Once upon a time, in a far off land, there was a wood. Oaks and ash, hazel and lots of little flowers like snowdrops and bluebells and lords and ladies.
Once upon about the same time, in a far off land, between the western hills and the eastern seas, on the marshy fen where the plashy vole played, lived a homeless faerie. Being homeless she was in need of a house. So she built one; a faerie house. It was round (of course) and tucked away amongst a grove of young willows and oaks and poplars and sycamores and elders with honeysuckle and brambles and plenty of nettles for the flutterby caterpillars, looking out over a long-grassy field all tussucks and hummocks with vetches and clovers and badgers beneath and owls overhead, swallows a swoopng and little bird chattering, rabbits a-running and a goose just for company.
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