It began, like all bad things at Hogwarts, with a fight.
A stupid one. Loud. Public. Unholy.
Right outside Charms.
Sirius Black had launched a jelly-legs jinx at Evan Rosier “by accident” (no one believed him), Evan had retaliated with a stinging hex, James leapt in, Barty Crouch Jr. threw his entire textbook at James’ face like a discus, Remus tried to de-escalate and got punched by Frank Longbottom somehow, Lily was screaming at everyone, Marlene was egging them on, Dorcas was in a headlock with Fabian, Pandora bit Gideon like a wild animal, and Peter—Peter had climbed halfway up a tapestry like a wet cat to avoid the chaos.
So, naturally, they were all punished together. The whole lot of them.
Filch was gleeful about it.
“Out into the Forest,” he rasped, yellow teeth catching the light of the torches he passed out. “Professor Kettleburn’s got a job what needs doing, and I can’t bloody wait to see one of you get eaten. Maybe it'll teach yeh respect.”
“It’s not detention if we die,” Remus muttered under his breath.
The forest swallowed them in a thick, damp hush. Trees reached up like bones clawing at the moon, and the shadows crawled low and strange.
Kettleburn limped ahead with his staff, waving them forward. “Now, listen here! We’re collecting shed scales from a colony of Mooncalves—harmless, skittish creatures, but very specific habitat needs. Don’t spook them, don’t wander, and don’t touch anything that breathes heavily. That goes especially for you, Rosiers!”
Pandora raised her middle finger.
Evan bowed mockingly. “Your wisdom is eternal, Professor.”
“Can we just get this over with?” Mary groaned, shivering into her coat. “I can hear things breathing already.”
“You hear that too?” Fabian muttered.
“I swear to Godric,” Sirius grumbled, clutching his wand tighter. “If anything jumps out at me, I’m hexing it first and asking questions never.”
“Maybe don’t provoke the local cryptids tonight,” Remus sighed.
They trudged deeper. It was dark. Damp. Unpleasant. Tempers were tight.
Regulus Black—fifth year, unsmiling, torch in hand—was at the very back of the group, silent and alert, the beam of his Muggle flashlight darting between trees. The light glared against the mist like a ghost’s breath.
They didn’t realise he was gone until his light vanished.
“Wait,” Evan said, stopping short. “Where’s Reg?”
“What?” Dorcas spun. “He was right behind me.”
“Yeah, and then he wasn’t,” Barty said flatly. “Fuck.”
Lily spun around. “Regulus?!”
No answer.
“REGULUS BLACK!”
Pandora screamed, “REG YOU DRAMATIC BITCH THIS ISN’T FUNNY!”
Still nothing.
Filch groaned from the front. “Oh, bleeding—are you lot incapable of staying together for five goddamn minutes?!”
“He had the torch,” Gideon muttered.
“He was the only one besides staff who had a torch,” Marlene hissed, gripping her wand. “And he’s a Black, so now we’re all gonna die looking for him, and Sirius is gonna have a breakdown and cry about it.”
Kettleburn clapped his hands. “Right. Torchbearer’s gone missing. We group up, don’t panic, and follow the trail. We’ll find him.”
Meanwhile—
Regulus was, in fact, not dead.
Just lost. Very.
Torch clutched in one hand, he picked his way down a narrow, muddy trail, muttering to himself.
“I leave you bastards alone for one second—tie my goddamn shoe, ONE second—and you vanish into the trees like Victorian orphans—”
He paused. The woods creaked. The wind moaned.
Something answered, low and rattling.
Regulus stiffened.
Nope. Not doing this.
He tightened his coat and, in a futile attempt to drown out the night’s ambiance of probable murder, began singing under his breath.
🎵“I—I’m not your steppin’ stone—”🎵
His voice wavered, breath frosting in the beam of his light.
🎵“I—I’m not your steppin’ sto-o-oone…”🎵
“Regulus!”
He screamed. Loudly. Dramatically. Almost fell over.
“HOLY SHIT—” he gasped. “There you guys are! I thought you ditched me!”
Pandora sprinted forward and punched his shoulder. “We ditched you?! What the hell, Reg?!”
