Authors Note: Last chapter we saw Meene, the main character of the story. This chapter, in a town not so far away, we meet the second main character. The introduction to a great adventure continues.

The City of Metals is not surrounded by nature. Once it used to be, but no longer. Now it is surrounded by rocks, jagged and bare, all vegetation stripped from the bones of the land, leaving it raw and exposed. But the city is small, and the forests that existed before were, and still are, vast in their expanse. And so, some forty miles away from Zerail, lies a small grove within the ring of woodlands surrounding the wasteland around the city.

"It's Selene, the Wise."

"Selene the Just."

"Selene the Courageous."

Whispers passed through the backwater town of TreeTop Gardens. Well, TreeTop Gardens wasn't exactly a town. It was more of a haven for good hearted people who had decided to drop out from life. Farmers, some of them were, content to live off the rich land, without owning too much or wanting for too much. Others were huntsmen, disenchanted with the cruelty of the world, that had come to the Gardens in order to live a secluded life. The population of the town could not have been any more then a hundred at most, and what bound them all together was the witches.

Two witches had settled in the town—no, perhaps it was best to say they had been there before the town was ever created. Though relatives, they could not have looked more different. Both were old women, though one never left the small cottage to the north, on the outskirts of the Gardens. The few who had seen her knew her as fair skinned, and though she had many a wrinkle she wore her age well. She was slender and delicate, her long, white hair tied in a loose knot at the top of her head with a grass woven string. Her eyes were a brilliant violet color, betraying her magic-induced blindness (though none knew her backstory). But her face was always cracked into a kind smile,

On the other hand, the witch that frequented the town was old and hideous. Warts covered her face, and fungus grew on the tip of her hooked nose. Her mouth was often red, and as she spoke blood dripped from her jaws. She had a small goatee on her chin which she stroked all the time, and she wore all black, in contrast to her relative's white cotton garments. In looks, they could not be more different. However, contrary to her appearance, Selene, the warty witch, was also quite a nice person. She was always eager to help out someone in need, and often settled many town disputes (not that there were many to begin with) in a fair, peaceful, and relatively noninvasive manner. Though put off by her appearance at first, the town had eventually warmed up to their old witch, calling her by nicknames such as Selene the Just, and so on and so forth.

Another peculiarity—though old beyond measure, Selene's voice was that of a young girl. This quality was very offputting to most of the townspeople, but they thought nothing of it, blaming the quirk on some past magical potion that she must accidentally have imbued. Or something like that. The Familgia Sisters, they were called, for that was the last name the two relatives shared.

"What brings you here today, Miss Selene," the balding man standing at the meat stand wheezed.

The witch looked at him with her beady aquamarine irises. "I come for a cow," she croaked. Or at least, tried to croak. But her voice simply sounded too young, and came off more amusing than croaky. The man in front of her tried not to laugh, knowing her skills to be real, and forcing himself to understand the very viable possibility that laughing at a powerful witch may have gotten him turned into a toad before he could blink. The hideous witch seemed disappointed with both her voice, and his reaction, and tried again. "I repeat, I come for a cow!" Selene started to cough, and it was plain to see that imitating a raspy voice really took a toll on her vocal cords.

The old butcher put his hand on Selene's shoulder to steady her, slight worry clouding his brow.

"Silence!" Croaked Selene, and it seemed rather a real croak due to her vocal cords being so strained. "If you touch me again, I will turn you into a toad!"

"But I didn't say anything..." the butcher smiled worriedly.

"Hickory dickory dock," began the witch in a threatening manner, waving her finger around in circles. "The toad went round the clock!"

"I'm sorry," he said halfheartedly, knowing full well that no magical incantation could be so ridiculous. "Here." He heaved a cow up onto the flimsy stand from behind the counter. "That'll be forty silver, Miss Selene."

"Ah, okay," the deformed witch chirped happily, digging into her purse and pulling out four gold coins. "Thanks! James, right?"

"Ah, you remembered." The old man rubbed the back of his head, embarrassed. "It's an honor, Miss Selene."

"Hey, if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to call!" She gave him the most hideous smile she could muster, and he cringed slightly.

