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The most important lessons often come at the greatest cost.

Many times had Arthur Butcher seen the truth of that statement firsthand ever since he left his family to become the witch’s servant.

The Butcher family farm had never been particularly prosperous, but they usually had few problems putting food on the table each year. However, this year’s harvest had been unusually hard on them. With the long drought the past summer, this year’s crop had barely yielded half the grain they had been able to harvest every other year. That was barely enough to sell for any profit even if they didn’t want to keep their livestock fed, and they needed the money fast. The farm tools that had served their family for generations had begun to dwindle in number as tool handles snapped from wood rot and general wear and tear, and the blades rusted into uselessness. Just over the course of this year’s harvest the farm had lost two scythes and three sickles in Arthur’s hands alone.
And that was not even the worst of it, Arthur reflected sadly as he stood on a stool in the family farmhouse’s modestly sized hearth, hammering nails into the wooden planks patching up one of the many holes in the wooden ceiling letting the autumn chill in. Even the midday sun hanging over with cloudless sky did little to warm the chill air, and worse still, no matter many of these holes he fixed, he was sure they’d find more before the week was out. And a cold, drafty house was the last thing his sister needed in her condition.
Fastening his hammer into its spot in his tool belt after finishing with this hole, Arthur stepped down from the stool and buried his fingers in his messy wheat coloured hair in frustration as he thought of Morgan’s ailing health. At first she was just a bit paler than normal and coughing a bit, so the family thought it was just an autumn bug she’d caught and she’d get better in no time, but then her coughing just wouldn’t stop, she began to have several fainting spells over the next few days. By the time the first week of her sickness had passed, Morgan was bedridden twenty-four hours a day, every day of the week. The town doctor had come in this morning to take a look at her, but he had only bad news to give.

Arthur clenched his fists at the mere thought of it all. Never in Arthur’s life had he felt so powerless. His own sister was dying, and there was nothing he could do but patch up a few holes. In his heart, Arthur desperately wished he could do something, anything, to see Morgan in full health again.

Little did Arthur know as he heard a heavy knock on the house’s front door that such an opportunity would soon come to him.

“Arthur?” the gruff voice of Arthur’s father called from Morgan’s room down the hall as the knocking on the door continued. “When you get a minute, could you be a good lad and get the door for us?”

“I’m heading for the door right now, Pa!” Arthur called back as he walked across the faded wooden floor towards the front door as the knocking continued still.

Making it to the door, Arthur opened it carefully so not to damage the aging wooden door, and was greeted by a familiar gravelly baritone.
“Hope I haven’ come at a bad time, lad.”

