Compagnons D'Âme

Compagnons D'Âme

Chapter 4: Les Merveilles De la Nature

Nature has always existed around me, I know that. But at home, it was fields that needed tending to, gardens that needed weeding, endless forest that needed to be cut, and rough paths that damaged the souls of my feet. When I was a slave, it was the rolling lands around the different paths and camps we had. I was normally too hungry or busy to notice them much, and when I did I would find them to be just as dreary as I felt.

But the gardens of the Palais were a different story. They were so very beautiful and colorful, plants that seem to only exist in dreams. The plants were well arranged by color, type, scent, and height to accent all the others. The garden was divided into four sections, separated by paths and a center that was dominated by a fountain that had six miniature female Spirituex on the top, and water spilled from the pitchers that they held tilted down.

The mystical aroma was tangible in the air, and gave the gardens a vibrant misty hue. If I believed in the L'Autre Monde, it would have to look like this. I believe even the Dieux would be envious of this place.

The wonder of it left me in a daze, and I bumbled about from area to area, sniffing every creation I came upon. Safran and the Gardes followed, and I could feel their happiness in my pleasure of the gardens.

We walked among the other garden areas, and a few dames were present, talking amongst themselves or sharing breakfast pastries. One, who looked to be about her eighth year of age, had a basket of wild flowers and was weaving them into a crown. I thought this a curious act. Why, when surrounded by much more beautiful flowers, would she waste time on such plain ones? She was richly dressed in a plum colored gown, and had an amethyst at her neck and bejeweled ribbons were woven in her hair. Her long hair was a soft and pale pink, and her sparkling red eyes were focused on the task at hand of weaving the marguerites. I noticed that I seem to have lost my partie for a second. Though I knew I should return to find them before they became worried about my disappearance, my curiosity simply wouldn’t allow it. I approached the Esprit, who hadn’t noticed my presence yet, though I found that extremely odd. Before I got within two feet of her, she suddenly looked up at me with the most charming smile anyone could possibly muster.

“Good day, Papillion,” she said in a sing song voice. “The Palais is a buzz with talk about you, good monsieur. Don’t fret, I have heard nothing but praises of you.” At this point, she rose from the stone bench and curtsied to me. I, gapping at her, managed to give a messy bow in return to her. She giggled gently at this, and I blushed a shade too deep of red.

“Hello, fare Dame,” I said, finding my voice, though it sounded as coarse as sand to my own ears. “I don’t mean to be rude, but who are you? And how do you know my name?” She giggled again, and gestured for me to sit next to her on the stone bench, which I obliged.

“I am Marguerite,” she said. “Fille of Duc Bois Rouge and Princesse Paon, and the nièce of Roi Aigle. And, you are, as I said, the buzz of the Palais.”

I was flabbergasted. This girl was a Princesse, and a relation of Aigle? Why hadn’t I seen her last night. I couldn’t muster a word, but she seemed okay with that.

“I was so upset I didn’t get to go to the régal last night,” she pouted cutely. “But it had started by the time we arrived, and Maman forbade me from going to it, for it was past my bed time. But she said you had left by the time she entered.” After that statement, Marguerite seem to have lost interest in me, and turned her attention back to her flowers. I didn’t like this awkward silence, so I decided to ask the young Princesse some more questions.

“Your mère is sister to the Roi?” I asked. She didn’t divert her attention back on me, but did answer my question.

“Yes,” she replied. “She is his and Prince Loup’s elder sister. Because of that and of my Papa’s ranking as the Seigneur High General d'Army du Roi, we are often at the Palais to visit with my oncles and Grand-maman. Though we all hate it here.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust at her surroundings. I didn’t interrupt her. I had an inkling that Marguerite had more to say on this subject, but wasn’t use to people giving her this kind of attention. Although she was a princesse, she was also an enfant, and her words and problems were grouped in the category of unimportant and trivial.