“I looked away for one second—ONE! Second!” he cried. “To tie my shoe!”
Barty squinted. “What were you even doing out here?”
“Dunno,” Regulus shrugged. “Seducing the local cryptids or something.”
“Oh my God,” Lily muttered.
He gestured vaguely with the torch. “Mostly I was trying to drown out the weird forest moaning noises so I could pretend I wasn’t being followed by something that wants to kill me and eat my spine like a curly fry.”
Dorcas blinked. “Wait—followed by—?”
And then, something cracked in the distance.
Loud. Wrong. Echoing.
Everyone froze.
The woods around them rustled.
Something circled.
Then came the growl. Low. Wet. Hungry.
Frank said, very softly, “We’re all gonna die.”
The trees exploded.
A beast surged from the thicket—towering, horrific, a mass of bramble and bone and fur and teeth, impossibly tall, glowing eyes like wildfire, antlers tangled with vines and rot. It moved like shadow. Like hunger.
Pandora screamed.
Peter screamed louder.
Sirius actually said, “WHAT THE FUCK—”
Kettleburn shoved the students behind him, wand raised. “STAY BACK!”
The beast snarled. Kettleburn cast a shield—too slow. The creature swiped with a claw like a tree trunk, hurling the professor across the clearing like a doll.
Everyone screamed.
James tried to hex it. It absorbed the spell like mist.
Marlene was sobbing.
Dorcas was already trying to drag Regulus away—but the creature’s eyes locked on him.
Regulus didn’t move. Couldn’t. He was frozen. Breath caught. Feet nailed to the earth.
The creature stepped closer.
Gideon whispered, “Shit, it’s gonna eat him.”
Then—shockingly—the creature reached out with one massive clawed hand…
And gently stroked Regulus’s hair.
Everyone paused.
“What the fuck,” Barty whispered.
Regulus blinked, dazed. “Um.”
The creature… purred? A horrible, echoing rumble.
It nuzzled Regulus.
“Okay,” he said flatly. “What is happening.”
“Don’t move,” Sirius hissed.
“I’m not moving—!”
The creature made a low crooning sound, then, without warning, grabbed Regulus and hauled him into its arms like a bride at a forest wedding.
“AAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH—”
“Oh my god it’s kidnapping him!” Mary shrieked.
“No—no—wait—” Evan choked on a laugh. “It’s cuddling him—!”
Regulus was stiff as a board, flailing, face bright red.
“Why is it nuzzling him!?” Lily yelled.
“I THINK I SEDUCED IT!” Regulus shrieked.
“You WHAT?!” Gideon shouted.
“HELP ME!” Reg screamed. “IT’S TRYING TO SNIFF MY SOUL!”
Kettleburn, limping back into the clearing with a broken wand and an arm that definitely wasn’t meant to bend that way, gawked.
“Oh—Merlin’s left tit—”
“You know what that is?!” Sirius bellowed.
“I do,” Kettleburn wheezed. “It’s a Sîor-Síorath. Ancient creature. Semi-sentient. Territorial. Mating season.”
Regulus screamed again. “IT’S TRYING TO BREED ME—!”
The beast began pawing at his robes. Buttons flew.
Barty covered his mouth, dying of laughter. “It’s undressing him—”
“I KNEW THIS WOULD HAPPEN IF I LEFT THE DORMS,” Reg wailed.
Pandora screamed, “PUT HIM DOWN YOU FERAL HORNED BASTARD!”
The creature growled.
Everyone screamed again.
“Do something!” Lily shouted at Kettleburn.
“I’m TRYING,” he wheezed. “I’ve never had a student get seduced by a forest god before!”
“REGULUS,” Dorcas yelled, “TELL IT YOU’RE NOT READY FOR A RELATIONSHIP!”
“WHAT DO YOU THINK I’VE BEEN DOING?!”
The beast sniffed him again. Reg was now missing half his shirt. There were twigs in his hair. He looked like a damsel in a Gothic painting and was fully prepared to pass out.
“Somebody hex it!” Mary cried.
“It’s immune to hexes!” Kettleburn barked. “It only respects dominance displays!”