"Okay, thanks. Bye now, and come back soon."

"A witch always shows up unannounced," she called to him, starting to walk away...and then ran back to the counter, her face flushed. "Forgot to take the cow," she muttered quickly, heaving the animal onto her shoulders.

Strong witch, the old butcher mused, right before seeing the old lady collapse under the animal's giant weight.

"Aah," this is so annoying," Selene Familgia fumed, and started murmuring incoherent syllables quickly under her breath, In a matter of perhaps half a minute, the cow started to float gently above her. "Come on then, you dumb beast," she told the carcass. "Let's go." And the witch was off, large chunk of meat following placidly a couple paces behind her.

Now as Selene walked, the lush, tame greenery of the Gardens was ending, starting to be replaced and overrun by more wild branches, darker green, twisted vines with thorns and strange insects staring wide eyed into her beady eyes. The Northern Forest was the most dangerous of the four directions, for in the North the forest grew wild and thick, closer to the origin of the forest then any other part. It was in the North that the first tree in the forest had sprung to life, many, many ages ago, and since then almost every manner of creature had lived, or passed by, that original tree.

What lived there now, no one knew. Selene certainly didn't know, for Gene told her to never venture there.

"But why, Granny," she'd asked the old, white haired woman.

"Because," Gene had replied softly, her blind eyes staring past her sedentary granddaughter. "There are creatures there that do not wish to be disturbed, and it is our job to make sure their wish is fulfilled."

No use keeping my illusion spell on anymore, Selene thought wistfully. No one to witness my witchy-ness.

And as the haggard old lady walked, she started to grow shorter and shorter. Her warts popped, and filthy green pus oozed out of them, but left no scars on her face. Her gnarled, knotted skin smoothed into the silky white texture of a young adolescent, and her small, beady blue eyes grew wider and less wrinkled until they became brilliant orbs of sapphire. Her short white hair under her black witch hat grew longer and more blue, almost matching the color of her eyes. Soon, the tall old hag had changed into a slight five foot tall girl in an oversized black cloak, with a hat that fell way over her happy-go-lucky expression. Selene was, in fact, fourteen years old.

The young girl came upon a small hedge. "Open sesame," she chirped excitedly. Nothing. Grumbling something inaudible to herself, she pushed the tall grasses aside and walked into an open space, a clearing that by all the laws of physics could not possibly have been there. Granny Gene had decided to use the spell long ago—a simple space concealment spell which made everything behind the hedge simple seem like a grove of trees, when in reality it was a space she had carefully lain out to be her home. In the middle of the grassy clearing was a small cottage made of old wood, so deep and red in color that it seemed almost like pure redwood. Impressive, then, that the cottage had been built from sturdy oak, and yet retained such a strong coloring. Indeed, if one looked closely at the cottage, one could see that everything about the cottage was colored vibrantly. The grass around it was a brilliant green, the windows painted a strong, yet profoundly subtle robin blue. Somehow, every time Selene looked at the scene it seemed, to her, to be a picture from a storybook. But that was Granny Gene—she could cast magic that was not seen. Simply felt.

"Mrreaow." A black cat brushed lazily through Selene's gown, past her leg.

"Death Reaper!" She knelt and hugged the small feline tightly with both hands.

"My name is Molly," the cat replied grumpily. Another of Gene's tricks. Apparently Molly had once been human, but upon her death, Gene had transmogrified her mind and spirit into the body of a nearby cat. Why someone would desire willingly to be reborn as a cat, Selene couldn't for the life of her understand. But Molly had replied simply, "I was afraid of death," and had left the story at that.

"But Molly is such a boring name," Selene protested. "We're witches, Molly. And as the symbolic black cat for witches, you need to have a more witchy name. Now as I've said before, Death Reaper would be—"

"Ridiculous," Molly finished, yawning.

"And, and, and," Selene continued, curls bouncing, "You promised that you'd get Gene to agree to making the password to opening the hedge 'open sesame'! It's such a classic phrase, simple and yet potent."

"You know what's simple and potent," Molly replied. "Just not having a password! Like the way things are now."

