Copyright © 2008 Ava James
All rights reserved, Wild Child Publishing.
"Ah, I thought I heard someone comin' up me path," an old woman called over her shoulder.
Gnarled hands lifted a soiled linen garment from the waters of the brook. Water dripped red beneath her fingers as she tried to wash away the blood. She stood before the fjord, a basket at her feet. Gray hair, long and coarse, sat high atop her head in a loose bun. Her back hunched beneath her faded moss green gown and looked painful in its disfigurement.
Tristan stopped cold in mid-step.
Heading into the woods earlier, his anger and disappointment had led him away from home. He'd walked off into the early evening without a destination in mind. His father departed for Glasgow just yesterday, and the shock of being left behind sat raw on his nerves.
He'd waited all year, and all last year, for this trip to the great market and, all because of a careless mistake, his father insisted he stay behind as punishment.
Two weeks ago to this day, he'd accidentally left the gate to the southern field ajar. He couldn't help being distracted when Emelyn passed by. She was the bonniest lass in the village. Her dark brown curls and sweet smile turned his mind to mush. When she called out a greeting to Tristan, he forgot all about closing the gate.
Two sheep were lost. Tristan still felt the sting of his father's leather belt on his backside. The whipping and the pain he'd accepted but not being allowed to accompany his father to the largest market of the whole year was beyond cruelty.
His thoughts turned back to the present, and realization broke. Blinded by anger, his frantic mind tried to decide on a course of action.
Run! the small voice in his head screamed.
But, if he ran, would she do something much worse to him? The Caillech, or witch, of his village warned the children well to mind their surroundings. She spoke of spirits, demons, and Fae that roamed the woods. Some of them good, some not so good, but all waited for lone children to wander.
Did he pay her warnings heed?
No! his conscience chimed in. Why hadn't he? Because he wasn't a child anymore, at least not in his eyes. At fourteen summers, he considered himself a growing man, and men do not cower in fear of witch's tales and folklore.