The wind shifts as you enter the clearing, the trees whispering in a language older than men. Caught in a crooked snare, half-sprung and tangled in vines, are two fairy girls, suspended awkwardly in the air. One giggles nervously. The other smirks, upside down, her hair falling like a silken curtain. “Well,” the smirking one says, “are you going to stare, or are you going to help?”