“Papa says he could care less about being the Seigneur High General,” she said. “He got it only because he married Maman, not based on his skills or talents. He is no soldat, that is true. Maman scorns any invitation, saying that if she wanted to live in the Palais, she wouldn’t have insisted on Papa making our main residents our country manoir, as opposed to our city one. We live in the Manoir Du Feu De Dragon, that sits on the bank of Lac Vert in theville of Le Feu et Glace. It is so grand, that not even the Palais can compete with its wonders. But when the Roi makes a request of you, you must obey, so Papa, Maman, my brothers, and I must come.”

“Brothers?” I questioned.

“Trois,” she sneered. “Renard, Mûre, and Hibou. Their sole purpose in life is to be a vex on me, and they have been, for the past thirty years.” She frowned again, and I kept my gasp silent.

I had forgotten that the forever young Spiritueux aged physical one year, for our every five. This enfant was probably as old as my mère was. How old was Aigle? He could be decades older then me, and I wouldn’t know or could tell? How long would we stay together? Even if I lived for as long as Mortel years allowed, it would still be only a fraction of Aigle’s life. And, there was no guarantee that would happen. Mortels were more prone to sickness and injuries then Spiritueux. He would spend the majority of our relationship watching me rapidly aging and dying in front of his eyes. I shifted my focus to the little creature in front of me, that was starring at me with puzzled eyes at my sudden silence. Would I even life long enough to see her blossom into a joli trésor, the envy of women and the desire of men?

“Papillon,” she said, breaking me out of my trance. “Are you ill? Do you need me to fetch someone?” Her voice was laced with worry, and her eyes were too, believing that my actions were from a sudden sickness, which was more likely to her then the shock I was actually feeling. I let out a deep breath, before turning to her and giving her a strained smile.

“I am fine,” I replied. “Just overwhelmed by everything.”

“Overwhelmed?” she questioned.

“Well, you do know that I am suppose to marry the Roi, right?” I questioned her, and she nodded. “But I use to be a slave, until he saw me.” Her eyes widen and she let out a gasp of shock, into her pollen stained hands.

“You were a victime tragique,” she gasped from behind her folded hands. I nodded.

Victime tragique was what esclaves were called by the abolitionniste. From the gaze of pity instead of disgusted, coupled with the expression, she must have been brought up as one.

“I am glad Oncle Aigle freed you from those horrid Bête sans âmes, I hope he at least beat them senseless before he rescued youཀ” she growled. That expression was used by the abolitionniste as name for both Entraîneurs and Maîtres, and was one of the nicer names. I had to give a small chuckle at the little girl trashing at imaginary men. Her sparkling jewel like eyes turned back on me, and she gave a smile that lit up her and my face with joy.

“Well Princesse,” I said, finally moving on to the topic that had originally intrigued me about her. “Why are you weaving those mauvaises herbes into chains and crowns. Surely you have enough real gems to adorn yourself in? And if you didn’t, there are much more lovely things in this garden to occupy your time with.”

She shook her head with stubbornness at my suggestion.

“I was named after them,” she said, finishing a crown. “They are part of my origin. Even though I am a princesse, I can’t forget that I was born near a field of marguerites. It is were I come from.” She gave me a smile, and then placed the crown on my head. Her smile grew.

“Princesse Margueriteཀ” a muffled cry came from many feet away. “Princesse Margueriteཀ”

“I must be off,” she said to me. “Fare thee well, Papillonཀ”

“Goodbye Princesse,” I called after her lithe retreating form. In a moment, she was out of my view, and the audible sigh of relief told me that who was calling her had finally found her. My fingers went automatically to the flower crown she had placed on my head. When I was young, my sisters and I use to make jewelry from the wild flowers near our home. It was one of the few times they didn’t mind my tagging along, or consider my presence a bother.

I remember those times before the Festival De Moisson, that I would help them prepare for the danse. I would weave them garlands, while Mère added decorative embroidery to their vest to dress up their normally humdrum peasant skirts and blouses. They, along with Père and my brothers would be bathing in fragrant water. For the last few weeks, we would have been baking breads and cakes, along with making any repairs needed to our hut or clothing. I would be allowed to go to the Festival during the day, but the danse was for my older siblings and Père. Mère and I though would make our own fun, dancing to the crickets’ violins under the Lune De Moisson.

