Setting
The Fey made a circle around the old witch and started to chant with her, unwillingly summoning the dormant powers of younger witches of the area. Various creatures inhabiting the forest cried and growled, merging their own power to the ritual as the village was flooded with dark powers, strings of magic going into the very soul of young girls of the village and awakening something deep inside some of them. As her chanting grew more desperate, the old witch hoped that at least one of these girls would answer her call.
That was how a young maid found herself suddenly the worst enemy of the village that saw her grow, her terrified cry and frenzied running into the forest heard by a young man, the witch's son, that was tasked with the protection of the forest's sanctity. With her last breath, the old crone of a witch banished her servant back to their trees and thorns, giving her successor a night of respite but no more...
When she collapsed in the clearing, that was whens he felt it -- the chill in her skin, the stinging in her lungs, and most of all, the jabbing pain in her feet. She lay there on the earth and curled around her bag and tried to regain the power of coherent thoughts. As much as her feet hurt, she was alive. She was really still alive. She sat up, looking over her shoulder, and wondered how long she had been here.
It blew away, flying through the air in an erratic path, but keeping in a generally straight direction. he followed it, running swiftly as the wind, and even more gracefully. His grassy robe pulling behind him like a ribbon marked the path he had taken moments before. Soon, he came to a girl curled up on the ground. She looked tired and beaten, almost dead in fact. after a few minutes, she awoke and sat up. She looked around as if frightened of something, but did not see him. His robe looked very much like a dead tree covered in moss, so he was very used to going unnoticed. In fact, he preferred it. after a moment of observing the girl, he spoke, "Why are you here?"
Her wounds would have to be treated soon else they would infect and potentially leads to the loss of her feet but for now Valeria was safe. Technically, that is, as the night was cold and the Devil's Forest was notorious for being the deadliest in the realm, full of dark fey and other more feral creature, each more bloodthirsty than the other. That fact of life was hammered into the mind of every child of the village and no other place generated more terror than the forest.
The young woman would have various things to do before she was to be even thinking of being safe. She should heal her wounds, find a shelter and find warmer clothing than the ragged dress she wore, not to mention that it was starting to rain. Indeed, the dark moonless sky cracked open and down poured a torrent of cold and stinging water as was the usual in that time of the year when harvest was in it's full swing. Food was also needed, of course and so did water.
Valeria had to act, and fast as various howls and skittering could be heard in the dark confines of the forest. No apparent trail were visible in the darkness but a great three had a decent groove in it's roots, maybe even good enough to act as a shelter with enough luck and material. Was it safe so close to the ground, however?
Suddenly, a voice was heard: 'Why are you here?' A friend, or a foe?
Valeria winced as she rearranged herself. "I'm here because--" She paused. "I'm here because I can't go home." She shuddered as the torrent began. Each drop stung like a frozen needle. She looked at the man again, and the tears in her eyes mixed with rain. "I don't know where to go. Even here is better than there." For the moment, her exhilaration turned to fear.
The clearing was inhabited by an hut that seemed nearly completely hidden by thorns and vines. The construct was made of solid stone and wood but still seemed to be in disrepair as a strange circle in the muddy soil near it's left slowly disappeared under the relentless pour. This was the old witch Gretchel's hut, as could be seen by the corpse of the woman near an end of the circle.
As Valeria spotted the unkempt house, right in the thick of the dreaded forest, she had to ask, "Do people really live here?" Next, she saw the woman. Valeria began to ask if she was alright, but the stiffness and stillness of her body was unmistakable. The woman looked like a bird Valeria had once seen crumpled atop the winter snow. Valeria covered her mouth and backed up a few steps. "What happened?"
The interior was simple with two cots made of hay and furs of some animals near the wall and a great cauldron over a fire pit bubbling in the center of the dirty room. A broom for tidying was near the door as was various cooking utensil as well as various shelves with what seemed like grimoires on the walls.
The mixture in the cauldron seemed to be stew and smelled heavenly to the starved girl. The cots were tempting as well.
Taking a seat on one of the cots, Valeria studied her surroundings while filling her mouth with stew. She had never seen so many books! "A successor," she found herself saying, despite the way the man snapped at her. She got up to take a closer look at the books, but before she got there, she winced and lifted one foot. Peeling off the shoe, she looked around for something to bandage herself.
Adamah for his part did go about his task meticulously, first washing the feet with his gourd and applying the ooze on the other's wound. An odd sound them came from the concoction as it sizzled and knitted the wound closed, leaving the young witch drowsy with both her warm meal and the soporific effect or her remedy.
A howl resounded outside but it was late and the cot were oh so inviting... Morever, she felt incredibly safe in this small hut.
Valeria was unharmed but incredibly tired.
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"Lennavanmo Lennavanmo who is it swinging you to and fro
With a long low swing and a sweet low croon
loving words of a mother's rune
Lennavanmo Lennavanmo who is it swinging you to and fro.
I am thinking it is an Angel fair
The Angel that looks on the gulf from the lowest stair.
And swings the green world upward by its leagues of sunshine hair
Lennavanmo Lennavanmo who swingeth you and the Angel to and fro.
It is he whose faintest thought is a world afar
It is He whose wish is a seven-mooned leaping star
It is He Lennavanmo to whom you and I and all things flow
Lennavanmo Lennavanmo
It is only a little wee lass that you are
Eilidh mo chree
But as This wee blossom has roots in the depths of the sky,
So you are one with the Lord of Eternity
Bonny wee lass that you are, my morning star,
Elidh mo chree, Lennavanmo Lennavanmo."
He sang deeply and slowly, lacing his words with magic. His voice sounded like the rustle of leaves as he calmed her spirit, and called the trees to protect them for the night. He never stopped rubbing her feet as he sang.
When he finished, he looked at her again, "I am so sorry for what will happen. But I will not always be able to help you."
Speaking of the man, she hopped out of bed and looked around. "Morning," she said, voice soft. With the shutters closed, she could not tell what time it was. She felt her way across the room and fumbled for candle and match.
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