Arthur looked up to meet the eyes of the absolute mountain of a man staring down at him. While Arthur was considered to be a bit tall for a young man of his age, and had certainly built up plenty of muscle from his years of working in the fields, even he was dwarfed by this beast of a man. Looking down at Arthur was a chiseled, scar-riddled face with piercing amber eyes and a wide, almost leonine nose, covered in wild, bushy hair on all sides like the mane of a beast, black as coal and bound only by the three braids of his beard. Clad in an armoured leather doublet and trousers covered by a fur cloak, this giant visitor was armed to the teeth, wearing a steel arming sword sheathed on his belt and a wooden shield and yew longbow fastened to his back. Far braver men than Arthur would have been terrified to see such a savage looking behemoth arrive on their doorstep at such a troubling time, but Arthur himself couldn’t be happier to see his Uncle Melion come to visit.
“So,” the titanic warrior began with a broad, warm smile as he leaned over slightly to enter without bumping his head on the doorframe, “how’s me favourite nephew?”
“It’s good to see you, Uncle!” Arthur said as he embraced the old huntsman.
“Same, lad,” Melion chuckled as he hugged his nephew back. “Have things been goin’ any better ‘round here lately?”
Arthur sighed as he broke out of his uncle’s embrace. “That long drought this past summer left us with a bad harvest this year. We’ve just barely been able to scrape up half the grain we can usually grow this time of year. If we sell any, we probably won’t have enough to keep the hogs fed this winter, but if we don’t get the money soon…”
Arthur began to feel tears welling up as he talked, and so took a deep breath to calm himself down.
“So I take Morgan’s health hasn’ improved since I was here last?” Melion inquired with a look of concern on his face.
“No, it’s only gotten worse. She’s been in bed for the past week now.”
“I see. How bad is it?”
“Very bad. We’ve got the town doctor down in her room taking a look at her, and he doesn’t have a lot of good news. He says Morgan’s come down with something really bad. Everyone calls it the White Plague, but the doctor says the proper name is tuber-ca… tuberlo…”
“Kid, I hunt monsters fer a living and sleep on a bedroll more than I sleep on an actual bed. I don’ know any more of this medical jargon than ye do.”
“Anyway, the doctor’s in Morgan’s room with Ma and Pa. I’ll walk you down the hall and you should get a better idea.”
So Arthur guided his grizzled uncle down the aging hallway, the wood creaking with every step they made towards Morgan’s room at the end. But as soon as the made it there, they found Arthur’s parents standing outside the room next to a middle-aged, bespectacled and white-coated doctor with receding brown hair and gray temples, who was trying to explain the situation as calmly as he could, which was seemingly doing little to help Arthur’s clearly distraught mother.
“Please,” Summer Butcher cried, tears streaming from her blue eyes down her worn face. “There must be something you can do to help her!”
From even just one look at Summer Butcher, one could tell the stress she felt over her daughter’s condition was taking a toll on her. Normally a woman with a bit of meat on her bones from the all the farm work she did, her figure had thinned drastically as she ate even less often than the house’s dwindling food stores would account for. Her graying blonde hair was disheveled, falling from her bun with far more split ends than usual, and her blue eyes were underscored with dark circles.
“I’m sorry,” the doctor said, making his best attempt to calm her down. “There’s nothing I can do.”
“But surely you can’t mean that!” Summer pleaded. “There must be some kind of treatment, at least!”
“Of course there is. But I’m afraid I can’t provide any of them. Tuberculosis has never been treated without the aid of magic. If you want to help your daughter, you’d be better off asking a wizard or an alchemist for help.”
“Do we look like we have that kind of money?” Arthur’s father Harold scoffed, pointing up at the barely patched up holes in the ceiling.
Harold Morgan didn’t show his grief and desperation as obviously as his wife did. Even as the whole family rationed their meals to keep the pantry from running empty, he still maintained his stocky, muscular build. But while in as good a shape one could hope for given the circumstances, he certainly showed his age, with wrinkles slowly but surely beginning to crease his rotund face and his light brown hair had begun to not only recede, but also grey at the temples. His vision was not as sharp as it used to be either, and these days he was rarely seen without round spectacles over his blue eyes.
“Of course one of those sorts could cure Morgan,” Harold continued, “but I’ve never heard them charging anything less than a small fortune. There’s no way we can afford a magical cure.”
“Then I’m sorry,” the doctor sighed as he began packing up his medical supplies, “but this is beyond my ability to help. If you truly can’t afford a magical cure through the legal channels, I can only advise you keep your daughter comfortable and cherish your remaining time with her, because at this point, your only other option is-“
As the Butchers’ faces brightened with surprise, the doctor immediately stopped himself and picked up his bag. “Sorry,” he said nervously. “I’ve said too much. I have to go.”
Before either of Arthur’s parents could protest, the doctor turned to head for the house’s front door, only to come face to face with Arthur, and more pressingly, Melion, blocking his exit.
“You mean there still something we can do to save Morgan?” Arthur asked hopefully.
The doctor nervously mumbled as he tried to formulate an answer, clearly intimidated by the nearly seven foot titan behind Arthur practically grazing his head on the ceiling.
“Look doc,” Melion said with a shrug, “if ye want tae get out, don’ let me stop ye. Just please hear me nephew out ’fore ye do.”
Looking down from the sight of Melion and meeting Arthur at eye level, the doctor’s nervous expression softened considerable as he sighed.
“Let’s make this clear,” the doctor began, “none of you heard this from me. Understand?”
“If you say so,” Arthur said curiously.
“All right, then. Legally, I’m only supposed to direct patients in need of magical treatment to Guild-approved magic workers. But there are magi outside the Guild’s influence who may provide their services at a more affordable rate. Most of them are just hedge magicians or charlatans you’d just be wasting your money on, but there is one nearby whose services I would call reliable… the Witch of the Woods.”
Arthur shuddered. He’d heard many tales of witches, from childhood campfire stories to drunken yarns from regulars at the local tavern. Few of them painted a positive image. From monstrous hags that forged pacts with wicked fae and devils, to beautiful enchantresses that lured men to their deaths, to magical tricksters that bewitched princes with cursed forms for the most minor of transgressions. Sure, he had also heard accounts of witches healing the sick and guiding heroes on their noble quests, but those accounts were few and far between. And there was one living so close to his hometown? Quite the sobering thought.
Arthur looked to the rest of his family, and they all looked like they had misgivings of their own. His father looked absolutely torn on the idea, his expression a worrying mix of hope and dread. His mother looked horrified by the prospect, but took a few deep breaths to calm herself down, albeit while making the warding gesture of some local deities. But it was Uncle Melion who had the strongest reaction, giving the doctor a steely glare of cold, barely restrained fury until he noticed his nephew looking up at him, upon which he softened his expression immediately and told Arthur, “Never ye mind me, lad. Carry on with what ye wanted to ask.”
“So, this witch of yours,” Arthur gulped as he looked back towards the doctor, “What is she like?”
The doctor paused for a second to carefully consider his words before answering, “It’s hard to say. She is said to live in a cottage in the heart of the forest just west of town, where she keeps to herself. Those times where she has been seen outside it are few and far between, so most who seek her help come to her directly.” The doctor stopped to catch his breath, and looked hesitant to mention the rest of his story, before continuing, “But one of those few times she was seen outside her home… I was there.”
Arthur’s eyes widened with surprise, as he and the rest of his family were stunned into silence. It was Arthur’s father who broke that silence.
“You’ve seen this witch work her magic? When?”
“It was ten years ago in a village north of the woods. I was working there as an apprentice doctor at the time. A penniless vagrant had come down with leprosy beyond the village gates, and none dared draw near him. Since the man had no money, neither my master nor any other doctor would risk treating him. That’s when she came. A pale woman in a black gown that had earlier come to the village on unknown business approached the poor man, ignoring everyone’s warnings to stay away from him. And yet she continued towards him, undeterred. When she reached the patient, before she worked any magic at all, she just sat down next to him and simply spoke with him.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow curiously. “What did they talk about?”
“I don’t know. Everyone was too far away to hear them. But whatever they spoke of, they seemed to come to an agreement of sorts. The Witch and the beggar shook hands, and with a wave of her hand, the man’s rashes and lesions vanished, and the man stood up perfectly healthy.”
“So she healed him for free? Surely that’s good news for us.”
“I wouldn’ get yer hopes up, kid,” Melion forcefully interjected. “I’ve met a few witches in me travels. I’ve seen good ones, bad ones, and everything in between, but all th’ ones I’ve met have had one thing in common: they don’ do anything fer free.”
“But then why heal a beggar, of all people? What could he have possibly had to give?”
“Who can say?” the doctor said. “The rare accounts from those who have seen the Witch’s work up close swear by her results, but she is never described as someone who makes her motives clear. And I suspect that beggar may have ended up paying for his treatment one way or another…”
Arthur’s optimism faded immediately as he put on a worried expression. “What do you mean?”
The doctor visibly tensed up as he continued. “No one knew exactly what agreement the Witch made with her patient, but many suspect that whatever it was, it is why he left town weeks later and was never seen again. Some thought it was simply him continuing his life as a vagrant, but many had their doubts. But I was actually there when he left. I was running an errand for my master near the village gates when I saw the beggar leave, not for another settlement, but to the very woods where the Witch is said to dwell.”
The room went silent. With a sigh, the doctor said, “I’m afraid that’s all I have to tell you about the Witch. I’m sorry I don’t have a better solution to offer. And I’d be lying if I said I would recommend seeking her out. Honestly, your best option right now is to keep your daughter comfortable and cherish your remaining time with her.”
