The slaughterer had sold the fourthling girl many amulets, some of which she kept in her pockets, and others strung around her neck. She was Merula, last name unknown, a girl who begged and half-starved in Undertown before moving out to live in the Deepwoods on her own. Black stringy hair hung about her face like drenched spiderwebs, and many avoided her, and she in turn shied away from their company.
What was she to do? She lived off of what she could find, and had at a young age decided not to marry, to keep from something that would no doubt make her unhappy and tie her down with a sickly screaming child.
She did not want friends, but some things are unavoidable. The slaughterer kept passing by, and offering her amulets, insisting that somebody who lived so isolated a life could not simply remain vulnerable. She had lost count of how many she had, but each one she liked for how it looked and what it did - this one guarded against the Gloamgloazer, this one against bad spirits, this one cleansed your thoughts - the list went on and on. The slaughterer was due to pass by today, and she was, as she had been for the past three times he had visited, looking forward to it.
A sharp yell from outside drew her attention and she moved cautiously outside. The slaughterer had a hand full of sharp thorns and he was bleeding. She rushed forward and caught his hand, plucking them out.
"Do you not have an amulet to protect against that?" she asked eventually, tears a strip of cloth from her sleeve and wrapping it around his wounded hand after she had ordered him to spit on it to help it heal. The slaughterer boy laughed.
"No, although I shall have to have one made, so I will now."
She sighed. "Might I request one, then?" she asked, and he nodded.
"I was going to ask you if I might stay for my meal, Miss Merula."
She considered it. "I don't see why not."
The slaughterer smiled and made his way into the house after her.