Sirius groaned, “Oh for FUCK’S sake.”
He marched forward, wand out, barking like an alpha wolf.
The creature blinked at him.
“BACK OFF!” Sirius shouted, flaring his magic like a show of teeth. “He’s mine!”
Regulus blinked. “WHAT—”
The creature growled.
“BACK! OFF!” Sirius roared, eyes blazing.
The Sîor-Síorath stared.
Then, reluctantly, it set Regulus down.
The moment he was free, Regulus hit the ground and shrieked, “SOMEONE GIVE ME A CLOAK, I FEEL VIOLATED—”
Pandora flung hers over him.
The beast gave Sirius one last threatening snarl—then slunk back into the forest.
Everyone stood in stunned, horrified silence.
Barty clapped once. “Ten out of ten. Would watch again.”
“Don’t talk to me,” Regulus snapped.
“Are you okay?” Remus asked gently.
“I was dry humped by a tree demon,” Regulus said hollowly. “I’m gonna need so much therapy.”
Sirius patted his back. “Hey, at least it liked you.”
Regulus screamed.
Kettleburn wheezed. “New rule. Detention no longer takes place in the forest. Ever.”
Everyone agreed.
Regulus just curled into Pandora’s cloak and whispered, “I’m never going outside again.”
Nobody moved for a full minute.
The wind creaked. The trees whispered like gossips. Somewhere, an owl hooted ominously.
Regulus was still on the ground, clutching Pandora’s cloak around his bare shoulders like a Victorian housewife after a scandal.
“I think,” said Fabian slowly, voice cracked with disbelief, “we just witnessed Regulus Black get raw-dogged by a cryptid.”
“I DID NOT,” Regulus snapped, face flaming. “It didn’t—it didn’t get that far! It just—just tried to!”
Peter was crying from laughter. “It licked your neck!”
“It undressed you!” Mary howled.
“It tried to breed you like a prized mare,” Barty added, eyes shining.
“STOP SAYING THAT WORD!” Regulus shrieked, shivering.
Kettleburn—still half-limping, still bloodied from being yeeted across the clearing—rubbed his temples and let out a noise of exhausted horror.
“I forgot to mention,” he muttered.
Everyone turned.
“Forgot to what?” Sirius said flatly.
Kettleburn sighed. “That species—the Sîor-Síorath—they, uh... mate for life.”
Regulus blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“They’re monogamous. Very territorial. Once they pick a mate, they… don’t change their minds.”
Silence.
Then:
“EXCUSE ME?” Regulus shrieked.
“They’re known to be incredibly protective. Possessive. Aggressive toward anything they perceive as… competition.”
Sirius paled. Visibly. “...Competition?”
Kettleburn gave him a pitying look. “If it saw you assert dominance to ‘claim’ Regulus, then, yes. You’re its main rival now.”
“Oh my god,” Lily whispered.
“Oh my God,” Regulus breathed. “I’m married.”
Dorcas was wheezing.
Pandora doubled over laughing.
Evan whispered reverently, “Your husband’s twelve feet tall and made of trees.”
“HE IS NOT MY HUSBAND!”
“Divorce him then,” Barty said with a shrug. “Oh wait, you can’t.”
“I am going to throw myself into the lake!” Regulus screeched.
“You’re not safe there either,” Kettleburn added unhelpfully. “They’re known to track their mates across mountains. Swim rivers. Tunnel through solid stone—”
“WHY WOULD YOU TELL ME THAT?!”
“You need to understand the severity—”
Regulus’s whole body flinched like a haunted cat. “I’M NEVER LEAVING THE CASTLE AGAIN. EVER. I AM A TOWER BRIDE NOW. A CURSED TOWER BRIDE!”
He spun wildly, eyes wide, torch beam flicking like a lighthouse of despair.
“Wait. WAIT. I’m still in the forest.”
Everyone stared as he slowly turned toward Kettleburn. Face blank. Hollow.
“Nope. Nope nope nope,” he muttered.
And then, without warning, Regulus launched himself at the professor and climbed him like a cat scaling a tree during fireworks.
“AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH—GET ME OUT—GET ME OUT—GET ME OUT RIGHT NOW—”
Kettleburn wheezed, off-balance, as Regulus clung to his back, arms and legs wrapped tight around him like a clingy baby monkey.
“What the fuck, Reg!” Sirius shrieked.
“I AM NOT GETTING FUCKED IN A MOSSY LOVE NEST BY A WALKING FOREST FIRE!”
“Jesus Christ—”
“DO I LOOK LIKE A WHINY SUBMISSIVE BOTTOM WHO WANTS TO GET BRED BY A NATURE DEMON?”
“YOU ACT LIKE ONE!” Barty screamed, tears in his eyes.
“I DON’T WANT TO BE THE LEAD IN A CREATURE PORNO!”
Everyone lost it.
Marlene screamed.
Mary fell over.
Gideon was laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe.
Sirius was sobbing into James’ shoulder.
Pandora howled, “You literally seduced him!”
“I WAS SINGING TO CALM MYSELF DOWN!”
“That was mating behaviour to him, dumbass!” Dorcas cackled.
Regulus shrieked into Kettleburn’s neck. “HE THOUGHT I WAS SERENADING HIM!”
“Regulus,” Alice managed between gasps, “you are literally his little forest bride now.”
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO—”
And that was when the woods rustled again.
Louder this time.
All laughter stopped.
Everyone froze.
The trees moved—shifted—breathed.
Somewhere behind them, the growl returned. Slow. Hungry.
Regulus let out a sound that could only be described as demonic panic.
“IT’S BACK,” he screamed.
He clung harder to Kettleburn like a backpack of trauma.
“RUN,” Lily gasped.
“RUN WHERE?” Frank shouted.
“ANYWHERE THAT’S NOT HERE!” yelled James.
“I AM NOT GOING BACK TO HIS CAVE!” Regulus wailed.
“I AM A CHILD OF GODRIC!” Regulus sobbed. “I DESERVE BETTER THAN BEING A TREE WIFE!”
Filch, appearing out of the mist with a lantern and blood on his lip, looked around at the screaming students, the howling in the trees, the professor piggybacking a student mid-hysteria, and deadpanned—
“What in the fuck is happening.”
No one answered.
They just ran.
And from the trees, deep and guttural, a howl followed them.
Possessive.
Calling.
Coaxing.
And Regulus, sobbing into Kettleburn’s shoulder, knew—
He was so never going back to Care of Magical Creature again.
Have I mentioned I’m on an orc kick? I feel like I have…
This is Makari and Chase!
Chase is a new-to-town tattoo artist looking to open up his own parlor and get a fresh start. A family friend manages to clue him in on a small two-story home in a town just outside the city. t’s quaint—far enough to be peaceful but still close enough that people would make the trip for good ink. The catch? The place is a dump.
But Chase is a hands-on kind of guy. He’s not a carpenter, plumber, or electrician, but he’s pretty sure he can handle it. He firmly believes there’s nothing he can’t fix with a beer and a YouTube video.
He’s wrong
He ends up springing a leak. Thankfully, the same neighbor (and family friend) has just the solution: contractors. Real professionals. People who know how to fix things without hitting the water main. With a knowing look, they hand him a business card and warn him that “the lot of them are orcs.”
Makari is the oldest—and only girl—of five. She’s responsible, driven, loyal, and often the only voice of logic in the family-run company. She’s the one everyone relies on. The first one they call when something goes wrong, and the last one to clock out at night. She keeps the bus on the road even when it has two flat tires, a busted windshield, and has been running on E for the last 25 miles. And she’s exhausted.
She’s tired of boring blue overalls—no matter how many flowers and butterflies she’s embroidered onto them. She’s tired of gas station lunches and smelling like septic tanks. Because to call her family contractors was a joke—they’re a one-stop chaos shop!
But what she’s really tired of is her younger brother scheduling her for emergency appointments when she was supposed to be getting her nails done. FOR ONCE.
When she and Chase first meet, he’s caught totally off guard. He was expecting “an orc named Mak” to show up—not a towering woman with a lilac toolbox. She doesn’t look like any Mak he’s ever seen.
And he’s smitten.
