the waterskins. She also filled a sack with products of her stillroom: rare herbs folded in cloth and several jars of ointments. Perhaps, wherever they ended up, they would again be able to use their skills, or at least they could sell their wares in the marketplace to gain a stake for a new beginning.
By the time they were ready, with packs, blankets, and oilskins, the rain had paused, but twilight had come in truth. Annikke hesitated just outside her door, looking at the herb garden she’d nurtured for many years, listening to the soft dripping of moisture from the eaves. The forest and its shadows loomed like a forbidding wall at the edge of the yard. The Elves had taken her from there, changing her life forever. She hadn’t ventured into the forest at night since she was twelve summers old.
Memories of bright colors, Fey laughter, and song teased, but Annikke pushed them away. She couldn’t think of that. Not now. The Elves were cold, as was their beauty. And even though the villagers had shown her little warmth, desiring something so
other
was wrong. It only led to heartache. Humans and Elves were not meant to mingle. Her parents and the villagers had taught her that. And so for years she’d shunned the places the Elves traveled, including the forest.
The forest where they must now venture.
“We could wait until sunrise,” Benoia suggested.
Annikke shook her head. “Tholvar won’t wait. We mustn’t either.” She made herself step off the porch. “What may await us in the woods is less a danger than what will find us if we remain here.” Annikke wished she felt as confident as her words implied. She took a step toward the trees, and then another, while her heart pounded.
Benoia followed.
At the edge of the forest Annikke paused again, her heart speeding. When she’d been a girl, she’d played in the shoulders of these woods, sometimes dipping into the green shrouded depths much further than her parents would have wished. She’d never felt afraid then, and she’d never gotten lost. The trees had felt like benevolent aunties, watching over her and never chiding her for forgotten chores. Now with darkness falling and the sky threatening further rain, all she could imagine were threats lurking in every shadow. Benoia touched her arm, looking up into her eyes with concern.
Annikke swallowed the tight knot in her throat. Her fear didn’t matter. She couldn’t let her foster-daughter be taken. She sucked a breath deep into her lungs and blew it out, then stepped into the trackless woods.
Shadow enveloped them as they slipped beneath the canopy. Pine needles and leaf mold quieted their steps. All that could be heard were insects and birds calling out their goodnight songs to each other. It wasn’t long before the light was nearly gone and they had to stop. There was little undergrowth to hide them among the pines, but there were a few stands of oak. Annikke chose a spot on the far side of a thicket for them to bed down. Annikke spoke softly to the nurseling trees, stroking their slender trunks. By morning the little ones would have shifted, obscuring their path. If they were pursued, she hoped it would be enough to conceal them.
They spread an oilcloth on the ground before sitting to eat a bite of bread and cheese. Neither of them had much appetite, and soon they wrapped themselves in their blankets and the second oilskin. Annikke drew Benoia close, needing the feel of her daughter’s warmth. The girl held her just as tightly, and soon Annikke felt tremors racking Benoia’s delicate frame as the girl wept.
She’d been so brave. Benoia had defended herself, and she’d understood immediately that they needed to flee. She hadn’t complained once about leaving all they knew behind.
“I’m so proud of you,” Annikke murmured. “I thank the gods every day that they brought you to me. I could not ask for a better daughter.”
Benoia’s breath caught on a quiet sob. “But I’ve cost you
By the time they were ready, with packs, blankets, and oilskins, the rain had paused, but twilight had come in truth. Annikke hesitated just outside her door, looking at the herb garden she’d nurtured for many years, listening to the soft dripping of moisture from the eaves. The forest and its shadows loomed like a forbidding wall at the edge of the yard. The Elves had taken her from there, changing her life forever. She hadn’t ventured into the forest at night since she was twelve summers old.
Memories of bright colors, Fey laughter, and song teased, but Annikke pushed them away. She couldn’t think of that. Not now. The Elves were cold, as was their beauty. And even though the villagers had shown her little warmth, desiring something so
other
was wrong. It only led to heartache. Humans and Elves were not meant to mingle. Her parents and the villagers had taught her that. And so for years she’d shunned the places the Elves traveled, including the forest.
The forest where they must now venture.
“We could wait until sunrise,” Benoia suggested.
Annikke shook her head. “Tholvar won’t wait. We mustn’t either.” She made herself step off the porch. “What may await us in the woods is less a danger than what will find us if we remain here.” Annikke wished she felt as confident as her words implied. She took a step toward the trees, and then another, while her heart pounded.
Benoia followed.
At the edge of the forest Annikke paused again, her heart speeding. When she’d been a girl, she’d played in the shoulders of these woods, sometimes dipping into the green shrouded depths much further than her parents would have wished. She’d never felt afraid then, and she’d never gotten lost. The trees had felt like benevolent aunties, watching over her and never chiding her for forgotten chores. Now with darkness falling and the sky threatening further rain, all she could imagine were threats lurking in every shadow. Benoia touched her arm, looking up into her eyes with concern.
Annikke swallowed the tight knot in her throat. Her fear didn’t matter. She couldn’t let her foster-daughter be taken. She sucked a breath deep into her lungs and blew it out, then stepped into the trackless woods.
Shadow enveloped them as they slipped beneath the canopy. Pine needles and leaf mold quieted their steps. All that could be heard were insects and birds calling out their goodnight songs to each other. It wasn’t long before the light was nearly gone and they had to stop. There was little undergrowth to hide them among the pines, but there were a few stands of oak. Annikke chose a spot on the far side of a thicket for them to bed down. Annikke spoke softly to the nurseling trees, stroking their slender trunks. By morning the little ones would have shifted, obscuring their path. If they were pursued, she hoped it would be enough to conceal them.
They spread an oilcloth on the ground before sitting to eat a bite of bread and cheese. Neither of them had much appetite, and soon they wrapped themselves in their blankets and the second oilskin. Annikke drew Benoia close, needing the feel of her daughter’s warmth. The girl held her just as tightly, and soon Annikke felt tremors racking Benoia’s delicate frame as the girl wept.
She’d been so brave. Benoia had defended herself, and she’d understood immediately that they needed to flee. She hadn’t complained once about leaving all they knew behind.
“I’m so proud of you,” Annikke murmured. “I thank the gods every day that they brought you to me. I could not ask for a better daughter.”
Benoia’s breath caught on a quiet sob. “But I’ve cost you
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