My thoughts had carried my mind far away from the garden, for I hadn’t heard Safran and my Gardes approach.

“Papillonཀ” Safran scolded me. “You shouldn’t wander off like thatཀ You could have been injured or worseཀ Praise be the Le Plus Saint for keeping you out of harms wayཀ” She then did the customary three claps, one above her head, one below her stomach, and the last in front of her heart, as the way of thanking the Roi des Dieux, but was usually only practiced by the Prêtre

“You should also thank Princesse Marguerite for keeping me entertained during my little foray,” I replied.

“Oh, you have met her already?” she asked.

“Yes,” I answered. “She gave me this.” I pointed to my flower crown. Safran laughed.

“You truthfully look like a fée now,” she giggled, taking Marguerite’s place on the bench, the Gardes flanking us on either side. “But with the name of Papillon, you should.” I was puzzled by the statement, though it made her giggle. When she saw my confused eyes, though she stopped. “Haven’t you ever heard the tale of the Premier Papillon?”

“Non,” I responded.

“Then I will just have to tell it to you,” she said, giving a sweet smile. “Long ago, before even the Spiritueux called La Terre home, the Cour of the Reine Fée ruled over the land. It was a magical Cour very much like our own, and all of the Reine’s subjects were happy. All, except her fille, the Princesse Fleur. Fleur was lonely in her mère’s cour. She hadn’t anyone to play with. One day, a libellule heard her cries and came to her. When the Princesse heard him, her tears dried and a musical laughter rang from her mouth. For many days, they were constant companions in everything. The Reine knew not what caused her fille’s joy, but was happy for whatever it was. And when the reine is happy, so is the cour. But a cruel frelon was not. He wanted to know how such an ugly creature as the libellule had captured the beautiful Princesse’s heart. He soon grew so jealous, that he couldn’t think of anything else but how to ruin the libellule. So he went to the Reine and told her that an evilsorcière had sent her familier to curse the Princesse. The Reine feared for her fille, so she ordered her gardes to kill anyone who came into the Princesse’s room. When the libellule came, the struck him dead in front of Fleur’s eyes. She was so distraught that she refused all food and drink, until she had lost all her beauty and will to live. The Reine knew that there was no way she could keep her child here, and that Fleur’s life was at it’s end. So she used her magic to create new bodies for Fleur and the libellule, and those creatures were called Papillon.”

“So, papillons are believed to be the spirits of the Princesse and a libellule?” I asked.

“I prefer to think of them as love in the purest form,” Safran replied with a smile.

88888888

After another hour or so of exploring the garden, I came back to my room. Safran, believing me to be safe in a room that was heavily guarded, let me have a few moments peace before having to prepare for my outing with the Roi, Prince, Duc, and the Stable master. And I was beyond grateful. I wasn’t use to all this fussing over me, someone at my constant beck and call, and found it a tad bit unnerving. Safran was a wonderful person, but could be overbearing at times. Much like a mére. A breath caught in my throat. I shook my head. Why were memories that had long ago been buried resurfacing all of a sudden? I laughed at my own foolishness. Those memories were rising because I was at the point of completely severing whatever bonds I still had with them. It should have not mattered to me, my family had abandoned me a long time ago, why was the thought of me getting out of that Enfer that they sold me to making me feel so sad.

No matter how hard I tried, how many tears I shed because of their actions, I could not bring myself to hate my family. How I wished I could. It would be so much easier to feel hate in place of this empty hole that had been left in me. I growled thinking about what parents would sell their child into slavery willingly. I know most of my fellow esclaves came from similar means, but it didn’t lessen the pain I felt from the betrayal. A sudden tap on my door awoke me to the coming presence of Safran.