He walked towards the door, Melion stepping out of his way without a word. Arthur started to reach out to stop him, but Melion gently slapped his hand down while giving a stern yet sympathetic look.
Having made it all the way down the hall to the front door, the doctor cracked the door open, but hesitated to open it further. As he did so, turned back towards the hall and grimly told Arthur’s family, “If you choose to seek the Witch’s help, just remember this advice: no aid, supernatural or otherwise, comes without a price.”
And with that, the doctor walked through the door and closed it behind him, leaving the Butcher family alone in their drafty farmhouse to contemplate what he had just said. Almost a minute had passed by the time Arthur broke the silence.
“Well, do we give the Witch a shot, or what?”
“Are ye out of yer mind, lad?” Melion shouted suddenly. “That’s completely out of th’ question!”
“And since when was that your decision, Mel?” Arthur’s father snapped back. “I’m not too keen on the idea either, but last I checked, that wasn’t your daughter fighting for her life that room!”
“Just trust me on this. Nothin’ good comes from seekin’ th’ help of that sort.”
“What are you suggesting?” Arthur asked. “Just let Morgan die?”
“Honestly lad, knowing th’ witches I’ve met, that be better than…”
Before Melion could finish the sentence, Arthur’s mother swiftly reached out her open palm to silence him.
“Melion,” she said coldly, “I don’t want this family to have anything to do with witches any more than you do, but let me make it clear to you that you will not say those words in this house.”
“Look, I’m sorry fer sayin’ that, but there might still be a better option here!”
“What better option?” Arthur asked angrily. “Because I thought we’d established that we’re not buying a cure from someone else without a king’s ransom!”
“The boy does have a point,” Arthur’s father said as he put his hand on his son’s shoulder to get him to calm down. “I don’t like this idea any more than you do, but unless one our chickens start laying golden eggs before the winter, we might have to seriously consider the option…”
“Dear, think about what you’re saying,” Arthur’s mother butted in, wiping the remaining tears out of her face and taking a deep breath. “I am aware we don’t have many options, but Melion is right to be concerned beyond whatever personal reasons he may have. Consider this: we don’t know anything about this Witch or what sort of magic she works. If she is the type that consorts with devils, accepting her aid may well be putting Morgan’s very soul at risk!”
“That’s a fair concern,” Arthur’s father admitted, “but let’s not jump to conclusions just yet. The doctor said that a few people in the area have gone to this Witch for help, so we could ask around town to see if we can find anyone who can tell us more about her-“
“And how will we know she hasn’t put some dark spell on any of them? You remember what the doctor told us about how that beggar wandered into the Dark Forest after this Witch healed him. Does that sound like something he just decided to do on his own?”
“I hate to say this, Summer,” Arthur’s father sighed, “but that may be a risk we’re going to have to consider…”
“And what are ye gon do, Harry?” Melion asked his brother. “Are ye gon to go into those woods yerself to find this Heart of the Forest?”
Harold shut up immediately. Everyone here had some inkling of how dangerous the Dark Forest was. They’d all heard of tales of hunters and woodsmen who strayed off the travellers’ path in there and never returned, and the few who did seldom went anywhere near those woods again. No one in this hallway thought going to that forest alone was a good idea. At least that’s what they though until Arthur spoke up.
“I’ll do it.”
“What?” Arthur’s father exclaimed in shock. “Absolutely not, it’s too dangerous! If you go off into those woods alone, you’re only going to get yourself killed!”
“I can defend myself in there, Pa! Uncle’s been giving me lessons-“
“Lad, I teach you how to handle a sword so ye can scare off brigands on the open road, not so ye can go off into a monster-infested forest on a wild goose chase fer someone who might not even help ye!” Melion yelled. “An’ last I checked, I’m the only one here who actually has a sword, and I’m sure as hell not about to lend it to ye fer this!”
“I don’t care! I’ll march into those woods with a farm sickle if I have to!”
Arthur’s mother put her hands on her son’s shoulders and told him, “Arthur dear, just stop and think about what you’re saying-“
“Well, what do you expect me to do?! Just sit here and do nothing while Morgan-“
But before the argument could continue, they were all distracted from the subject by a series of loud coughs from inside Morgan’s room, succeeded by a weak, scratchy voice inside asking, “Ugh… what are you all yelling about out there?”
“Morgan?” Arthur asked. “We’re just… discussing what the doctor told us! Did we wake you?”
“No, I’m still fast asleep,” his sister replied sarcastically from behind the door. “What did you think?”
“Okay, bad question. Sorry.”
Opening the door a crack, Arthur’s mother called into the room, “Since you’re awake, is there anything you need, Morgan dear?”
“A glass of water would be nice,” Morgan admitted between coughs.
“Of course, dear. Your Uncle Melion would be more than happy to draw it for you.”
“Sure,” Melion shrugged as he walked off to the kitchen to grab a glass, his temper having cooled a bit
Arthur’s mother opened the door further, and she and the other three walked in. There in her bed bundled in the extra blankets was Morgan herself, a young lady of seventeen years old, her rest rested on a pile of extra pillows. Her normally rosy complexion now a sickly pallid tone and her shoulder length brown hair, usually well-groomed and kept in a ponytail, was unbound and dishevelled. Her sharp and wary features still remained, albeit with dark bags under her blue eyes.
Next to her bed stood a small table piled with books taken from the large bookshelf on the far end of the room for her to read, or more commonly these days, for others to read to her as her condition worsened and lifting the books herself became too much of a burden for her. On the opposite end of the wall the headboards of her bed leaned against, lay a disused work desk with several tools strewn about its surface. Normally the desk would have some broken down clocks from around the house laid down on an oil rag on top of it for Morgan to tinker with in her spare time, but even from a glance one could tell the desk hadn’t been used in weeks.
“So,” Arthur began nervously as he pulled up a stool and sat down, “how are you feeling, Morgan?”
“Not any better than I was the last fifty times you’ve asked me,” Morgan replied drily.
“Oh. That bad, huh?”
“Yeah. I’m guessing the doctor didn’t have much in the way of good news? I passed out again while I was being examined, but I know how to read a room.” Morgan weakly raised a finger to point at everyone’s distraught faces to emphasize her point.
“Well…” Arthur began with a nervous smile, unsure of how to break the news to her, or even if he could bring himself to, “sure, you’re not doing all that great, but…”
“I knew it! I’m dying.”
“What? No, you’re not dying!” Arthur lied as his parents exchanged loaded looks behind him. “It’s just… uh… there’s a few options we can take to help you get better, and we just have to decide which will be the better one to take.”
Morgan shot Arthur an apprehensive look before turning her head towards him and telling him, “You’re a terrible liar, Arthur.”
“Look sis,” Arthur said as he clasped his hands around his sister’s, “I promise you that I will do everything I can to help you get better. You can count on that.”
Giving another cough, Morgan simply said, “I won’t hold my breath.”
Devastated, Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but his mother placed her hand on his shoulder and told him with a weak smile, “Arthur, why don’t you go back to fixing up the house? Your father and I can take it from here.”
Reluctantly, Arthur got up to leave. As loathe as he was to admit it, his mother was making the right call to dismiss him. The more he denied the severity of Morgan’s condition to her face, the worse he’d make things. And she was right. He still had a job to do, and reassuring his sister was not it. But as he walked towards the door, he turned back towards Morgan.
“I guess I’ll see you later, sis,” he said as he walked through the door.
“Yeah,” Morgan sighed. “If I last long enough, anyway.”
As Arthur closed the door to Morgan’s room behind him, he found Melion still there leaning against the wall, fresh glass of water in hand.
“Lad, take it from someone who’s had tae learn a lot in life th’ hard way,” he said without so much as a look in Arthur’s direction. “Don’ make promises ye can’t keep.”
“I know,” Arthur sighed. “I just can’t bring myself to tell her how bad things are. I’ve never felt so powerless to do anything in my life. Especially when no one will let me do the one thing I possibly can do to help.”
Melion’s stern expression softened with pity as he said, “I know none like hearing this, but it’s fer yer good, Arty. Ah’ve seen too many who’ve done exactly wot ye want tae n’ lived to regret it, if they even lived at all. Sides, yer folks are on th’ verge of losing one kid, th’ last thing they need is to lose another.”
Such a reassurance did little to brighten Arthur’s mood. Seeing this, Melion tried to change the subject.
“So… ye up fer me teachin’ you some sword moves? S’ been a while since I gave you a lesson.”
“Sorry Uncle, but I should get back to work on patching up those holes in the house. It’s not the best time to learn new ways of swinging a sword around.”
“Oh, I see,” Melion said sheepishly, scratching his head as I tried to think of something else. “Well, maybe when yer done, ye’d be up fer sharing a drink with me tae take yer mind off things?” Quickly rummaging through his bags, Melion procured a large bottle of golden ale. “Th’ bloke who hired me for that griffin huntin’ job didn’ have lot on him, so he gave me this bottle of dwarven ale tae cover th’ cost.” He stopped talking to look at the bottle before continuing, “Come tae think of it, I think th’ distillery on this label is troll owned and operated, but it should taste good all th’ same.”
“Thanks for the offer, Uncle, but I have a lot to think about,” Arthur said sadly. “The last thing right now I need is to take my mind off things.”
“Ah see…” Melion said hesitantly as he shoved the bottle back into his bag. “Ye think ye’ll feel any different t’morrow?”
“We’ll see, Uncle. But for now, I need to get back to work.”
As Arthur walked back to the living room to get cracking again on the holes in the ceiling, he thought about Melion’s advice. Don’ make promises ye can’t keep, he had said. At the very least, Arthur thought as he climbed back onto the stool to get back to work, he wouldn’t be ignoring that advice.
Because when he told his sister that he would get her the help she needed, he had every intention to keep that promise.
O – O – O

