She felt her steed’s powerful muscles beneath her, the wind through her hair, the crispness of the forest in late autumn, and the unexplainable sense of boundless freedom that came over her whenever she rode Gale. While other girls were busy with the preparations for the coming Winter festivities, Aida, with bow and arrows strapped to her back, had different ideas.
Her horse raced through the forest, reveling it seemed to her, in the joy of unrestrained power and motion. But as they came near a crossroads, the mare snorted and came to a sudden halt while rearing on her haunches, sending Aida toppling over the animal’s head and down onto the ground.
“You gotta be careful with that animal,” croaked a voice.
Aida recognized the figure of the robed woman standing by the side of the road with a crooked staff.
“You!” shouted Aida, standing up and dusting herself off. “What is the meaning of this, witch? Why have you spooked my horse? This is the third time this week that you have tried to impede my journey, and now I demand an answer.”
“Shush, you silly girl. Don’t you know the rules? When a Seer calls, you must heed it, not ignore it.”
Aida cast down her eyes. It was true. The old woman had made the sign, and Aida had ignored her. She wasn’t really in the mood for the diviner’s prophesies and riddles. Aida much preferred to deal in the world of the solid and real, not the gaseous and ghostly.
“Destiny flies on fate’s wings, and soon it knocks upon your door. Listen carefully, girl, before the year’s end, a prince shall ask for your hand in marriage. It shall be your biggest blessing, and your heaviest burden. This I have seen.”
“You are mad,” Aida told her and mounted her horse. “Do not bother us any longer or else you will regret it.”
She urged Gale onward.
“Fate is swifter than your horse, and its mark truer than your arrows” the Seer cackled. “You can’t outrun it.”
Aida was silent and brooding when she arrived home. Her encounter with the Seer had put her in a foul mood, and now her mother was insisting on Aida’s help with the dressmaking.
“What about Isobel, Marybeth, and Brandi?” Aida protested.
“You know it’s the festival season, and their hands are full,” said her mother. “We have many dresses left to make and not enough hands to meet demand. So, now go on, put on this gown. I need to make some adjustments, as it is to be delivered today.”
Resigned, Aida changed into the complicated and extravagant dress embroidered with gold and silver brocade. After many huffs and puffs, she managed to strap herself into the contraptions that held it together. On the mirror, the gown looked grand. She curtsied and bowed then performed a slow dance.
“Come now, stop playing with it,” said her mother.
“Who is it for?” Aida asked.
“Never you mind that. Stand straight with your shoulders held back. Just like that.”
The minutes passed as if they were each an eternity for Aida. Her mother measured, cut, sewed, added pins here and there, her hands weaved dexterously through the material, meticulously transforming the dress with skill and ease. It was a wonder to see her move, so quick and nimble, her hair falling over her shoulders as she worked from a design that she alone could see in her own mind.
One of the girls in the shop came into the room and told Aida’s mother that a visitor had arrived.
Aida looked at herself in the mirror. The dress was made with fabrics from occidental lands. It shimmered under the light like a hummingbird’s feathers. It was a thing of beauty. The customer must be someone important indeed, she reckoned.
She twirled around, nearly making herself dizzy.
“What in the world do you think you’re doing, girl? Stop at once.”
It was her mother, and standing beside her was a man in armor, followed by several palace guards.
“This is His Royal Highness, Prince Erin of the Eagle House,” said the mother. “He’s come on Her Majesty’s behalf to pick up a few items.”
The girl stood awkwardly looking at the prince, still dizzy from her spinning.
“Where are your manners, child?” said the flustered seamstress to her daughter, “bow before His Royal Highness.”
Before Aida had a chance to do so, the prince walked up to her and took her hand.
“That won’t be necessary, most gentle lady. A beautiful star should never bow before a mere mortal. Quite the contrary.”
Thereupon, he bowed before her and kissed her hand.
She withdrew her hand quickly. Her cheeks flushed.
“That dress you’re wearing belongs to his sister, Her Royal Highness, Princess Korina,” said her mother.
“I shall take it off at once,” Aida said. She quickly gathered the long dress about her and ran up a flight of stairs to her room. There, she undressed and then handed the gown to her mother, who had come up after her to retrieve it.
“Will you not come down and say goodbye to the prince?” Her mother asked looking sideways at her daughter.
“I will not,” said the girl in a definite tone and closed the door.
She lay in bed thinking about princes and witches. The Seer had been right. A prince had shown up just as she foretold. He would ask for her hand in marriage. She could already see the beastly hunger in his eyes. She began to sob.
She heard noises outside her window. On the courtyard below, she saw the prince mount his horse, and then followed by his entourage, he rode away towards the palace.
In spite of her mother’s pleading, Aida did not open the door. She lay wide awake for most of the night until she fell asleep with the words of the Seer in her mind:
Destiny flies on fate’s wings, and soon it knocks upon your door.
Just before the first light of dawn, Aida bundled up some belongings in a knapsack and climbed down the window. She took Gale from the stables and swiftly rode out of town.
When she entered the misty forest, her tears streaked across her cheeks and onto the ground she would not see again for a long time. Perhaps never.
She was nearly upon the crossroads, when she saw two figures standing there. Bringing Gale to a halt, she stared at them. One wore a hooded cloak, and by his bearing was clearly a man. The other was the familiar figure of the Seer.
The man was handing her a pouch.
When the woman saw Aida, she quickly pocketed the pouch within the folds of her robes and retreated into the forest.
Startled, the man turned around and looked up at Aida.
She saw his face then. It was him! Prince Erin!
“What is the meaning of this!?” Aida said reaching for her bow and arrow.
“M’lady, I can explain,” said the prince.
“There is nothing to explain. I can plainly see what’s going on. You put her up to it.”
“I am guilty, sweet maiden. Guilty of letting my impudent heart guide my actions.”
“Enough!” Aida shouted as Gale stamped the ground, sensing the mood of her master. “Hear me well, Prince Erin of the Eagle House, do not pester me any longer or you shall meet the points of my arrows.”
As if to emphasize her point, she let an arrow fly at ground in front of his feet.
“Should you continue in your ill-considered advances, I shall carry word to your mother. I’m sure she’d be interested in knowing how her son squanders the wealth of the royal house chasing after common girls.”
“As you wish, m’lady,” said the prince placing his hand on his heart, “I meant no ill intent.”
Aida turned Gale around and took the road that led back home. The air smelled fresher now. Her cheeks flush with the caresses of the morning sunlight through the mist. A weight had lifted from her shoulders, and she rode swiftly as if on wings. The sound of Gale’s thundering hooves was music to her ears.
Her thoughts began to drift as she rode back home. She remembered the way the dress looked in the mirror, so grand and beautiful. Wouldn’t it be wonderful, she thought, to attend the Winter festivals in such an extravagant outfit? She knew she couldn’t afford such a dress, but she did have some savings of her own, and with her mother’s help, she could make a beautiful gown. It had been a long time since she had participated in the festivities, but now she was elated thinking about it. She belonged with the people in town, with their joys and sorrows. She would celebrate with them on those special days, and for the first time in a long while, she was genuinely looking forward to the Winter festival.
Thank you for reading my tale. It started in response to the fiction prompt #150, but then it got away from me, both thematically and developmentally (meaning I'm late 'cause I was partying it up during New Years). So, I'm not formally submitting the tale for this edition of the prompt. Thematically, I wanted to write a story about conflict resolution, so I read one of 
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