never, ever forget you, Gramma Mew! Never ever ever…” She clung to the doll, peering up at the warm and caring face of her grandmother, and gave a weak and watery smile. “G-good bye, Gramma Mew. I love you.”

“And I love you, my Leila. Go on, and remember me.” And the spores swirled, billowing, and carried Gramma Mew away into the dark even as the mushrooms rose up once again, and then Leila was lifted up, up, up, rushing back through the veins of the earth, back up through the gloam to burst forth from the ground like a new shoot in the spring sunshine. Landing on her paws this time, she shook the clinging dirt from her coat, and spun around to face the tree that was, in fact, just a tree.

“Thank you,” she said, bowing to it. “For letting me see her one last time.”

And then off she trotted, doll at her side, into the sunshine and birdsong of the Wood.

And such was the way of it.