Once upon a time there was a little village at the edge of a dark forest. In this village lived a young woman with eyes as green as the bottles on a peddler's cart. Because she was prone to wandering outside of the bounds of her village as a child, her mother made her promise to always stay outside of the forest and beware the strange souls that could be found in those woods. Many hungry things wandered among the trees. On windy nights, the villagers would block their doors and burrow under the covers to hide from the sounds of the Wild Hunt, as the Fair Folk and the Night Hunters thundered through the woodlands. For the most part the young woman obeyed.

On a cool afternoon, as she gathered the last of the fall berries, she heard an unfamiliar noise echo beyond the edge of the woods. Something in the sound called to her. Snatching her basket, she rushed hurriedly beyond the trees, drawn in by the melancholy notes. The closer she got to the sound, the faster her feet carried her. She came to a stop at the edge of a silent lake. All around her, the sound of birds and other forest life had fallen silent to the voice of the figure in the lake. It was a man, wading in the shallows and keening miserably. The young woman's blood ran cold and she knew then that she should not be in the woods. She stepped back quickly, but her foot caught and launched a small pebble into the lake. At the pebble's drop, the man lifted his dark head and revealed the bluest eyes the young woman had ever seen. She froze, mesmerized and too enchanted to move as he waded closer.

"Wait," he said. His voice was like the rumble of a fast moving river and it sent a shiver down her spine, "Please wait." He reached out a hand and grabbed her wrist. She watched with growing terror as the color of his eyes shifted from blue to green, his hair from dark brown to a dark gold, and the handsome features of his face took on those of another's.

"Have you seen me?" His face flickered back to its natural otherworldly form; blue eyes replacing the green. "Please. I've been searching for so long. He is the one I love and I must find him. He needs me."

The young woman opened her mouth to speak, but instead offered him her basket of berries. He took it, perplexed at the offer.

"I have not seen you," she offered him her hand, "But if you come with me, I'm sure I could help you find him."

He took her hand, and she gave him her cloak to cover his nudity.

Because he had no name, she named him Emmanuel. Because no one had seen a handsome man with dark blond hair and brilliant green eyes, Emmanuel continued to stay with the young woman. He helped her with chores around her small home. He walked with her to market and never wandered too far out of her sight. Soon the village became full of gossip and whispers of blessings falling into the laps of lucky girls. The young woman would smile and laugh, but cry out in rage in her secret heart of hearts. No one else knew how the Emmanuel would sit by fire and draw lines of winding roads into the hearth. No one else knew how he would hum unfamiliar tunes under his breath, or how he would pause in chopping wood to look up at the sky as if the winds could bring him a hint of the man he was seeking.

One market day, in desperation, while Emmanuel was busy negotiating a trade, the young woman ducked into the tent of the local witch. The old woman looked her up and down, took in the desperation in her eyes, and clicked her tongue disapprovingly. The witch took the young woman's proffered coins, dusted off a small bottle, and handed it to the young woman.

"But I didn't ask-"

"Even the blind could see what you were seeking. Place three drops in his draught and you will get what you seek."

That night, the young woman did as the old woman instructed and waited. Emmanuel ran a finger around the rim of his mug.

"I wish this cup was made of glass. Maybe I could make it sing."

The young woman felt her heart sink. It had not worked. The man continued, his voice the same thoughtful growl as the day she found him,

"The one I love has green eyes. You have green eyes," he looked up to meet her eyes and tilted his head, "Perhaps it is you that I love."

He gave her a warm smile unlike any she had ever seen from him before. If this is what it is to be loved, she thought, then I am glad that I can know what love is from him.

They were married under a shower of spring flowers; the cold air warming from the light of the sun. The young woman felt happier than she had felt in a very long time; happy in her life and happy in her new husband.

Emmanuel soon revealed himself to be a talented healer of unusual maladies. What used to be certain death now became a curable plight under his gentle touch. The young woman swelled with pride as strangers from far and wide came to her door, both for aid and to pay tribute to Emmanuel. That all came crashing down the day she went collecting herbs by the abandoned roadside.

It came in the sound of thundering hoofs slowing down to a walk. What the young woman noticed first was the huge black horse; dangerous in that it still seemed to be half wild, beautiful in that it was obviously loved and well cared for. There were fresh flowers woven into the horse's mane, and they seemed undisturbed by the wear of the road. The second thing the young woman noticed made her pause; a rider clothed in the brown leather of a hunter, unusually tall, even upon his too tall horse. She felt her stomach sink in dread as she took in the features of the handsome rider's face, the way the sun haloed his brow in gold, the gleam of his too green eyes. He smiled charmingly down from his place on his horse,

"Pardon, fair lady. My brother has fallen ill in the neighboring village and is in dire need of medicine. I have heard tell of the wondrous healer in these parts. Could you please tell me where I might find him?"

Against her wishes, almost as if he had enchanted her to speak the truth, she told him the way to Emmanuel. The moment he took off on his way, she bolted the short way home, sprinting desperately. It mattered not how fast she ran. She had already lost.

By the time she reached the orchard behind her house, the stranger was conversing with ease with Emmanuel from his tall, dark, horse. Emmanuel was beaming at the stranger, seemingly unbothered by the disrespect the man was paying him by not dismounting. The young woman slowed down to a walk, resigning herself to the inevitable loss that she knew was coming. As she came closer, she caught more and more of their conversation. She ducked behind a tall apple tree, refusing to watch.

"Sir, I think you've cast a spell on me."

"Well," came the stranger's voice; the rough edges smoothed by his gentle tones, "the best way to break a spell is with a kiss."

"Is that so?" The young woman bit back a sob. She turned and watched as her husband, already leaning against the monstrous horse, allowed the stranger to cup his cheek. She couldn't look away as the stranger leaned down from his saddle and placed a deep kiss on Emmanuel's lips. So soft, she could barely hear it, the young woman heard her husband whisper,

"Dean."

Dean grinned and stroked his thumb across Emmanuel's cheek.

"Cas."

They stayed that way for the span of five moments, lost in each other's eyes. The air around them shimmered like summer heat. Then, in the span of an instant, Cas was seated behind Dean, his arms wrapped comfortably around the rider's waist. Carefully the horse picked its way through the apple trees. Horse, rider, and passenger all came to a stop before the young woman. Cas's eyes were tinged with regret, and he plucked a flower from the horses mane and tucked it behind her ear.

"Good bye, Daphne."

And with that, they rode off into the woods. Daphne remarried, and people (who still loved their gossip) said it seemed like she was blessed by the Fair Folk. No one ever heard of the mysterious rider on the black horse or the blue-eyed healer ever again, but some could swear they heard the sound of raucous laughter from the riders of the Wild Hunt.