100% this dork is kicking his feet under the table!
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I would not tell Rostran--not yet-- that the excessive amount of apples in my house was more than I could eat. Thankfully, I was not alone. My sheep were the happiest creatures on earth. I dried the apples in slivers and kept them in my dug out cellar, setting the seeds aside for the orchard I dreamed of.
I used what precious flour and sugar I had, made a pie, and set it on the window sill to cool. I washed the bowls in a tub and lost myself in humming a tune.
“What is that?” Rostran’s growl made me jump.
He was glaring in the window, nose almost in the cooling pie.
“It’s an apple pie. I have so many apples I thought I would make one…” I dried my hands on my apron and came over to the sill. “Let me give you some when it’s cooler.” I tapped the metal to feel the heat.
Rostran huffed and sat heavily outside the window.
“Is...Is something wrong?” I asked him after a few moments of trying to clean in silence.
“No, the smell is odd and I have never encountered such a thing.”
“You haven’t come close to a human village?”
“Why would I?” he spat. “They cut and burn my forest and I have no reason to visit them.”
“I see,” I dipped my gaze away from his and took a knife and wooden plate over to the sill.
I cut the pie down the center and slid it carefully onto the plate for him. Rostran took the plate with extreme care into his monstrous hands. I smiled at him and cut myself a slice.
He tipped the plate back and the entire half slid into his maw. He chewed thoughtfully. I watched all four of his pupils widen.
“It’s warm.”
“Yes,” I said through a bite, “I put it over the fire and it cooks it.”
Rostran ran his long tongue over the plate. It was amusing, but the length of his tongue brought a pool of heat to my stomach. Was it his magic? Was he a fertility god as well? Those thoughts didn’t help my arousal. I had to turn away and focus on washing the dishes.
“Thank you for the apples. I’m glad you enjoyed it,” I told him over my shoulder.
Rostran made a huff like a laugh and padded away from my home.
---
The weather warmed and the sheep began to pant. I knew what time it was. The daunting job of shearing the sheep by myself came around. They were well behaved ewes I hand raised, many of them had been shorn three or so times. It still remained a daunting task.
The lambs bounced around with the litter of pups I brought into the enclosure just outside my home. The pups were white and fluffy, wobbling around and wary of the world. It kept a smile on my face to see them toddling after the lambs who found their feet.
Shearing was strenuous and hot, the sheep behaved as I flipped them around and carefully clipped away their wool in big fleeces. I piled up the wool on my porch away from dirt and debris.
Sunset came and I was aching and covered in sheep scent and dirt, but I was on the last four sheep. I heard Rostran growl loudly and come directly to the fence. Three of my dogs snarled and backed away, the sheep bumped around in fear and I grunted.
“You’re scaring them.”
“You peeled them?!”
He sounded mortified.
A loud cry of laughter left my mouth without my permission. I bent over and covered my face in the crook of my elbow.
“What?” He snapped and rushed forward, his hackles raised at my audacity.
“I sheared them, but I suppose --” I snorted, pressing my lips together, “ -- I suppose I peeled them, yes. Their wool is too hot for the summer and I will sell it for supplies.”
Rostran paused and watched the sheep, “They wouldn’t survive in the wild.”
“No, they aren’t meant to though.”
He sniffed me and gave me a head to toe glance.
“You have no help…”
I blinked. “No? Are you offering to help me shear?”
Rostran lifted his hand, and his beastial form became something far more powerful. I had never seen his hand move with so much emotion.
As though they were dipped in water and the wool melted away, Rostran’s magic brought them off the ground. I went to the fleeces hovering near the horrified sheep whose legs trembled as they crept as far away from the forest god as possible.
I grabbed the fleece and marveled at how unified and soft they were. Peering over the fluff in my arms I caught Rostran’s intense gaze. The second set of eyes made his attention truly breathtaking.
“Thank you!” I shuffled out of the enclosure and set them atop the others on the porch.
“You should have asked me,” he grumbled and followed at my side. His shadow swallowed me in the last golden rays of daylight.
“It doesn’t feel right to bother a god for something so human,” I said, bringing the pelts into my house and out of the potential dew.