Past midnight that night, and Arthur was no less tired then he was when he had offered to take first watch on keeping an eye on Morgan’s door in case she needed anything during the night He had sat in his chair right next to the door the whole three hours he had been keeping watch, the hallway dimly lit by a single candlestick sitting on a small table next to his seat. Just like he had told Melion, he had a lot to think about tonight. All night his mind had been racing trying to find a way to convince his parents and uncle to find this Witch and get her help. Regardless of what price they would have to pay, he couldn’t believe that any of them would even consider letting Morgan die, much less that it might be the better option.

And to top it all off, Morgan probably wouldn’t be getting much of a say in the matter either way. The hours she was awake and conscious each day were growing fewer as her condition worsened and with them went time that could be spent asking for her opinion on the issue. Looking back, Arthur wished that he had told Morgan the truth when he had spoken to her earlier, but after the family debate that afternoon, he was convinced that even if Morgan could weigh in on the matter they would have a better chance of beating a troll berserker in arm wrestling than they would of convincing his mother and uncle of seeking the Witch’s aid.
In the vain hope that his sister would be able to answer, Arthur lightly rapped on the door and quietly asked, “Morgan? Are you awake?”
Arthur was answered only by a soft snoring interrupted by the occasional cough.
“I thought not,” Arthur sighed, his voice barely a whisper. He should have known that question was in vain. But on the other hand, he heard no sound of anyone else in the house stirring, so there was no one else to hear that he was about to say.
“Look sis,” Arthur continued, not even knowing why he was bothering to say any of this out loud. “You were right about me lying earlier. You’re not doing well at all. If we can’t do anything to help you get better, you’ll be lucky to last until the winter. I‘m afraid I also lied about how many options we have. To tell you the truth, we can’t afford any option to help you that isn’t a damned stupid idea. Normal medicine won’t help you, and we’d have to sell everything on this farm thrice over to get enough money for a wizard to zap your sickness away. So we either let you kick you kick the bucket… or we go to a witch for help.”
Still no response from Morgan, but it put Arthur’s mind at ease to pretend she could hear him.
“Yeah, I know how that sounds, but hear me out, okay? I had the same feeling when the doctor told us about her, but he said she’s helped people who had less than we have, so surely she won’t turn us down if we ask, right? … Yeah, of course it’s possible she might be one of the bad ones, but what choice to we have? Of course, Pa’s the only one besides me who’s willing to give it a shot, and even he’s not so sure about it. Ma’s just letting doctrine make her decisions for her, and I don’t know for sure what exactly Uncle Melion’s problem is, but he doesn’t want anything to do with any witches, and he wants to explain why even less.”
Arthur tensed up as he sighed and prepared to say what he felt needed to be said. He had already made up his mind about what he was about to do next, but he strangely felt that he had to say it out loud to make it final, or else he might still be convinced not to do it.
“I’m sorry Morgan, but I’m about to do something stupid for your sake. Honestly, I’ll probably end up getting myself killed. But I can’t just sit here these next few months and watch you die. It’s kind of hypocritical of me, too. Not even a minute ago I was angry you probably wouldn’t get a say in all this, and here I am straight up telling you I’ve made up my mind about this when you can’t even say a word of protest. Sorry, but hypocrite or not, I have to do this.”
It had been a few hours since he took watch at the door. Someone would probably come to take over soon enough. So with little time left, Arthur leaned against Morgan’s door and whispered, “Goodbye, sis. I love you.”
It was barely a second later that Arthur heard his mother yawn, “Arthur? Are you talking to someone?”
Arthur turned his head to see his mother approaching. Taking a deep breath and hoping she has only heard those last few words, he told her, “Sort of. I’ve been talking to Morgan while she’s asleep. Helps me stay awake and keep my mind off things. The conversation’s kind of one-sided, though.”
Even with the distressing day she’d had, Arthur’s mother couldn’t help but quietly chuckle at this.
“Well, you can get yourself a good night’s sleep now. Good night.”
“Yeah…” Arthur said as he got up and went further down the hall where it veered left. “Goodnight, Ma.”
Down this left turn, there were three rooms along the breadth of the hallway. These were Arthur’s room, a water closet, and the guest room, where his Uncle Melion was sleeping. While Arthur was eventually headed for his own room, he needed something from Melion’s room first. Something he would not give up if Arthur asked.
Opening the door to the guest room as quietly as possible, Arthur slowly poked his head through the opening to make sure the coast was clear. As was usual for his visits, Melion was snoring louder than a dragon with sleep apnea, but Arthur wanted to make extra sure his uncle was really asleep before he came in. Sure enough, Melion was fast asleep on the bedroll he had thrown onto the floor, with the blanket taken from the nearby bed haphazardly splayed over him. Arthur often wondered if his uncle slept that way in his visits simply because he was too large to comfortably fit in the bed, or if he was so used to sleeping in the woods on his long journeys that he could not easily fall asleep in a proper bed to begin with.
In any case, it was fortunate for Arthur that his uncle had made himself at home so slovenly, since he did not have to look long to find what he was looking for. Instead of finding a closet or wardrobe to store his equipment in during his stay, Melion had just thrown all his weapons and supplies in a pile near the door. And luckily, right at the top of the pile was just what Arthur was searching for: Melion’s sword.
Carefully, he cracked the door open further, being sure not to open it far enough that the light of the hallway reached his uncle’s eyes, dim as it might be. Once he was sure he had opened the door wide enough, he carefully squeezed through the opening and tiptoed over to the pile. Slowly leaning down to pick up the sheathed blade, Arthur grabbed the sword by the scabbard and gingerly picked it up. Hugging the weapon tightly to his chest, Arthur looked to his sleeping uncle to make absolutely sure he hadn’t woken him. But while Melion’s snoring gave way to the occasional pause, he did not wake. Stepping softly towards the open door and widening it just a bit further to accommodate the sword, Arthur squeezed his way through again and quietly shut the door, before heading for his own room.
Closing his door behind him, Arthur made his way to his closet and quietly opened it before rummaging through it to find what he needed for his journey: a cloak to protect against wind and rain, a brass lantern to light his way, a flint and steel to light a fire if need be, a book on identifying edible vegetation and fungi should the situation come to it, and finally, the most important thing he would need once he reached his destination: a coin purse full of money he had been saving for years in case of an emergency. Of course, there wasn’t nearly enough to pay for his sister’s treatment through the legitimate channels, but with what he knew of whom he was going to for help, Arthur told himself that surely what he had saved would be enough. It had to be.
After tying the sword to his belt like his uncle had taught him to in one of his lessons and slipping on the cloak, Arthur began stuffing everything he needed into a traveller’s pack save the lantern. Then, he walked towards his bedroom window and opened to wooden shutter so he could climb through, making his way outside. Carefully closing the shutter so not to make a noise, Arthur crouched down on the grass and got out his flint and steel, scraping it together to light the candle in his lantern. Once the flame ignited within, Arthur put the tool he had used to light it back in the pack, which he then slung onto his back. Now with the light to find his way, Arthur walked around the house until he had found the road ahead of the front door, and headed west for the Dark Forest.
O – O – O
This part of the forest had its reputation for a reason. The other parts weren’t what one would call “safe” either, but at least the travelers and merchants who stayed on the road only had to worry about bandits and the occasional wild beast that stayed from its normal hunting grounds. But Arthur was literally going off the beaten path to get where he was headed. Here, in the Heart of the Forest, he would be lucky to just have to run into a mere robber or wolf. The most savage magical beasts in the Realm were said to dwell here- Arthur had heard tales of manticores, cockatrices, werewolves, hydras and more stalking the very woods we trudged through now, to say nothing of the ones he hadn’t heard of.
And those still were just the beginning of the dangers. Arthur gripped his uncle’s sword tight, hoping the reminder that he had a means of defending himself should he be in danger would be some comfort, but he still dreaded to think what else awaited him on the way to his destination: quicksand and other hazardous terrain, hunting parties of ogres and goblins and other hostile races, wicked faeries, and even the very trees and flowers of the forest were said to have dangerous specimens among them. And yet, of all the forest’s inhabitants, the one that made Arthur shudder with fright was the one he wished to seek out in the first place: the Witch of the Woods.
Glancing all around him and listening for the slightest sound of danger as he advanced, Arthur wondered just what this Witch was like. Would she hear his pleas with compassion and agree to help out of the goodness of her heart? Would she pitilessly refuse and leave his sister to die? Or would she cook him in a stew to eat the moment she saw him? Surely, it would be that first option, right? Why else would she save the life of a man without so much as asking for a penny? Of course, he knew full well the poor man must have agreed to some unknown payment, but Arthur tried not to think about that.
As he intently listened to the forest around him, Arthur heard a sound like the barking of wolves. Of course, that would be a common sound in any forest, but these barks were different from any ordinary wolf he had heard before. These cries were coarser, more guttural. And worse, they were getting louder… and closer. Fearing for his life, Arthur found a crevice in a nearby rocky cairn just wide enough for him to slip through, and ran straight for it, making his way in just as a boar the size of a rhinoceros thundered through the underbrush, pursued by a pack of wargs, primeval wolf-like creatures each the size of a cavalry horse. Arthur rolled away from the crevice opening and closed his eyes as he heard the boar’s dying squeals and the sound of the pack’s fangs tearing into flesh. Even minutes after the noises stopped, Arthur stayed still and made sure to breathe as quietly as possible, silently praying that every warg in the pack had had its fill of pork and would pay his scent no mind.
Eventually, Arthur did open his eyes and cautiously sat up to peek out of the crevice to make sure the coast was clear. He scanned the clearing, and saw hide nor hair of the wargs, only the boar’s stripped carcass and the gigantic paw prints on the forest floor indicating the pack was ever here. Cautiously, Arthur began to climb out of the crevice, only to duck down again as he heard a stick break just outside the clearing.
It was then that his eyes began to adjust to the dark, and he saw that the crevice he was hiding in was merely the upper level of a larger cavern hollowed out of the cairn. While the cave was larger than he had expected, it was shallow enough that he could easily climb down from where he lay now, and he could see a cave exit a few yards away, leading not far from the clearing he had escaped from. Fearing to deal with whatever had made that noise earlier, Arthur elected to take the long way out, figuring whatever he was hiding from would surely leave by the time he made it out, and in any case he’d be able to more safely check around the corner to see whether or not the coast was clear.
Climbing down to the cave floor, Arthur gingerly strode towards the cave’s exit, being sure his hand stayed on the sword’s hilt in case he came to need it, when he heard something large scurrying about nearby- no, above him. He looked up, but saw nothing but a low hanging rocky protrusion from the ceiling. Ever cautious, Arthur hurried his pace as he made his way towards the cave exit; only hear the large scurrying noise again. Arthur looked all around him, and again saw nothing… except that the low hanging rocks on the ceiling were gone.
Now just at the exit, Arthur carefully drew Melion’s sword and looked around all directions as he stepped out of the cave. But as he passed through the cave opening, Arthur felt something moist drip down onto his head, and looked up onto the cairn above, sword at the ready. But Arthur saw no beast, only a rocky outcropping in the vague shape of one. But there was one problem: there hadn’t any outcroppings on the cairn before he had hid inside. And he soon realised why as a hiss came from the outcropping and it stood up on eight reptilian legs, and its colour rapidly changed from grey to a dark green, revealing that what had appeared to be weathered stone was actually a scaled reptilian hide. The creature gave another predatory hiss as Arthur shivered in fear before this great, many-legged serpentine lizard, knowing he should run away, but too scared to move. But when the beast opened its sickly yellow eyes, a terrible feeling came over Arthur, and now it was more than fear that kept him from moving. Every muscle in his body refused to move, no matter how hard his brain told him to run away. It was then that Arthur realized what this creature was. He had become prey to the most terrible of serpents: the basilisk.
Frozen in his tracks and unable to look away from those horrible yellow eyes, Arthur could only helplessly watch as the basilisk opened its gaping, reptilian maw and shot out a long, chameleon-like tongue, which rapidly wrapped around his body and tightly bound him as he was pulled up into the beast’s mouth, helplessly dropping his sword in the process.
Unable to see the basilisk’s eyes from inside its mouth, Arthur was no longer paralysed by the serpent’s gaze, but all his attempts to struggle were in vain as the tongue fully retracted, flinging him into the beast’s throat, where he found himself constricted by esophagus muscles stronger than iron and squeezed feet first further and further down, surely towards the stomach. The only solace Arthur had available to him was that as the breath was being squeezed out of him, he would probably lose consciousness before he even felt the burn of the monster’s stomach acid.
But that served no comfort to Arthur as he, drenched in basilisk spit and slowly losing breath, grimly reflected on his failure to find the Witch to cure Morgan of her illness. He thought of how his sister would surely now die, and how his parents and uncle would not only have to mourn her, but the foolish son who ignored their warnings and became the next meal of some forest monster in the vain hope that he alone would be able to find the Witch of the Woods.
But that thought was interrupted when Arthur heard a soft, feminine voice say from outside the beast’s mouth, “No, this won’t do at all.”
And within an instant, Arthur no longer felt the squeeze of the monster’s throat, as the entire basilisk simply evaporated into a mist of blood, leaving him to fall safely, but far from comfortably, onto the forest floor. Covered in the beast’s blood, Arthur weakly rose to his feet and turned his head to catch a glimpse of his rescuer.
What he saw was a tall, beautiful woman in a long, flowing black linen gown with a low cut bodice exposing her shoulders and cleavage. On her arms she wore long sleeves detached from the rest of her outfit that flared outwards where they met the wrist. The lady was possessed of a slender, sinuous figure with an ample bosom and stood at such a statuesque height, that Arthur was sure she would still tower over even a taller man than he. She had a thin, heart-shaped face with a sharply pointed chin and straight nose. Bound only with a half-up half-down bun, wire straight hair as black and lustrous as onyx fell to her ankles, almost cape-like in how it flowed outwards as it descended from her head, with her bangs perfectly parted from fringe to ear on each side.
But as beautiful as this woman was, Arthur couldn’t help but feel unnerved, for her beauty was not just striking; it was inhuman. She moved with an unerring grace that was just too flawless to be natural. Even her body itself seemed too graceful and fluid to be entirely human. Where on any other human body there would be a rougher edge, the contours of this woman’s body curved softly and gracefully. Even stranger, if one looked at her more than a few seconds, her arms, fingers or neck would begin to look just too long to look human, until one blinked, upon which they seemingly became a normal length, as though their elongation had been a mere trick of the light. Her skin was unnaturally but alluringly pale, as if her body was carved of alabaster. Her hooded, almond-shaped eyes of glistening amethyst colour narrowed with interest as she studied the bloodied boy, their catlike slits of pupils trained right on him as the thin eyebrows above rose with curiosity. Her thin, darkly coloured lips curved downwards in an amused smile as she broke she silence by asking, “Would you care for tea, my child?”
Arthur momentarily forgot the awe and terror he felt towards this inhuman beauty as he blinked in confusion at the statement. “I’m sorry?”
“I am glad I found you when I did. I have not had company in some time, and if you had been eaten, I would have had to wait even longer. Do you enjoy green teas, child?”
“Um… yeah, I guess.”
“Excellent!” the woman said cheerfully. “Come along, then, my cottage is not far from here. I left the kettle on before I went for my moonlight stroll, and the fire spirits get restless and try to leave the hearth if I leave them unattended for too long, so it would behove us to hurry before they start burning my books. I hope they learned their lesson after I disciplined them the last time, but one can never be too careful.” Before she turned around to lead the way, she carefully studied Arthur with a look of almost motherly concern before saying, “We must get you cleaned up first, though. After all, I cannot exactly complain about the mess if I lead you into my home covered in that gunge, can I?”
The woman gave a simple wave of her hand and just like that, every drop of the blood covering Arthur flew off of him and evaporated into mist, leaving him as clean as he had just come out of the bath, and his clothes as dry as though they were fresh off the line.
“There,” the woman laughed softly with a cheerful smile. “Now, follow me and I shall show you the way to my cottage.”
But just as the mysterious woman turned to lead the way, Arthur, still in shock, blurted out, “Who are you?”
The woman stopped in her tracks and turned back towards Harold with an aloof smile. “Is it not obvious, my child? Do they not speak of me in hushed tones beyond the borders of this forest? I am the Witch of the Woods.”
The moment Arthur heard those words, he knew, deep down, that his life would never be the same.

