Please note: many characters and the location belong to Tamora Pierce. I
would like to express my sincere apology for not updating sooner, and for
the shortness of this update. I have been very busy with school and crew. I
only have three exams left though, and I hope to update every couple of
days throughout the month of June.
Stella gasped—she had thought she was alone—and sat bolt upright in the saddle, earning herself a huge bump on the back of her head from a branch. Pinecone sensed her fear and nearly spooked again. She got him under control and turned around, looking for the source of the voice.
"Sorry to have startled you deary," came the voice, " I'm just over here, to your left." Now that Stella had calmed down a little she realized it was not an unpleasant voice, it was low, and soft with a whispering reed- like quality. There was nothing threatening about it; it almost reminded her of her aunt's voice.
She took a deep, steadying breath and looked to the left. There stood a small old woman in plain brown skirts, the hood of her green cloak rolled back to reveal course grey hair tied at the nape of her neck. She was tiny and thin but her face had very few lines, giving her an energetic liveliness.
"I'm old Heather," she told Stella, " wicked witch, wise woman, midwife, sorceress, fairy queen, hermit, or grandmother, take your pick, I'm called all of the those things and more. But, I just call myself old Heather, that's what I like best. Now, you look a little cold, and a little hungry, and a little lost, and little tired, and a little beat up, so I'd like to take you to my hut to eat and rest a little. You'd be doing me a favor really, I'm quite lonely you no." As she said all this she calmly approached Pinecone and let him sniff her hand. He whuffled in approval, and Stella knew she could trust old Heather.
"I'm called Stella," she smiled shyly at old Heather. Old Heather simply nodded and reached up a slightly withered hand to Stella. Stella grasped old Heather's hand. It was cold and bony yet vibrant with strength. Then she dismounted, awkwardly sliding her tired body to the ground, and grabbed Pinecone's reigns.
Old Heather eyed what little sky their was to be seen through the branches with an experienced face. "It's going to be a good one tonight, best be on our way home." And with that she turned and motioned for Stella to follow her. With one hand she clutched her basket and with the other she turned aside branches and leave. Though there was no path Heather seemed to know where she was going.
Suddenly Old Heather stopped and bent over. "Ah, Rosemary," she said, more to herself than to Stella. "And a fine big plant at that." Then her deft little hands reached out and she gathered several bunches of the herb. Placing these in her basket she again beckoned for Stella to follow.
Ten minutes or so later they reached a tiny clearing. "Home," Heather said shortly, and she marched directly towards a small hut in one corner. Upon reaching the door she stopped and looked back at Pinecone, brow furrowed slightly in thought. "You can leave your horse there," she gestured to one side of the hut, "with the branches overhead it's almost dry, and I'm afraid I don't have room for him inside." Stella nodded and directed Pinecone into the area. While she removed his saddle she convinced him that he mustn't leave the clearing that night. When she was done she picked up her saddle bags and walked towards the door, where Heather was standing. Old Heather's eyes flickered from her to Pinecone and then she nodded to herself as if in approval. That unnerved Stella, very few people could recognize wild magic, no one without some sort of magic could possibly detect it. Who is she, Stella wondered belatedly to herself.
"Come in child," old Heather said as she unlocked the door. Reluctantly Stella entered the hut. It seemed bigger on the inside then it had on the outside. To the left of the door was a bed with a bright and cozy looking quilt on it. Just across from the door was a small fire, with a kettle a fragrant stew simmering above it. Above the fire were tied bundles of root vegetables and herbs. To the left of the fire was a small rather crooked table, with a lopsided stool next to it. Strangest of all was the far corner, behind the bed: the hut had been built with a tree in that corner as part of the foundation. Old Heather walked swiftly to this corner and hung her basket on one of the branches.
Stella gasped—she had thought she was alone—and sat bolt upright in the saddle, earning herself a huge bump on the back of her head from a branch. Pinecone sensed her fear and nearly spooked again. She got him under control and turned around, looking for the source of the voice.
"Sorry to have startled you deary," came the voice, " I'm just over here, to your left." Now that Stella had calmed down a little she realized it was not an unpleasant voice, it was low, and soft with a whispering reed- like quality. There was nothing threatening about it; it almost reminded her of her aunt's voice.
She took a deep, steadying breath and looked to the left. There stood a small old woman in plain brown skirts, the hood of her green cloak rolled back to reveal course grey hair tied at the nape of her neck. She was tiny and thin but her face had very few lines, giving her an energetic liveliness.
"I'm old Heather," she told Stella, " wicked witch, wise woman, midwife, sorceress, fairy queen, hermit, or grandmother, take your pick, I'm called all of the those things and more. But, I just call myself old Heather, that's what I like best. Now, you look a little cold, and a little hungry, and a little lost, and little tired, and a little beat up, so I'd like to take you to my hut to eat and rest a little. You'd be doing me a favor really, I'm quite lonely you no." As she said all this she calmly approached Pinecone and let him sniff her hand. He whuffled in approval, and Stella knew she could trust old Heather.
"I'm called Stella," she smiled shyly at old Heather. Old Heather simply nodded and reached up a slightly withered hand to Stella. Stella grasped old Heather's hand. It was cold and bony yet vibrant with strength. Then she dismounted, awkwardly sliding her tired body to the ground, and grabbed Pinecone's reigns.
Old Heather eyed what little sky their was to be seen through the branches with an experienced face. "It's going to be a good one tonight, best be on our way home." And with that she turned and motioned for Stella to follow her. With one hand she clutched her basket and with the other she turned aside branches and leave. Though there was no path Heather seemed to know where she was going.
Suddenly Old Heather stopped and bent over. "Ah, Rosemary," she said, more to herself than to Stella. "And a fine big plant at that." Then her deft little hands reached out and she gathered several bunches of the herb. Placing these in her basket she again beckoned for Stella to follow.
Ten minutes or so later they reached a tiny clearing. "Home," Heather said shortly, and she marched directly towards a small hut in one corner. Upon reaching the door she stopped and looked back at Pinecone, brow furrowed slightly in thought. "You can leave your horse there," she gestured to one side of the hut, "with the branches overhead it's almost dry, and I'm afraid I don't have room for him inside." Stella nodded and directed Pinecone into the area. While she removed his saddle she convinced him that he mustn't leave the clearing that night. When she was done she picked up her saddle bags and walked towards the door, where Heather was standing. Old Heather's eyes flickered from her to Pinecone and then she nodded to herself as if in approval. That unnerved Stella, very few people could recognize wild magic, no one without some sort of magic could possibly detect it. Who is she, Stella wondered belatedly to herself.
"Come in child," old Heather said as she unlocked the door. Reluctantly Stella entered the hut. It seemed bigger on the inside then it had on the outside. To the left of the door was a bed with a bright and cozy looking quilt on it. Just across from the door was a small fire, with a kettle a fragrant stew simmering above it. Above the fire were tied bundles of root vegetables and herbs. To the left of the fire was a small rather crooked table, with a lopsided stool next to it. Strangest of all was the far corner, behind the bed: the hut had been built with a tree in that corner as part of the foundation. Old Heather walked swiftly to this corner and hung her basket on one of the branches.