Rostran’s reach was long and his hand grasped my hip and halted me.
“You are in my forest and under my care.” He sniffed me and his teeth showed, “Bathe so I can smell you again.”
He always left in a rush, never saying goodbye or waiting for sentiment. I held the fleece to my chest and breathed in the rush of air he left in his wake.
I was under his care. That made my chest warm.
--
Processing the wool was a long affair that I labored over for weeks, preparing it and bringing out my spinning wheel to make rolls of soft white wool ready to be sold and traded during my upcoming trip to the village I once lived in.
Rostran lounging on my porch and sticking his massive head through the door was an everyday occurance. I memorized every detail of his face and antlers, and the strange decorations draping from them.
My foot bobbed up and down as I fed the carded wool through the wheel.
“What do the things on your antlers mean?” I asked.
His eyes opened lazily.
“They are trophies from my enemies and gifts from those I have aided.”
I halted my foot and glanced over the trinkets. “Did you take the gifts or recieve them?”
Rostran glared, but nothing serious lingered behind it.
“They were given to me, thank you.”
I smoothed out a strand and chuckled. “What gracious manners you have, Rostran.”
This triggered a move where he was suddenly in my cottage looming over me. His nose pressed to my neck and I froze.
“Only for you, foolish lamb.”
A blush took over my face and neck as he kept nuzzling me and inhaling my scent. The oncoming summer and the lack of a breeze had me warm already, his attention flooded me with a heat I didn’t know how to help.
“Rostran!” I yelped as I tumbled off my tiny stool to the floor.
The God of the Forest stood over my body and gazed at me with wide pupils.
His tongue over the pulse in my neck made my toes curl. A moan left me and he answered with a guttural growl.
“Briallen, do not tempt me…” He growled and closed his eyes.
I could only arch beneath him and grasp at the soft fur on his chest. He quivered. I knew my touch was welcome.
This heat which pulsed between us I wanted to grasp and never let go. A carnal part of my soul gave me to the arousal and my knees parted.
Rostran pulled back and snarled.
“You mustn’t… If I take you there will be no return for you.”
I sat and pulled my knees up. Embarrassment consumed me and I looked away from him looming over me.
“I… I want --”
What did I want?
“Go back to your village. It is better for you there,” Rostran said. In my months of being in his presence I never heard him sound defeated.
“It isn’t better for me. I left before they could exile me.”
My eyes watered. What did I want? His tongue? I was such a lost girl outside my world. He was a god.
“Why would they exile you?”
“They think I killed my mother,” I admitted. The tears I forbade from falling spilled down my cheeks, thick and heavy. I hadn’t cried like this in so long.
Since she succumbed to the infection of her wound. It was such a stupid way to die, running her leg over the edge of a plough by mistake and having an infection take her body and soul in a few days.
Heydal blamed me, of course. Since I kicked him to the dirt when he groped me in a barn, asking me to be his wife as I told him no. He would do anything to get back at me for that. The Mayor’s precious son and his good natured smile--all lies.
I needed supplies, I could only do so much. I wanted to see people again.
“I will trade with them,” I stood up and straightened myself out. This wanton energy over my body must have come from my twenty four winter’s of suppressing it. “I won’t be long. I’m going tomorrow but I won’t stay.”
My back turned to him. In the moments of silence I glanced to see he’d left on the end of a sighing breeze.
---
My wagon rumbled down the makeshift path at dawn. It was packed high in the back with wool covered by a wax coated tarp. My mule’s hooved clopped on the bumpy path.
The forest had no unusual sounds or smells to it, I kept my eye on the trees out of reflex. The wolves that lived out here were vicious.
Even with Rostran’s protection my year of paranoia lingered in the back of my mind.
Noon sun glared down as I approached the outskirts of habitable land. It seemed… different.
I swallowed.
Every other tree had a stump between it and its neighbor. As I went further, entire areas were clear cut and some still smouldered. The forest two miles surrounding the village was clear cut and foundations formed.
Axes swung and I heard a tree crackle and crush the ground. My fingers tightened on the reins. The men responsible for felling the ancient oak turned and stared at me.