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The most important lessons often come at the greatest cost.

Many times had Arthur Butcher seen the truth of that statement firsthand ever since he left his family to become the witch’s servant.

The Butcher family farm had never been particularly prosperous, but they usually had few problems putting food on the table each year. However, this year’s harvest had been unusually hard on them. With the long drought the past summer, this year’s crop had barely yielded half the grain they had been able to harvest every other year. That was barely enough to sell for any profit even if they didn’t want to keep their livestock fed, and they needed the money fast. The farm tools that had served their family for generations had begun to dwindle in number as tool handles snapped from wood rot and general wear and tear, and the blades rusted into uselessness. Just over the course of this year’s harvest the farm had lost two scythes and three sickles in Arthur’s hands alone.
And that was not even the worst of it, Arthur reflected sadly as he stood on a stool in the family farmhouse’s modestly sized hearth, hammering nails into the wooden planks patching up one of the many holes in the wooden ceiling letting the autumn chill in. Even the midday sun hanging over with cloudless sky did little to warm the chill air, and worse still, no matter many of these holes he fixed, he was sure they’d find more before the week was out. And a cold, drafty house was the last thing his sister needed in her condition.
Fastening his hammer into its spot in his tool belt after finishing with this hole, Arthur stepped down from the stool and buried his fingers in his messy wheat coloured hair in frustration as he thought of Morgan’s ailing health. At first she was just a bit paler than normal and coughing a bit, so the family thought it was just an autumn bug she’d caught and she’d get better in no time, but then her coughing just wouldn’t stop, she began to have several fainting spells over the next few days. By the time the first week of her sickness had passed, Morgan was bedridden twenty-four hours a day, every day of the week. The town doctor had come in this morning to take a look at her, but he had only bad news to give.

Arthur clenched his fists at the mere thought of it all. Never in Arthur’s life had he felt so powerless. His own sister was dying, and there was nothing he could do but patch up a few holes. In his heart, Arthur desperately wished he could do something, anything, to see Morgan in full health again.

Little did Arthur know as he heard a heavy knock on the house’s front door that such an opportunity would soon come to him.

“Arthur?” the gruff voice of Arthur’s father called from Morgan’s room down the hall as the knocking on the door continued. “When you get a minute, could you be a good lad and get the door for us?”

“I’m heading for the door right now, Pa!” Arthur called back as he walked across the faded wooden floor towards the front door as the knocking continued still.

Making it to the door, Arthur opened it carefully so not to damage the aging wooden door, and was greeted by a familiar gravelly baritone.
“Hope I haven’ come at a bad time, lad.”