"You're no fun," the young witch responded, patting Molly angrily on the head. But unable to resist the sleek feline, she rubbed her face into Molly's stomach, flipping her over. "Aww, you're so adorable," she cooed happily.

The small cat broke free of her grip, staggering a couple paces away from the girl, and hissed menacingly. Selene stood up, undaunted. "Well, shall we go in?"

A million words would not be enough to express the magic within the cottage. There wasn't a speck of dirt marring the clean and yet earthly feel of the place. There was dirt, yes. Literal dirt—soil from which plants grew near the window. But there was no dirt in the wrong places. The wooden floor and small pieces of furniture were completely...well, wooden, with nothing marring their sheer simplicity. The hearth blazed, fueled by magical flames that cast no heat, providing pure atmosphere and nothing else, for the day was warm enough as it was. The velvet sofa at the center of the room was not lush, but not too stiff. It looked, in some sense, exactly as a sofa should look. Rounded armrests, a wide back, and a slight tilt that could be used to rock back and forth if one so desired. The grass-woven carpets were just that, and yet they seemed so exotic on the deep red floor. In short, everything looked like the ideal image of exactly what it was. There was no sofa more sofa-like then the one in the middle of the cottage, no floor more wooden then the one on which Selene and the small feline stood.

This was felt magic. Magic which was not cast specifically, but which simply existed, like an aura around great witches. How a witch acquired such a presence, no one really knew, but one thing was certain. There was no way to learn felt magic. It simply came, imbuing everything around the witch with a flourish of texture, a kind of coloring that came straight from the witch's soul.

Selene approached the sofa. "Granny," she called softly, not knowing whether her grandmother was asleep or not.

"She's dreaming," Molly replied from across the room. She'd gone over to face the old woman sitting wide-eyed, face unmoving, unblinking, in the chair. "Or rather, seeing. She'll snap out of her Trance soon, I think. From the looks of things, it seems she's been Seeing for quite a while now."

"Seeing, huh." Selene sighed pensively. Her grandmother had the gift of foresight, and often saw glimpses of the future, or of the present in far off places. The former was known as Dreaming, whereas the latter was known as Seeing. Unfortunately, the gift had not shown itself in the younger witch. But her grandmother was never discouraged.

"Seeing comes with old age," she always told the teenager, patting her softly on the head.

"Is that a dead cow I smell." A calm, even, slightly tired voice from the sofa.

"Granny!" Selene ran around the sofa and sat in front of the kind looking old woman, looking up at her with wide eyes of admiration. She nodded her answer, and though she knew her grandmother was blind, she also knew that she could see Selene's affirmative nod, somehow, some way. And she was right.

"Good girl." The old woman reached out her withered, veiny hand, and Selene offered her head to be patted.

"So, what kind of magic will you be using it for, Granny?"

Molly snorted. It was a strange sight, seeing a cat snort, but Molly pulled off the gesture rather convincingly and naturally, so much so that even an average person in the room would not have been too startled.

"Magic? I will be showing you the greatest magic of all times, Sel." With a slight wave of her hand, the old woman summoned her walking stick, which came shooting over from the other side of the room into her hand. Caressing the wooden handle brought Granny Gene some sort of unknown, mysterious joy, for she smiled slightly. "The magic of cooking," she finished.

And although Selene would normally have been disappointed, the understated pride in her grandmother's voice made her far more excited.

"One day," her grandmother sighed, sensing the slight demotivation in Selene's demeanor, "you'll come to see exactly how deep the magic of cooking really is. Right now, you still believe in showiness, but magic is not all about the flash, my child. It's about depth. And heart." She sighed. "Well, do not fret." The smile once again returned to her face. "These things come with time."

Selene nodded, trying her best to understand why exactly flashiness was necessarily a bad thing. She knew everything her grandmother said was true, but she could not fathom the justification behind Granny Gene's claim. "A-anyways," she chirped, trying to change the subject, "what were you dreaming about, Granny?"

The old woman smiled mysteriously. "Dancing Monkeys," she replied, and said no more on the subject.

Authors Note : As a quick reminder, the Dancing Monkeys is the group of performers that raised Aricine, Meene's one friend.