“What other choice do I have?”

A week and a day had passed; Pan's day of Binding had arrived.

Panphrey sat naked on a little wooden stool, dipping her feet lazily in the spring as Tythere stood behind her, combing out Pan's hair for her. Tythere was a whole head taller than Pan and had to bend a little at the hips to properly tend Pan's thick mane of golden hair. Pan had always felt clumsy around Tythere; she was slender and spritely, with petite and perky breasts and a delicate frame. Pan's heavy breasts and wide hips made for a stark comparison.

This hot spring sat nestled at the foot of the mountains that marked the eastern border of the Celdadon Wilds, and the eastern border of Pan and Tythere's village. Rather than the dead-center of the forest, the village had been built with the mountains at its back as a measure of extra security. The spring had been a part of the territory when first discovered, and since then it had been used for bathing and magical cleansing alike. Though each witch brought her own bathing supplies and took it with her once she left, wooden stools were left behind as well as a small spot designated for a fire. Some of Pan's fondest memories were of soaking in the spring in the dead of winter, gazing up at the stars with a mug of hot tea in her hands as the witches around her laughed and sang songs. It felt so long ago, now.

"What do you think of lilacs?" Tythere asked, breaking the silence. "They'll match your dress."

"Whatever you think is best."

Tythere's hands stilled, holding Pan's hair. "Pan, what's wrong?"

Pan was silent. She had never been comfortable complaining to Tythere. Tythere was not much older than Pan, at twenty-two winters. And yet, she had lived a lifetime more. Tythere never talked about her time in the villages of men before she had found her way to the witches, but the scars that laced her hands, her back, her thighs... they told the darkest stories. Tythere was Pan's closest friend, and still, any complaint Pan could raise would be nothing more than a mockery.

Tythere, however, would not abide the silence. "Are you afraid of what he'll be?"

"No," Pan murmured. "I'm afraid of what he'll do. Or not do."

Tythere resumed combing Pan's hair. "How do you mean?" "

He has a scheme, I just know it. Why would he do all of this otherwise? He's forcing me into this Binding, and for what? To use me somehow? To make a joke of it all? How could I possibly feel good about this when I didn't even get a choice?"

"You've been spending too much time with Lorelai," Tythere said blandly. "Whatever his reasons, you can't possibly know until you see him. Why make this harder on yourself by assuming the worst?"

"But why would he-"

Tythere released Panphrey's hair and came around to kneel before the stool, looking Pan in the eyes. "How would I know this, Pan? Do I look like a Spirit to you? Tell me, because if I have antlers sprouting from my head I'd certainly like to know!"

Panphrey tried to avert her gaze, but each time she looked away Tythere moved into her line of sight. Tythere's eyes sparkled like ice under the moon, her ash-blonde hair framing her face as she fixed Pan with a disapproving stare. Pan had never been scolded in such a way by her before; the winter in her gaze was enough that Pan was sure her own heart had withered in her chest.

After Pan had squirmed enough in discomfort, Tythere spoke again: "I could never know why he did what he did, and neither could you. Perhaps you should ask, instead of inventing a reason to be mad about. Unless, of course, you would rather ask Mollina to dissolve the Binding arrangement and you remain Unbound."

"I can't do that!" Pan objected finally. "You know I can't, you're being unfair." An Unbound witch would never meet her true potential, and turning one's back on an accepted Binding would ensure that that witch would most likely never receive another offer. It was magical suicide, plain and simple. "

Then the way I see it, you'll just have to meet with him and see," Tythere said before standing. "Perhaps he'll surprise you. Now, stand up, it's almost midday. We have to finish getting you ready."

***

Panphrey tugged at the silk skirt, feeling silly with all eyes on her. The lavender silks that Tythere had picked out were light and airy, and they hung delicately off of Pan's voluptuous form. Her golden hair had been left unbound, with tiny clusters of lilac flowers being tied in throughout. She walked barefoot as she always did, though with the ribbons and bells tied around her ankles she felt exposed, like her feet had never been naked before and she was drawing attention to that fact.

Tythere had walked her to the Great Tree, where Mollina and the rest of the Bound witches were waiting to send her off. At Tythere's Binding, she had not been permitted to stay; she had nestled herself in some bushes to spy from afar as the witches gave their blessings and sent Tythere on her way. But now not only was she here, she was the center of attention. She hadn't had this many eyes on her since she had been caught spying on the fertility rites. She fidgeted under their gaze.

Lorelai was there, her silver eyes sizing Pan up like a piece of meat. She doesn't think I can do it. Thinks I'll crack up. Pan thought to herself. It was rare, but sometimes the young women that were sent couldn't handle their Binding. Sometimes the Spirits were just too fearsome, too aggressive, too otherworldly. She wondered if Mollina had told her about Pan's ****.

Mollina, however, smiled warmly at Pan's approach. She took a step forward and cupped Pan's face in both of her hands before bringing her lips to Pan's. A customary farewell from matron to fledgling, to breathe her wisdom into the younger witch, or so the saying went.

"Do not fret, dear one," Mollina whispered against her lips. "This is what you've been so impatient for. It will be worth it, I promise you." Pan felt a knot in her stomach.

One of the other witches, Illyna, handed Mollina a small wooden bowl carved from Celladryn Himself, stained with a dark purple dye. It was paesca, a **** to heighten sensation but dull the mind's processes. It was a safety measure, more than anything. The Spirits could take forms that broke the laws of what a witch knew to be possible, and some witches simply could not handle their perceptions being shattered in such a way. The **** made the first meeting simpler, a gentler introduction to the physical manifestations of the spiritual word.