Arthur looked up to meet the eyes of the absolute mountain of a man staring down at him. While Arthur was considered to be a bit tall for a young man of his age, and had certainly built up plenty of muscle from his years of working in the fields, even he was dwarfed by this beast of a man. Looking down at Arthur was a chiseled, scar-riddled face with piercing amber eyes and a wide, almost leonine nose, covered in wild, bushy hair on all sides like the mane of a beast, black as coal and bound only by the three braids of his beard. Clad in an armoured leather doublet and trousers covered by a fur cloak, this giant visitor was armed to the teeth, wearing a steel arming sword sheathed on his belt and a wooden shield and yew longbow fastened to his back. Far braver men than Arthur would have been terrified to see such a savage looking behemoth arrive on their doorstep at such a troubling time, but Arthur himself couldn’t be happier to see his Uncle Melion come to visit.
“So,” the titanic warrior began with a broad, warm smile as he leaned over slightly to enter without bumping his head on the doorframe, “how’s me favourite nephew?”
“It’s good to see you, Uncle!” Arthur said as he embraced the old huntsman.
“Same, lad,” Melion chuckled as he hugged his nephew back. “Have things been goin’ any better ‘round here lately?”
Arthur sighed as he broke out of his uncle’s embrace. “That long drought this past summer left us with a bad harvest this year. We’ve just barely been able to scrape up half the grain we can usually grow this time of year. If we sell any, we probably won’t have enough to keep the hogs fed this winter, but if we don’t get the money soon…”
Arthur began to feel tears welling up as he talked, and so took a deep breath to calm himself down.
“So I take Morgan’s health hasn’ improved since I was here last?” Melion inquired with a look of concern on his face.
“No, it’s only gotten worse. She’s been in bed for the past week now.”
“I see. How bad is it?”
“Very bad. We’ve got the town doctor down in her room taking a look at her, and he doesn’t have a lot of good news. He says Morgan’s come down with something really bad. Everyone calls it the White Plague, but the doctor says the proper name is tuber-ca… tuberlo…”
“Kid, I hunt monsters fer a living and sleep on a bedroll more than I sleep on an actual bed. I don’ know any more of this medical jargon than ye do.”
“Anyway, the doctor’s in Morgan’s room with Ma and Pa. I’ll walk you down the hall and you should get a better idea.”
So Arthur guided his grizzled uncle down the aging hallway, the wood creaking with every step they made towards Morgan’s room at the end. But as soon as the made it there, they found Arthur’s parents standing outside the room next to a middle-aged, bespectacled and white-coated doctor with receding brown hair and gray temples, who was trying to explain the situation as calmly as he could, which was seemingly doing little to help Arthur’s clearly distraught mother.
“Please,” Summer Butcher cried, tears streaming from her blue eyes down her worn face. “There must be something you can do to help her!”
From even just one look at Summer Butcher, one could tell the stress she felt over her daughter’s condition was taking a toll on her. Normally a woman with a bit of meat on her bones from the all the farm work she did, her figure had thinned drastically as she ate even less often than the house’s dwindling food stores would account for. Her graying blonde hair was disheveled, falling from her bun with far more split ends than usual, and her blue eyes were underscored with dark circles.
“I’m sorry,” the doctor said, making his best attempt to calm her down. “There’s nothing I can do.”
“But surely you can’t mean that!” Summer pleaded. “There must be some kind of treatment, at least!”
“Of course there is. But I’m afraid I can’t provide any of them. Tuberculosis has never been treated without the aid of magic. If you want to help your daughter, you’d be better off asking a wizard or an alchemist for help.”
“Do we look like we have that kind of money?” Arthur’s father Harold scoffed, pointing up at the barely patched up holes in the ceiling.
Harold Morgan didn’t show his grief and desperation as obviously as his wife did. Even as the whole family rationed their meals to keep the pantry from running empty, he still maintained his stocky, muscular build. But while in as good a shape one could hope for given the circumstances, he certainly showed his age, with wrinkles slowly but surely beginning to crease his rotund face and his light brown hair had begun to not only recede, but also grey at the temples. His vision was not as sharp as it used to be either, and these days he was rarely seen without round spectacles over his blue eyes.
“Of course one of those sorts could cure Morgan,” Harold continued, “but I’ve never heard them charging anything less than a small fortune. There’s no way we can afford a magical cure.”
“Then I’m sorry,” the doctor sighed as he began packing up his medical supplies, “but this is beyond my ability to help. If you truly can’t afford a magical cure through the legal channels, I can only advise you keep your daughter comfortable and cherish your remaining time with her, because at this point, your only other option is-“
As the Butchers’ faces brightened with surprise, the doctor immediately stopped himself and picked up his bag. “Sorry,” he said nervously. “I’ve said too much. I have to go.”
Before either of Arthur’s parents could protest, the doctor turned to head for the house’s front door, only to come face to face with Arthur, and more pressingly, Melion, blocking his exit.
“You mean there still something we can do to save Morgan?” Arthur asked hopefully.
The doctor nervously mumbled as he tried to formulate an answer, clearly intimidated by the nearly seven foot titan behind Arthur practically grazing his head on the ceiling.
“Look doc,” Melion said with a shrug, “if ye want tae get out, don’ let me stop ye. Just please hear me nephew out ’fore ye do.”
Looking down from the sight of Melion and meeting Arthur at eye level, the doctor’s nervous expression softened considerable as he sighed.
“Let’s make this clear,” the doctor began, “none of you heard this from me. Understand?”
“If you say so,” Arthur said curiously.
“All right, then. Legally, I’m only supposed to direct patients in need of magical treatment to Guild-approved magic workers. But there are magi outside the Guild’s influence who may provide their services at a more affordable rate. Most of them are just hedge magicians or charlatans you’d just be wasting your money on, but there is one nearby whose services I would call reliable… the Witch of the Woods.”
Arthur shuddered. He’d heard many tales of witches, from childhood campfire stories to drunken yarns from regulars at the local tavern. Few of them painted a positive image. From monstrous hags that forged pacts with wicked fae and devils, to beautiful enchantresses that lured men to their deaths, to magical tricksters that bewitched princes with cursed forms for the most minor of transgressions. Sure, he had also heard accounts of witches healing the sick and guiding heroes on their noble quests, but those accounts were few and far between. And there was one living so close to his hometown? Quite the sobering thought.
Arthur looked to the rest of his family, and they all looked like they had misgivings of their own. His father looked absolutely torn on the idea, his expression a worrying mix of hope and dread. His mother looked horrified by the prospect, but took a few deep breaths to calm herself down, albeit while making the warding gesture of some local deities. But it was Uncle Melion who had the strongest reaction, giving the doctor a steely glare of cold, barely restrained fury until he noticed his nephew looking up at him, upon which he softened his expression immediately and told Arthur, “Never ye mind me, lad. Carry on with what ye wanted to ask.”
“So, this witch of yours,” Arthur gulped as he looked back towards the doctor, “What is she like?”
The doctor paused for a second to carefully consider his words before answering, “It’s hard to say. She is said to live in a cottage in the heart of the forest just west of town, where she keeps to herself. Those times where she has been seen outside it are few and far between, so most who seek her help come to her directly.” The doctor stopped to catch his breath, and looked hesitant to mention the rest of his story, before continuing, “But one of those few times she was seen outside her home… I was there.”
Arthur’s eyes widened with surprise, as he and the rest of his family were stunned into silence. It was Arthur’s father who broke that silence.
“You’ve seen this witch work her magic? When?”
“It was ten years ago in a village north of the woods. I was working there as an apprentice doctor at the time. A penniless vagrant had come down with leprosy beyond the village gates, and none dared draw near him. Since the man had no money, neither my master nor any other doctor would risk treating him. That’s when she came. A pale woman in a black gown that had earlier come to the village on unknown business approached the poor man, ignoring everyone’s warnings to stay away from him. And yet she continued towards him, undeterred. When she reached the patient, before she worked any magic at all, she just sat down next to him and simply spoke with him.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow curiously. “What did they talk about?”
“I don’t know. Everyone was too far away to hear them. But whatever they spoke of, they seemed to come to an agreement of sorts. The Witch and the beggar shook hands, and with a wave of her hand, the man’s rashes and lesions vanished, and the man stood up perfectly healthy.”
“So she healed him for free? Surely that’s good news for us.”
“I wouldn’ get yer hopes up, kid,” Melion forcefully interjected. “I’ve met a few witches in me travels. I’ve seen good ones, bad ones, and everything in between, but all th’ ones I’ve met have had one thing in common: they don’ do anything fer free.”
“But then why heal a beggar, of all people? What could he have possibly had to give?”
“Who can say?” the doctor said. “The rare accounts from those who have seen the Witch’s work up close swear by her results, but she is never described as someone who makes her motives clear. And I suspect that beggar may have ended up paying for his treatment one way or another…”
Arthur’s optimism faded immediately as he put on a worried expression. “What do you mean?”
The doctor visibly tensed up as he continued. “No one knew exactly what agreement the Witch made with her patient, but many suspect that whatever it was, it is why he left town weeks later and was never seen again. Some thought it was simply him continuing his life as a vagrant, but many had their doubts. But I was actually there when he left. I was running an errand for my master near the village gates when I saw the beggar leave, not for another settlement, but to the very woods where the Witch is said to dwell.”
The room went silent. With a sigh, the doctor said, “I’m afraid that’s all I have to tell you about the Witch. I’m sorry I don’t have a better solution to offer. And I’d be lying if I said I would recommend seeking her out. Honestly, your best option right now is to keep your daughter comfortable and cherish your remaining time with her.”