I knew their faces. All were men who accused me of being a murderer, a witch using the blood of her mother and father.
None of it was true. If I had a hint of magical ability I would have honed it in for a useful purpose by that point of my life.
I kept my chin up and kept going forward. I needed this trip to be brief. The sunny atmosphere of this early summer day held dark clouds far off.
The town came into view. More houses, wagons, horses, and other forms of livelihood had bloomed in my time in the wilderness. I swallowed.
Rostran was right. They were killing his forest with no regard for the life long rooted in its soil. Anger boiled in my stomach, anger towards my fellow humans. I felt apart from them now, my longing to interact dying like a candle in the wind.
Familiar and strange faces stared at me as I came into town. The whispers were hardly concealed and the obvious glances from windows and kids running off to whisper.
The Killer Witch is back.
Hearing such horrid lies about yourself isn’t palatable. My desire to turn and leave grew by the second.
I had one destination, and that was to the one person I knew I could count on. Juniper Quells. She was the heiress of the trading company that put my village on the map, they’d even opened a branch in one of the big cities on the coast. The last several generations of her family made it what it was, and now it was hers.
She and I had been friends since we could walk. Both summer children, we loved the rain and the trees, often vanishing with our dogs for hours on end.
The warehouse had a new coat of paint, and a few other wagons were parked outside it. I drew up and tied my mule, patting her neck and jumped down from the wagon onto the floorboards outside the door. I eyed those who watched me before I went inside.
Spices, tea, wood, and fresh cloth welcomed my nose. The organized rows of shelves hadn’t changed, nor had the woman behind the counter.
Juniper poured over a log book and paid little heed until the bell at the door jingled as it shut. She glanced up and back to the page. Then her jaw dropped and she slammed the book down on the counter.
“Brieallen?” She gasped and rushed around the counter. A smile grew on her face as she wrapped me in a hug.
“Aye, I’ve got this spring’s wool in my cart.” I returned the smile and hug to her.
“Nevermind the wool! I thought you were long dead and gone,” she said.
“I’m alive, a bit lonely but the woods have been kind to me.”
Juniper patted my shoulder and exhaled. “Let’s see what we can do.”
She was the one good thing about the village. She never believed a word of gossip, and stayed by my side after my mother’s passing. It was thanks to her I got the tools and supplies needed for my home out in the woods.
She’d married not long before I moved away.
Her happily exclamations and business talk flooded my ears. I went over my list of supplies I wanted in exchange for the wool. Juniper and I stood outside and examined the wool, she petted it and nodded.
“I would expect nothing less of your sheep. It's always said your sheep give such fine wool thanks to the love of your family.”
My family. My gentle, curly haired father and my outspoken, broad shouldered mother. A winter sickness took my father six years before my mother fell ill to the wound. That was three years prior.
My newly inherited fortune and unmarried status attracted Heydal and his goons. When he didn’t get me, things turned sour and I found my way out through my home in the woods.
The threats towards my life and wellbeing grew. The burnt circle out in the field was a warning to those who stepped out of line -- they’d put up a fresh stake.
Juniper had a wide eyed lad help us unload the wool and reload the basic supplies I’d purchased. I wished I could have slipped her a batch of apples, but the suspicion of such fine fruit this time of year would raise questions.
“You should be off,” Juniper muttered. “I trust Heydal has learned you’re here and you don’t need to speak with him.”
I nodded and looked her in the eye. “Thank you, I know this was worth more than the wool.”
A coy smirk on her lips Juniper replied, “Not enough for your company, Brie.”
Her eyes flickered over my shoulders and horror stretched over her features and filled the depths of her eyes. I turned.
Heydal was flanked by at least a dozen men. Two held torches, several wielded pitchforks, and Heydal and his brothers hefted actual swords.
My stomach churned.
“Juniper,” I whispered, “don’t get involved.”
I heard her need to protest, but it never made it out.
“You got guts to come back,” Heydal snarled. “You survived out in the Deep Woods, that means you used dark magics to do it.”
I wanted to beat his ruddy face in.
He jerked his chin towards me and his brothers advanced. I almost felt the heat of their torches.
Torches meant one thing during daylight: the stake.