“Papillon,” she said gently. “It is time to get ready for your riding lesson.” She forcibly pulled my lazed body up from my lounged position on the sofa, and dragged me with strength I knew not she possessed back into the dressing area.

Being a pauper and slave, I was not use to this changing of clothing so often. Safran tsked at my groan as she removed my morning outfit and jewelry.

“Don’t whine Papillon,” she lectured. “It is unbecoming. You must have fresh clothing on for every occasion, and anyway these aren’t appropriate for riding.” Again I was nude in front of this Dame, and though it hadn’t before, a sudden blush came to my checks. I was of course use to being nude around those of both sexes without shame, but it was for an odd reason growing harder and harder not to feel embarrassed under her eyes as her hands changed my under garments with little help from me. After that she forced my legs into cream colored leather tights and a matching under tunic. Then put a heavy red velvet over tunic that was embroidered with gold in a diamond pattern and a matching gold sash at my waist. The stockings I had been given were of heavier wool then I was use to, and when she placed knee high boots in front of me, I flinched thinking about the heavy heat that would befall my legs.

“No complaints from you,” Safran lectured upon seeing my grimace. I didn’t, and with much regret, put on the tight boots. Next she again brushed out my hair and perfumed it heavily. The scent of pommes and s'est levés overwhelmed me. I choked, and wondered what it would do to Safran’s or Aigle’s heighten senses, but feeling Safran’s tightening grip on my hair as she rebraided it with cream and red ribbons made me not wish to annoy her further. Finally, she was satisfied with the way I looked, and added the finishing touches, a thick silk cream ribbon with a large ruby was tied around my throat and a red chapeau was placed on my head. Fingering the right side of my choker, I could feel careful stitches forming the words Le beau Papillon tient le coeur du Roi Aigle.

“I cannot wait until your own wardrobe is finished,” said Safran, giving my appearance a last inspection. “It shall be grand. The Roi is having all his best ouvrières couturiers and jewelers on the job.”

“These clothes and jewels are fine,” I said, gesturing to myself. “Why must he go to all the trouble to make me new ones?”

“Because, you will be the Reine,” she said. “And your subjects will not expect to see their Reine in hand-me-downs. Sol is a very rich royaume, and expects her Royals to reflect that. And, you will of course need many formal robes.”

“Robesཀ” I squeaked. “Robes are for womanཀ”

“Robes,” Safran stated. “Are for Reines, which you will one day be.”

“Can’t a Reine be a Reine in tunics and leggings also?” I pleaded. She glared at me, and I dropped my head. “Fine, but non hauts talons.” I spat in disgust. This broke Safran’s steel will of annoyance and she gave a laugh.

“But at your height Papillon they are very needed,” she laughed to my pouting and disgruntled face, leading me from the room and toward the stables.

88888888

Chevaux were a luxury that few people in my village had. During my slavery, I was around boeufs more then chevaux, for they were sturdier and cheaper. And even when I spied a cheval, they were one of those large and tired ones used only for tilling fields and such. Never had I seen one that’s coat gleamed or were so fit as the ones in the stables. They seemed to be things out of legends, that the guerriers de vieux rode upon. Mixed in with the regular chevaux, though I considered it a deep insult to refer to them as ordinary, were creatures that stole my breath away. Unicorns and Chevaux de Vol, animaux I thought only existed in fables. Two of them completely stole my breath.

They were a combination of both a Unicorn and a Cheval de Vol, but other then that, they were the exact opposite of each other. The larger one was stomping around in his stall impatiently. He was a dark beauty, with a black coat and wings, but it was lightened by his golden eyes, mane, hooves, tail, and horn. He looked to be an untamable beast that had no true Maître, though he was caged. The other, was a gentler version. He, or she I couldn’t tell from this distant, was such a pure gleaming white, it hurt my eyes to stare directly at her coat and wings. His eyes, mane, hooves, tail, and horn were a brilliant silver that gleamed like anges’ wings.

“Nuit and Jour,” spoke Safran. “Nuit is a stallion and Jour is a mare. The Roi and Reine ride them on special occasions.”