He walked towards the door, Melion stepping out of his way without a word. Arthur started to reach out to stop him, but Melion gently slapped his hand down while giving a stern yet sympathetic look.
Having made it all the way down the hall to the front door, the doctor cracked the door open, but hesitated to open it further. As he did so, turned back towards the hall and grimly told Arthur’s family, “If you choose to seek the Witch’s help, just remember this advice: no aid, supernatural or otherwise, comes without a price.”
And with that, the doctor walked through the door and closed it behind him, leaving the Butcher family alone in their drafty farmhouse to contemplate what he had just said. Almost a minute had passed by the time Arthur broke the silence.
“Well, do we give the Witch a shot, or what?”
“Are ye out of yer mind, lad?” Melion shouted suddenly. “That’s completely out of th’ question!”
“And since when was that your decision, Mel?” Arthur’s father snapped back. “I’m not too keen on the idea either, but last I checked, that wasn’t your daughter fighting for her life that room!”
“Just trust me on this. Nothin’ good comes from seekin’ th’ help of that sort.”
“What are you suggesting?” Arthur asked. “Just let Morgan die?”
“Honestly lad, knowing th’ witches I’ve met, that be better than…”
Before Melion could finish the sentence, Arthur’s mother swiftly reached out her open palm to silence him.
“Melion,” she said coldly, “I don’t want this family to have anything to do with witches any more than you do, but let me make it clear to you that you will not say those words in this house.”
“Look, I’m sorry fer sayin’ that, but there might still be a better option here!”
“What better option?” Arthur asked angrily. “Because I thought we’d established that we’re not buying a cure from someone else without a king’s ransom!”
“The boy does have a point,” Arthur’s father said as he put his hand on his son’s shoulder to get him to calm down. “I don’t like this idea any more than you do, but unless one our chickens start laying golden eggs before the winter, we might have to seriously consider the option…”
“Dear, think about what you’re saying,” Arthur’s mother butted in, wiping the remaining tears out of her face and taking a deep breath. “I am aware we don’t have many options, but Melion is right to be concerned beyond whatever personal reasons he may have. Consider this: we don’t know anything about this Witch or what sort of magic she works. If she is the type that consorts with devils, accepting her aid may well be putting Morgan’s very soul at risk!”
“That’s a fair concern,” Arthur’s father admitted, “but let’s not jump to conclusions just yet. The doctor said that a few people in the area have gone to this Witch for help, so we could ask around town to see if we can find anyone who can tell us more about her-“
“And how will we know she hasn’t put some dark spell on any of them? You remember what the doctor told us about how that beggar wandered into the Dark Forest after this Witch healed him. Does that sound like something he just decided to do on his own?”
“I hate to say this, Summer,” Arthur’s father sighed, “but that may be a risk we’re going to have to consider…”
“And what are ye gon do, Harry?” Melion asked his brother. “Are ye gon to go into those woods yerself to find this Heart of the Forest?”
Harold shut up immediately. Everyone here had some inkling of how dangerous the Dark Forest was. They’d all heard of tales of hunters and woodsmen who strayed off the travellers’ path in there and never returned, and the few who did seldom went anywhere near those woods again. No one in this hallway thought going to that forest alone was a good idea. At least that’s what they though until Arthur spoke up.
“I’ll do it.”
“What?” Arthur’s father exclaimed in shock. “Absolutely not, it’s too dangerous! If you go off into those woods alone, you’re only going to get yourself killed!”
“I can defend myself in there, Pa! Uncle’s been giving me lessons-“
“Lad, I teach you how to handle a sword so ye can scare off brigands on the open road, not so ye can go off into a monster-infested forest on a wild goose chase fer someone who might not even help ye!” Melion yelled. “An’ last I checked, I’m the only one here who actually has a sword, and I’m sure as hell not about to lend it to ye fer this!”
“I don’t care! I’ll march into those woods with a farm sickle if I have to!”
Arthur’s mother put her hands on her son’s shoulders and told him, “Arthur dear, just stop and think about what you’re saying-“
“Well, what do you expect me to do?! Just sit here and do nothing while Morgan-“
But before the argument could continue, they were all distracted from the subject by a series of loud coughs from inside Morgan’s room, succeeded by a weak, scratchy voice inside asking, “Ugh… what are you all yelling about out there?”
“Morgan?” Arthur asked. “We’re just… discussing what the doctor told us! Did we wake you?”
“No, I’m still fast asleep,” his sister replied sarcastically from behind the door. “What did you think?”
“Okay, bad question. Sorry.”
Opening the door a crack, Arthur’s mother called into the room, “Since you’re awake, is there anything you need, Morgan dear?”
“A glass of water would be nice,” Morgan admitted between coughs.
“Of course, dear. Your Uncle Melion would be more than happy to draw it for you.”
“Sure,” Melion shrugged as he walked off to the kitchen to grab a glass, his temper having cooled a bit
Arthur’s mother opened the door further, and she and the other three walked in. There in her bed bundled in the extra blankets was Morgan herself, a young lady of seventeen years old, her rest rested on a pile of extra pillows. Her normally rosy complexion now a sickly pallid tone and her shoulder length brown hair, usually well-groomed and kept in a ponytail, was unbound and dishevelled. Her sharp and wary features still remained, albeit with dark bags under her blue eyes.
Next to her bed stood a small table piled with books taken from the large bookshelf on the far end of the room for her to read, or more commonly these days, for others to read to her as her condition worsened and lifting the books herself became too much of a burden for her. On the opposite end of the wall the headboards of her bed leaned against, lay a disused work desk with several tools strewn about its surface. Normally the desk would have some broken down clocks from around the house laid down on an oil rag on top of it for Morgan to tinker with in her spare time, but even from a glance one could tell the desk hadn’t been used in weeks.
“So,” Arthur began nervously as he pulled up a stool and sat down, “how are you feeling, Morgan?”
“Not any better than I was the last fifty times you’ve asked me,” Morgan replied drily.
“Oh. That bad, huh?”
“Yeah. I’m guessing the doctor didn’t have much in the way of good news? I passed out again while I was being examined, but I know how to read a room.” Morgan weakly raised a finger to point at everyone’s distraught faces to emphasize her point.
“Well…” Arthur began with a nervous smile, unsure of how to break the news to her, or even if he could bring himself to, “sure, you’re not doing all that great, but…”
“I knew it! I’m dying.”
“What? No, you’re not dying!” Arthur lied as his parents exchanged loaded looks behind him. “It’s just… uh… there’s a few options we can take to help you get better, and we just have to decide which will be the better one to take.”
Morgan shot Arthur an apprehensive look before turning her head towards him and telling him, “You’re a terrible liar, Arthur.”
“Look sis,” Arthur said as he clasped his hands around his sister’s, “I promise you that I will do everything I can to help you get better. You can count on that.”
Giving another cough, Morgan simply said, “I won’t hold my breath.”
Devastated, Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but his mother placed her hand on his shoulder and told him with a weak smile, “Arthur, why don’t you go back to fixing up the house? Your father and I can take it from here.”
Reluctantly, Arthur got up to leave. As loathe as he was to admit it, his mother was making the right call to dismiss him. The more he denied the severity of Morgan’s condition to her face, the worse he’d make things. And she was right. He still had a job to do, and reassuring his sister was not it. But as he walked towards the door, he turned back towards Morgan.
“I guess I’ll see you later, sis,” he said as he walked through the door.
“Yeah,” Morgan sighed. “If I last long enough, anyway.”
As Arthur closed the door to Morgan’s room behind him, he found Melion still there leaning against the wall, fresh glass of water in hand.
“Lad, take it from someone who’s had tae learn a lot in life th’ hard way,” he said without so much as a look in Arthur’s direction. “Don’ make promises ye can’t keep.”
“I know,” Arthur sighed. “I just can’t bring myself to tell her how bad things are. I’ve never felt so powerless to do anything in my life. Especially when no one will let me do the one thing I possibly can do to help.”
Melion’s stern expression softened with pity as he said, “I know none like hearing this, but it’s fer yer good, Arty. Ah’ve seen too many who’ve done exactly wot ye want tae n’ lived to regret it, if they even lived at all. Sides, yer folks are on th’ verge of losing one kid, th’ last thing they need is to lose another.”
Such a reassurance did little to brighten Arthur’s mood. Seeing this, Melion tried to change the subject.
“So… ye up fer me teachin’ you some sword moves? S’ been a while since I gave you a lesson.”
“Sorry Uncle, but I should get back to work on patching up those holes in the house. It’s not the best time to learn new ways of swinging a sword around.”
“Oh, I see,” Melion said sheepishly, scratching his head as I tried to think of something else. “Well, maybe when yer done, ye’d be up fer sharing a drink with me tae take yer mind off things?” Quickly rummaging through his bags, Melion procured a large bottle of golden ale. “Th’ bloke who hired me for that griffin huntin’ job didn’ have lot on him, so he gave me this bottle of dwarven ale tae cover th’ cost.” He stopped talking to look at the bottle before continuing, “Come tae think of it, I think th’ distillery on this label is troll owned and operated, but it should taste good all th’ same.”
“Thanks for the offer, Uncle, but I have a lot to think about,” Arthur said sadly. “The last thing right now I need is to take my mind off things.”
“Ah see…” Melion said hesitantly as he shoved the bottle back into his bag. “Ye think ye’ll feel any different t’morrow?”
“We’ll see, Uncle. But for now, I need to get back to work.”
As Arthur walked back to the living room to get cracking again on the holes in the ceiling, he thought about Melion’s advice. Don’ make promises ye can’t keep, he had said. At the very least, Arthur thought as he climbed back onto the stool to get back to work, he wouldn’t be ignoring that advice.
Because when he told his sister that he would get her the help she needed, he had every intention to keep that promise.
O – O – O

