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The Traveller’s Joy fairy hummed to herself as she flitted through her branches, encouraging them to climb higher, to spread further, providing more shade to any who should wish to rest from the road for a while. It was still early in the summer, but already the first of her flowers were blooming, and she flew to each of them, coaxing out their fragrance to draw travellers to the bower she was making for them.
As the sun climbed towards noon, a young man drew near along the dusty road, and Traveller’s Joy hid behind a thick cluster of leaves, watching. Not that she had any need to hide, really; almost no humans could see fairies, but she enjoyed the fun of it. For a moment, it seemed this traveller would keep going; then he lifted his head, sniffing the air, as he caught the scent of the flowers. With a smile, he stepped onto the grassy bank by the hedgerows and sat down in the shade, wiping his face with a handkerchief. No, wait! Now that Traveller’s Joy could see the face clearly, it was that of a young woman, clear to sharp fairy eyes despite the cropped hair and boyish attire.
From her hiding-place, Traveller’s Joy watched gleefully as the woman made herself comfortable, taking bread and cheese from her pack and beginning her lunch. She loved seeing every wayfarer that stopped beneath her branches, to find refuge from the hot summer sun or an unexpected shower of rain. The local children, on some great expedition to a nearby stream or woodland; the lads and lasses seeking a new life in the big town, or beyond it; the weathered sailors, visiting the land for a brief spell before the sea called them back again; she spread her shelter to them all, delighting in both the new faces and the old.
This woman’s face was unfamiliar, but she recognised the look in her eyes, had seen it many times before. Her friend the Wayfaring Tree fairy often had that look, especially in the autumn days as her berries ripened and she began to dream of journeying, as Rose-Hip sang in the hedge-tops that White Bryony decorated; as Traveller’s Joy herself prepared to sleep for the winter, leaving her brother Old-Man’s-Beard to tend to their plants. This girl was born to travel, she could tell, born with restless feet that would lead her to far-flung places. Time and again, Traveller’s Joy had seen young women like these - dressed in a brother or a father’s clothing, perhaps, as the road called them with a call that could not be denied.
As the lass finished her lunch, Traveller’s Joy slipped out of her hiding place, silent as a breath of air. Flying to the branches directly above her head, she carefully plucked a flower and dropped it, letting it float down into her lap. The girl saw it and laughed, a ringing, joyful sound.
“Traveller’s joy! I’ll take this as a good omen,” she said, picking it up. She frowned for a moment, then pulled out a small book and placed the blossom gently between the leaves before pressing it closed. “There! Now it will travel with me, and mayhap bring me joy.”
Putting her book away again, the woman rose to her feet and shouldered her pack, then looked around. “I’ll remember this spot,” she said, “and come back some day, to tell you of my travels, traveller’s joy!”
Traveller’s Joy flew up to the top branches as the girl walked away. Balancing lightly, shielding her eyes from the sun, Traveller’s Joy watched her striding down the road, until it turned a corner and she passed from the fairy’s sight. Perhaps the lass would come back some future summer day, as she’d said, with a face tanned by hotter suns than this country road would ever know, to tell her tales of far-flung places. And if she did, Traveller’s Joy would still be there, ready to give her shelter again and listen to her stories, as she did for every wanderer who chose to rest a moment beneath her bower.