“I will have to ride one of those?” I balked. My mouth could hardly close from astonishment of just seeing one of them, but I now had to ride themཀ

“Not until the Wedding,” she said, ushering me away from them. I obeyed, but with heavy a heart. She took me to a courtyard were Aigle, Foudre, Loup, and a new Esprit stood with four adult chevaux, and one much smaller one.

They were all dressed similarly to me, though Aigle’s underlings were gold and his tunic black, Loup’s outfit was green and gold, and Foudre was in cream like mine, but with an over tunic of yellow. The decorative embroidered patterns differed from mine, but were all merely basic shapes, rather then the elaborate ones that normally were displayed on their clothing.

The new male’s clothing was different then all of ours. He also wore under garments of leather and those think brown boots, but over them he wore just a plain white shirt and a loose leather vest. His face was stern and looked to have been frozen that way, and his black eyes harden as he looked at me.

“So this is the yougen’ whose riding old Gâteau de Thé,” he grumbled, giving a light tap to the small cheval. “He is being me best and tamest poney, but still looks a might to wild for the delicate poupée.” I blushed at the insult.

“Papillon,” spoke Aigle, finally focusing on me, while sneering at the new comer. “I am so pleased to have you joining us.” He came forward, and before I could finish my customary bow or return the greeting, gathered me up in a swooping hug. “How I have missed you.”

“The pleasure is all mine your altesse,” I spoke, as he returned me to my feet. I noticed that Safran was no longer behind me, or anywhere in sight, but now that I looked around, I saw six Gardes, all who had their own chevaux ready for a ride.

“Please call me Aigle outside of the Cour,” he said. “And none of that bowing business. Ceremonies are reserved only for ceremonies.” He then led me toward the group. “You already know Foudre and Loup, but this,” he pointed to the stranger, “Is Master Foin, the Royal Stable Master. He is responsible for making sure all the chevaux are provided for, and also riding lessons.”

“It is a great honor to meet you Seigneur Foin,” I said. He scoffed at me.

“I ain’t no seigneur,” he blurted. “I am of low class and breeding. But me skills got me a high position under Roi Mer.” Roi Mer was Aigle’s pére, that much I knew.

“As pleasant as this conversation is,” said Loup, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “I would like to actually go on this ride.”

“Of course my dear brother,” laughed Aigle, happy with the distraction Loup had caused. “Let us mount our steeds at once.” Foudre, Aigle, and Loup found this comment quiet humorous. I was puzzled by it, and Foin just huffed with impatience. Aigle, using the saddle on the giant black stallion, mounted it with ease. Loup and Foundre easily copied this action on to their own. Only I and Foin remained. Foin glared at me with great irritation.

“What are ye waiting for?ཀ” he demanded to my puzzled face. “Get on the poneyཀ”

“How?” I asked a bit scared. Foin hit his head with one of his calloused hands.

“Dieux what did I do to deserve such a stupid nitwit,” he called, rolling his eyes to the sky. “Even a nouveau-né could figure it outཀ”

“Master Foin,” said Aigle, riding closer to us on his giant stallion. “As you have said, you have no Noble ranking, while Papillon does. I trust you to treat him with the same respect you would of any member of my Cour, especially since he is my fiancé.” Foin gulped a bit as Aigle gave him a glare so icy I was quivering a bit myself. Foin’s only answer was to take a huge gulp of air, and then gently move me toward the poney.

“As I said,” he said, as if the incident hadn’t occurred. “Gâteau de Thé is as gentle as an agneau. Has never thrown off any rider, and has an easy trot to him. To get on him, put your feet in the stirrup,” he pointed to a small footing hanging off the leather saddle on the poney, “And grab the horn. Then pull yerself up and throw your free leg around to the other side.”

I attempted this maneuver serval times, all of which failed. It wasn’t until Aigle got down and helped me did I finally manage. The whole time Foin was muttering curses under his breath. I was a bit downtrodden at the fact that I couldn’t get on a small poney, while Aigle, and even Foin, could mount a full grown cheval with grace that rivaled a trained dancer.