Past midnight that night, and Arthur was no less tired then he was when he had offered to take first watch on keeping an eye on Morgan’s door in case she needed anything during the night He had sat in his chair right next to the door the whole three hours he had been keeping watch, the hallway dimly lit by a single candlestick sitting on a small table next to his seat. Just like he had told Melion, he had a lot to think about tonight. All night his mind had been racing trying to find a way to convince his parents and uncle to find this Witch and get her help. Regardless of what price they would have to pay, he couldn’t believe that any of them would even consider letting Morgan die, much less that it might be the better option.

And to top it all off, Morgan probably wouldn’t be getting much of a say in the matter either way. The hours she was awake and conscious each day were growing fewer as her condition worsened and with them went time that could be spent asking for her opinion on the issue. Looking back, Arthur wished that he had told Morgan the truth when he had spoken to her earlier, but after the family debate that afternoon, he was convinced that even if Morgan could weigh in on the matter they would have a better chance of beating a troll berserker in arm wrestling than they would of convincing his mother and uncle of seeking the Witch’s aid.
In the vain hope that his sister would be able to answer, Arthur lightly rapped on the door and quietly asked, “Morgan? Are you awake?”
Arthur was answered only by a soft snoring interrupted by the occasional cough.
“I thought not,” Arthur sighed, his voice barely a whisper. He should have known that question was in vain. But on the other hand, he heard no sound of anyone else in the house stirring, so there was no one else to hear that he was about to say.
“Look sis,” Arthur continued, not even knowing why he was bothering to say any of this out loud. “You were right about me lying earlier. You’re not doing well at all. If we can’t do anything to help you get better, you’ll be lucky to last until the winter. I‘m afraid I also lied about how many options we have. To tell you the truth, we can’t afford any option to help you that isn’t a damned stupid idea. Normal medicine won’t help you, and we’d have to sell everything on this farm thrice over to get enough money for a wizard to zap your sickness away. So we either let you kick you kick the bucket… or we go to a witch for help.”
Still no response from Morgan, but it put Arthur’s mind at ease to pretend she could hear him.
“Yeah, I know how that sounds, but hear me out, okay? I had the same feeling when the doctor told us about her, but he said she’s helped people who had less than we have, so surely she won’t turn us down if we ask, right? … Yeah, of course it’s possible she might be one of the bad ones, but what choice to we have? Of course, Pa’s the only one besides me who’s willing to give it a shot, and even he’s not so sure about it. Ma’s just letting doctrine make her decisions for her, and I don’t know for sure what exactly Uncle Melion’s problem is, but he doesn’t want anything to do with any witches, and he wants to explain why even less.”
Arthur tensed up as he sighed and prepared to say what he felt needed to be said. He had already made up his mind about what he was about to do next, but he strangely felt that he had to say it out loud to make it final, or else he might still be convinced not to do it.
“I’m sorry Morgan, but I’m about to do something stupid for your sake. Honestly, I’ll probably end up getting myself killed. But I can’t just sit here these next few months and watch you die. It’s kind of hypocritical of me, too. Not even a minute ago I was angry you probably wouldn’t get a say in all this, and here I am straight up telling you I’ve made up my mind about this when you can’t even say a word of protest. Sorry, but hypocrite or not, I have to do this.”
It had been a few hours since he took watch at the door. Someone would probably come to take over soon enough. So with little time left, Arthur leaned against Morgan’s door and whispered, “Goodbye, sis. I love you.”
It was barely a second later that Arthur heard his mother yawn, “Arthur? Are you talking to someone?”
Arthur turned his head to see his mother approaching. Taking a deep breath and hoping she has only heard those last few words, he told her, “Sort of. I’ve been talking to Morgan while she’s asleep. Helps me stay awake and keep my mind off things. The conversation’s kind of one-sided, though.”
Even with the distressing day she’d had, Arthur’s mother couldn’t help but quietly chuckle at this.
“Well, you can get yourself a good night’s sleep now. Good night.”
“Yeah…” Arthur said as he got up and went further down the hall where it veered left. “Goodnight, Ma.”
Down this left turn, there were three rooms along the breadth of the hallway. These were Arthur’s room, a water closet, and the guest room, where his Uncle Melion was sleeping. While Arthur was eventually headed for his own room, he needed something from Melion’s room first. Something he would not give up if Arthur asked.
Opening the door to the guest room as quietly as possible, Arthur slowly poked his head through the opening to make sure the coast was clear. As was usual for his visits, Melion was snoring louder than a dragon with sleep apnea, but Arthur wanted to make extra sure his uncle was really asleep before he came in. Sure enough, Melion was fast asleep on the bedroll he had thrown onto the floor, with the blanket taken from the nearby bed haphazardly splayed over him. Arthur often wondered if his uncle slept that way in his visits simply because he was too large to comfortably fit in the bed, or if he was so used to sleeping in the woods on his long journeys that he could not easily fall asleep in a proper bed to begin with.
In any case, it was fortunate for Arthur that his uncle had made himself at home so slovenly, since he did not have to look long to find what he was looking for. Instead of finding a closet or wardrobe to store his equipment in during his stay, Melion had just thrown all his weapons and supplies in a pile near the door. And luckily, right at the top of the pile was just what Arthur was searching for: Melion’s sword.
Carefully, he cracked the door open further, being sure not to open it far enough that the light of the hallway reached his uncle’s eyes, dim as it might be. Once he was sure he had opened the door wide enough, he carefully squeezed through the opening and tiptoed over to the pile. Slowly leaning down to pick up the sheathed blade, Arthur grabbed the sword by the scabbard and gingerly picked it up. Hugging the weapon tightly to his chest, Arthur looked to his sleeping uncle to make absolutely sure he hadn’t woken him. But while Melion’s snoring gave way to the occasional pause, he did not wake. Stepping softly towards the open door and widening it just a bit further to accommodate the sword, Arthur squeezed his way through again and quietly shut the door, before heading for his own room.
Closing his door behind him, Arthur made his way to his closet and quietly opened it before rummaging through it to find what he needed for his journey: a cloak to protect against wind and rain, a brass lantern to light his way, a flint and steel to light a fire if need be, a book on identifying edible vegetation and fungi should the situation come to it, and finally, the most important thing he would need once he reached his destination: a coin purse full of money he had been saving for years in case of an emergency. Of course, there wasn’t nearly enough to pay for his sister’s treatment through the legitimate channels, but with what he knew of whom he was going to for help, Arthur told himself that surely what he had saved would be enough. It had to be.
After tying the sword to his belt like his uncle had taught him to in one of his lessons and slipping on the cloak, Arthur began stuffing everything he needed into a traveller’s pack save the lantern. Then, he walked towards his bedroom window and opened to wooden shutter so he could climb through, making his way outside. Carefully closing the shutter so not to make a noise, Arthur crouched down on the grass and got out his flint and steel, scraping it together to light the candle in his lantern. Once the flame ignited within, Arthur put the tool he had used to light it back in the pack, which he then slung onto his back. Now with the light to find his way, Arthur walked around the house until he had found the road ahead of the front door, and headed west for the Dark Forest.
O – O – O
This part of the forest had its reputation for a reason. The other parts weren’t what one would call “safe” either, but at least the travelers and merchants who stayed on the road only had to worry about bandits and the occasional wild beast that stayed from its normal hunting grounds. But Arthur was literally going off the beaten path to get where he was headed. Here, in the Heart of the Forest, he would be lucky to just have to run into a mere robber or wolf. The most savage magical beasts in the Realm were said to dwell here- Arthur had heard tales of manticores, cockatrices, werewolves, hydras and more stalking the very woods we trudged through now, to say nothing of the ones he hadn’t heard of.
And those still were just the beginning of the dangers. Arthur gripped his uncle’s sword tight, hoping the reminder that he had a means of defending himself should he be in danger would be some comfort, but he still dreaded to think what else awaited him on the way to his destination: quicksand and other hazardous terrain, hunting parties of ogres and goblins and other hostile races, wicked faeries, and even the very trees and flowers of the forest were said to have dangerous specimens among them. And yet, of all the forest’s inhabitants, the one that made Arthur shudder with fright was the one he wished to seek out in the first place: the Witch of the Woods.
Glancing all around him and listening for the slightest sound of danger as he advanced, Arthur wondered just what this Witch was like. Would she hear his pleas with compassion and agree to help out of the goodness of her heart? Would she pitilessly refuse and leave his sister to die? Or would she cook him in a stew to eat the moment she saw him? Surely, it would be that first option, right? Why else would she save the life of a man without so much as asking for a penny? Of course, he knew full well the poor man must have agreed to some unknown payment, but Arthur tried not to think about that.
As he intently listened to the forest around him, Arthur heard a sound like the barking of wolves. Of course, that would be a common sound in any forest, but these barks were different from any ordinary wolf he had heard before. These cries were coarser, more guttural. And worse, they were getting louder… and closer. Fearing for his life, Arthur found a crevice in a nearby rocky cairn just wide enough for him to slip through, and ran straight for it, making his way in just as a boar the size of a rhinoceros thundered through the underbrush, pursued by a pack of wargs, primeval wolf-like creatures each the size of a cavalry horse. Arthur rolled away from the crevice opening and closed his eyes as he heard the boar’s dying squeals and the sound of the pack’s fangs tearing into flesh. Even minutes after the noises stopped, Arthur stayed still and made sure to breathe as quietly as possible, silently praying that every warg in the pack had had its fill of pork and would pay his scent no mind.
Eventually, Arthur did open his eyes and cautiously sat up to peek out of the crevice to make sure the coast was clear. He scanned the clearing, and saw hide nor hair of the wargs, only the boar’s stripped carcass and the gigantic paw prints on the forest floor indicating the pack was ever here. Cautiously, Arthur began to climb out of the crevice, only to duck down again as he heard a stick break just outside the clearing.
It was then that his eyes began to adjust to the dark, and he saw that the crevice he was hiding in was merely the upper level of a larger cavern hollowed out of the cairn. While the cave was larger than he had expected, it was shallow enough that he could easily climb down from where he lay now, and he could see a cave exit a few yards away, leading not far from the clearing he had escaped from. Fearing to deal with whatever had made that noise earlier, Arthur elected to take the long way out, figuring whatever he was hiding from would surely leave by the time he made it out, and in any case he’d be able to more safely check around the corner to see whether or not the coast was clear.
Climbing down to the cave floor, Arthur gingerly strode towards the cave’s exit, being sure his hand stayed on the sword’s hilt in case he came to need it, when he heard something large scurrying about nearby- no, above him. He looked up, but saw nothing but a low hanging rocky protrusion from the ceiling. Ever cautious, Arthur hurried his pace as he made his way towards the cave exit; only hear the large scurrying noise again. Arthur looked all around him, and again saw nothing… except that the low hanging rocks on the ceiling were gone.
Now just at the exit, Arthur carefully drew Melion’s sword and looked around all directions as he stepped out of the cave. But as he passed through the cave opening, Arthur felt something moist drip down onto his head, and looked up onto the cairn above, sword at the ready. But Arthur saw no beast, only a rocky outcropping in the vague shape of one. But there was one problem: there hadn’t any outcroppings on the cairn before he had hid inside. And he soon realised why as a hiss came from the outcropping and it stood up on eight reptilian legs, and its colour rapidly changed from grey to a dark green, revealing that what had appeared to be weathered stone was actually a scaled reptilian hide. The creature gave another predatory hiss as Arthur shivered in fear before this great, many-legged serpentine lizard, knowing he should run away, but too scared to move. But when the beast opened its sickly yellow eyes, a terrible feeling came over Arthur, and now it was more than fear that kept him from moving. Every muscle in his body refused to move, no matter how hard his brain told him to run away. It was then that Arthur realized what this creature was. He had become prey to the most terrible of serpents: the basilisk.
Frozen in his tracks and unable to look away from those horrible yellow eyes, Arthur could only helplessly watch as the basilisk opened its gaping, reptilian maw and shot out a long, chameleon-like tongue, which rapidly wrapped around his body and tightly bound him as he was pulled up into the beast’s mouth, helplessly dropping his sword in the process.
Unable to see the basilisk’s eyes from inside its mouth, Arthur was no longer paralysed by the serpent’s gaze, but all his attempts to struggle were in vain as the tongue fully retracted, flinging him into the beast’s throat, where he found himself constricted by esophagus muscles stronger than iron and squeezed feet first further and further down, surely towards the stomach. The only solace Arthur had available to him was that as the breath was being squeezed out of him, he would probably lose consciousness before he even felt the burn of the monster’s stomach acid.
But that served no comfort to Arthur as he, drenched in basilisk spit and slowly losing breath, grimly reflected on his failure to find the Witch to cure Morgan of her illness. He thought of how his sister would surely now die, and how his parents and uncle would not only have to mourn her, but the foolish son who ignored their warnings and became the next meal of some forest monster in the vain hope that he alone would be able to find the Witch of the Woods.
But that thought was interrupted when Arthur heard a soft, feminine voice say from outside the beast’s mouth, “No, this won’t do at all.”
And within an instant, Arthur no longer felt the squeeze of the monster’s throat, as the entire basilisk simply evaporated into a mist of blood, leaving him to fall safely, but far from comfortably, onto the forest floor. Covered in the beast’s blood, Arthur weakly rose to his feet and turned his head to catch a glimpse of his rescuer.
What he saw was a tall, beautiful woman in a long, flowing black linen gown with a low cut bodice exposing her shoulders and cleavage. On her arms she wore long sleeves detached from the rest of her outfit that flared outwards where they met the wrist. The lady was possessed of a slender, sinuous figure with an ample bosom and stood at such a statuesque height, that Arthur was sure she would still tower over even a taller man than he. She had a thin, heart-shaped face with a sharply pointed chin and straight nose. Bound only with a half-up half-down bun, wire straight hair as black and lustrous as onyx fell to her ankles, almost cape-like in how it flowed outwards as it descended from her head, with her bangs perfectly parted from fringe to ear on each side.
But as beautiful as this woman was, Arthur couldn’t help but feel unnerved, for her beauty was not just striking; it was inhuman. She moved with an unerring grace that was just too flawless to be natural. Even her body itself seemed too graceful and fluid to be entirely human. Where on any other human body there would be a rougher edge, the contours of this woman’s body curved softly and gracefully. Even stranger, if one looked at her more than a few seconds, her arms, fingers or neck would begin to look just too long to look human, until one blinked, upon which they seemingly became a normal length, as though their elongation had been a mere trick of the light. Her skin was unnaturally but alluringly pale, as if her body was carved of alabaster. Her hooded, almond-shaped eyes of glistening amethyst colour narrowed with interest as she studied the bloodied boy, their catlike slits of pupils trained right on him as the thin eyebrows above rose with curiosity. Her thin, darkly coloured lips curved downwards in an amused smile as she broke she silence by asking, “Would you care for tea, my child?”
Arthur momentarily forgot the awe and terror he felt towards this inhuman beauty as he blinked in confusion at the statement. “I’m sorry?”
“I am glad I found you when I did. I have not had company in some time, and if you had been eaten, I would have had to wait even longer. Do you enjoy green teas, child?”
“Um… yeah, I guess.”
“Excellent!” the woman said cheerfully. “Come along, then, my cottage is not far from here. I left the kettle on before I went for my moonlight stroll, and the fire spirits get restless and try to leave the hearth if I leave them unattended for too long, so it would behove us to hurry before they start burning my books. I hope they learned their lesson after I disciplined them the last time, but one can never be too careful.” Before she turned around to lead the way, she carefully studied Arthur with a look of almost motherly concern before saying, “We must get you cleaned up first, though. After all, I cannot exactly complain about the mess if I lead you into my home covered in that gunge, can I?”
The woman gave a simple wave of her hand and just like that, every drop of the blood covering Arthur flew off of him and evaporated into mist, leaving him as clean as he had just come out of the bath, and his clothes as dry as though they were fresh off the line.
“There,” the woman laughed softly with a cheerful smile. “Now, follow me and I shall show you the way to my cottage.”
But just as the mysterious woman turned to lead the way, Arthur, still in shock, blurted out, “Who are you?”
The woman stopped in her tracks and turned back towards Harold with an aloof smile. “Is it not obvious, my child? Do they not speak of me in hushed tones beyond the borders of this forest? I am the Witch of the Woods.”
The moment Arthur heard those words, he knew, deep down, that his life would never be the same.