A Walk in the Woods

A Writer’s Cramp Prompt:
Write a story 1000 words or less or a poem 40lines or less
about what a long walk can do for you.


Note:
This is the fifth story in the sequence:

FOLDER

The Bluebird Stories  (ASR) Stories about a witch world. #1876841 by Shaara

It can be read independently or as part of the whole.

A Walk in the Woods

We reached home to find no one in attendance.

“Off visiting others, is she?” the main guard said with a smirk so huge it practically informed everyone he believed my wife unfaithful.

I shrugged. No sense engaging in argument. We both believed what we believed -- I that my wife was pure as rose petals; he, that she wasn’t.

I set the table with some bread and ale, then went back outside for the cheese we kept in the well. A couple of yeomen were unsaddling the horses. I made sure the animals were given hay and water. Then, with the guards still grumbling at the wait, and with the two yeomen, who'd finished their chores, we re-entered the house and commenced to dine.

The hour grew late. The yeomen bedded down on the floor. Two of the guards leaned against one wall. Their eyes closed. In a few minutes, most of them were snoring softly.

“You sure you live here?” Galen said, his tone abrasive, his manner suggestive of something. Perhaps he implied I’d led the guards astray, brought them to the wrong house.

Again I shrugged, thought about stating the obvious, how I’d known where the food was, where the hay for the animals was kept, but it would do no good. People trusted or they didn’t. Being a wizard and a warlock, I was sure I inspired even less confidence than most.

As we continued our restless interlude, I pretended an indifference I didn’t feel, for at the back of my mind, worry for my family plagued me. I knew my daughter was at the heart and soul. I could feel that even without forecasting.

Oh, how my fingers itched to boil a pot of soul mist that would seek my family’s whereabouts. But such a spell would be costly. Not only for the weakness to my body which would come afterwards, but because of the outsiders present. Among humans, any sign of magic awakened primal fear. Not a good thing when the king’s men rode my back like burrs, burrs that harbored weapons sharp as a winter storm.

We remained at the table even as night darkened and shadows grew long. The bread and cheese soon departed, the last of the ale gone, but still we stayed, legs stretched out but fingers clenched with tension.

I’d built a fire in the hearth, using logs from an old apple tree. Its fragrance and warmth felt pleasant in spite of the suspicion in the eyes of the two men who guarded me so intensely.

To allay their suspicions, I pretended sleepiness, let my head lean to the side, controlled my breathing until it slowed into the manner of those nodding off. If nothing more, that halted the steady stream of questions by Galen and Dorog.

Silence came, a deepening of lethargy. Eventually it sent the two into a sleep as deep as that of the yeomen and those with their backs against the wall. It allowed me at last to drift off in search of my family.

My mind immediately journeyed toward the path in the woods. A pull, a calling – toward my daughter, wife, mother, and sister. Although my body remained at the table beside Galen and Dorog, my focus moved outward, more firmly on that path. My feet tread upon soft needles, decaying tree bark, rotting foliage. Under the shadows of darkness I heard an owl hoot, a mouse squeak. A gray-brown moth fluttered about my head.

Magic drew the line I followed. Magic that shone in an orangish-red, a glowing charcoal of light -- my visual guide. The smell of incense, bay leaf, witch’s brew teased my nose, taunted the slowness of my gait. I listened for clues in the wind, clues carried in the breeze that brushed my cheeks, entreated me to hurry.

Yes, I must find my family, find them speedily -- before the guards fidgeted in their night sleep, squirmed an arm or leg, snorted a heavy inhaled breath which called me back, stole away my concentration from this nighttime woody path.

“Sleep, sleep,” I spoke through the lips of the body that sat inside the warm, comfortable chamber of my home. Just in case, I mumbled secret words, exhaled a breath of enchantment, then slipped deeper into the spell.

In the woods, my feet shuffled me forward. A tiny fox darted past me, stopped to bark a word of complaint at my presence. I nodded to it in respect, then kept going.

My daughter no longer seemed despondent. Something had altered her that very day. She emoted happiness, joy. What was the vastness of that miracle of change? Why had it not brought them all back to the house? Why did they still linger deep in the woods on a night not fit for witching?

The leaves clung heavy on the trees. I couldn't look up and see sky. Somewhere a moon peered down, a moon whose huge eye knew all.

But not I. I still needed to continue this journey deep into the depths of the woods in search for those I loved, those who should all be home safe in bed. At least this long walk would soon answer my questions, enlighten me as to why I’d been called to my daughter’s side.

I sped faster, my feet fairly flying. Soon I would know all and impart all -- without the unwelcome guards at my side, guards keen to tattle Witchblood secrets into a king’s eager ears.

Then I saw them, cried out, ran to them. My family.