Then we rode. I was so fearful of the ride, though the pace was very slow. My knuckles were white from the tight grip I kept on the reins, fearing that if just for a second I eased up, I would fall. Gâteau de Thé seemed upset with me as Foin was, and at the fact that besides my taut grip, he was on a lead that was tied to Foin’s cheval. He wanted to be able to gallop free, but was forced by his Maître and inexperience rider to an escargot’s pace.

We rode down a well-worn path through a forêt. The rich foliage had me quickly entranced, and Foin had to remain me several times to pay attention to my riding. Often during silences he would balk out orders to me, that I tried very hard to follow, but always seem to displease him. A few times, Aigle stopped our procession and glared at Foin, until he eased up on his demands of me.

Aigle then tired to engage me in a conversation about how I liked my new home so far.

“Dame Safran told me you visited one of the gardens today,” he said casually. “Was it to your liking?” I could hear a bit of fear in his voice, puzzled at why it had crept into his normally booming tone.

“Very much so,” I answered truthfully. “And I met a most wonderful visitor.”

“Who?” he asked.

“Princesse Marguerite,” I replied.

“My darling little nièce,” he laughed. “I hope she charmed you as she has done me.”

“That and more,” I replied. Loup fell back with us, and Foudre soon followed. They started talking about the Royal enfants, and all their mischief. They seem to cause a world of problems with their squabbles and tricks. And the talk then focused on themselves as children.

They told me tales of their growing up. Their own riding lessons with Foin, who rode ahead of us, disgruntled as ever. How they would often prank the staff, and add loads of trouble to their overloaded parents. Their mère normally ignored their bad deed. But woe when their Tante, sister, or Père caught them, for they would pay the price with every lashing or discipline they received. When they spoke of their père, I could see their heavy hearts and solemn expressions. Foundre broke the mood by asking me about my childhood.

I froze. I didn’t know what to tell them about. How I was loathed by my entire family? How I was sold at a high price? How I lost my innocents over and over again as I was forced to learn ways to please abusive Maîtres? Luck was on my side as we finally arrived at our lunching spot.

The Gardes that had followed us quickly set up a picnic blanket with a wide spread of food on it. Fresh fruits and vegetables, along with an array of meats and cheeses. After a quick grace and waiting for Aigle and Loup to take the first bite, we ate.

I had no appetite for food, and would have preferred to dine on the words they spoke to each other and the sounds of the meadow we were in. But Aigle would hear of no such thing, and kept offering morsel after morsel of food, until I felt very sick and he was pleased with the amount. We lazed about for a few moments after dinning, until Foin came up with a suggestion.

“Why don’t we let him ride in the meadow,” said Foin. “It is flat and not tricky. Good practice.” Aigle concurred, and all too soon I was again in the saddle. Aigle, Loup and Foundre watched from the blanket, while I again struggled to get on the poney, this time with actual success after my fifth attempt. Foin held the rope tether and made the poney and me walk around him in circles. I was still very wobbly, but making some progress. Though by the grimace of Foin’s face, I wasn’t so sure of it. As I was making my eight circle something new happened.

Gâteau de Thé , following Foin and my lead, stepped on a serpent that had slithered in our path. So shocked was the poney as the serpent hissed its anger at us, that he bucked. By some grace I managed to stay on, but the surprise had lost Foin’s grip on the lead, and Gâteau de Thé’s fear made him gallop away from the safety of the group.

I held on for dear life, but knew my strength would soon falter. I heard stomping and shouts behind me, but was too panicked to listen to them.

“Pull the reins Papillon,” someone yelled. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything but let the poney lead me further and further into the forêt.

A Garde pulled up by my side, and with silent weeping eyes I pleaded for his help. He grabbed the reins from me, and before I could scream in fear from my appending fall, someone grabbed me from behind and pulled me into a tight embrace.

I clung to my savior, tighter then I had my reins. He didn’t protest, instead just held me and whispered soothing sounds to me. I looked up to see the face of a fearful Aigle, cuddling me as if I was an enfant that had just scraped their knee. But I didn’t care. I was happy to be safe in his strong arms, and off that wretched poney. I hugged him closer and then, with justified reason, wept into his tunic. He stroked my head as my mère once had.

“Please don’t let go of me,” I wept, my voice muffled by his heavy tunic.

“Never Papillon,” he reassured me, kissing the crown of my head. Now that I was a bit calmer I noticed that my chapeau had been lost in the chase, but found that fact extremely trivial at a moment like this. Soon, more footsteps followed, and we were surrounded by a very considered Loup and Foudre, checking to make sure I was alright. . When they were assured I was fine except for some minor cuts and bruises, Loup suggested we make for home. Aigle agreed.

Instead of making one of the Gardes escort me back, or more dreadfully putting me back on the poney, Aigle placed me in front of himself. He made me hold part of the reins, but kept the main control in his own hands. He made gentle suggestions during our trip of better ways to control the cheval, and I listened, fearing missing one point would lead to another disaster. With his gentle voice and encouragement, he made a finer teacher then Foin. But still, by the time we arrived back at the stables, I was thrilled to be able to get down from the beast. I had my fill of nature and adventure for the day, and did not care to partake of more.

88888888

Author's Note:Edited by Saiwa from fictionpress.net.

French Dictionary

abolitionniste- abolitionist

altesse- highness

anges- angels

animaux- animals

BLte sans âmes- Beast without hearts

boeufs- oxen

cheval/chevaux- horse/horses

Cheval de Vol- Winged Horse

Cour- Court

Dames- Ladies

danse- dance

Dieux- Gods

Duc- Duke

enfant/enfants- child/children

Enfer- Hell

Entraîneurs- trainers

esclaves- slaves

Esprit /Spirituex- Spirit/Spirits

familier- familiar

fée- fairy

Festival De Moisson- Harvest Festival

fille- daughter

forLt- forest

frelon- wasp

Garde/Gardes- Guard/Guards

grand-maman- grandma or grandmama

guerriers de vieux- warriors of old

hauts talons- high heels

joli trésor- pretty treasure

Lac Vert- Green Lake

L'Autre Monde- The Other World

Le beau Papillon tient le coeur du Roi Aigle- The beautiful Papillon holds the heart of King Aigle

Le Feu et Glace- Fire and Ice

Le Plus Saint- Holiest, he is the King of the Gods

Les Merveilles De la Nature- Wonders of Nature

libellule- dragonfly

Lune De Moisson- Harvest Moon

Maître /Maîtres- master/masters

maman- Mama or Mommy

manoir- manor

Manoir Du Feu De Dragon- Dragon Fire Manor

marguerites- daisies

mauvaises herbes- weeds

mPre- Mother

Mortel/ Mortels- Mortal/Mortals

niPce- niece

nouveau-né- newborn

oncles- uncles

ouvriPres couturiers- seamstresses

Palais- Palace

papillon- butterfly

partie- party

pPre- father

pommes- apples

poney- pony

poupée- doll

Princesse- princess

régal- feast

Reine- Queen

robes- gowns/dresses

Roi- King

Roi des Dieux- King of the Gods

royaume- kingdom

seigneur- lord

Seigneur High General d'Army du Roi- Lord High General of the King's Army

s'est levés- roses

soldat- soldier

sorciPre- witch

Trois- three

victime tragique- tragic victim

ville- town

Name Translations

Aigle means Eagle

Bois Rouge means Red Wood

Foin means Hay

Foudre means Lightning

Gâteau de Thé means Tea Cake

Hibou means Owl

Jour means Day

Loup means Wolf

Marguerite means Daisy

Mfre means Blackberry

Nuit means Night

Paon means Peacock

Papillon means Butterfly

Renard means Fox

Safran means Saffron