I went home. The hut stank of old smoke and rushes, and was full of dried leaves. I spent the first few days cleaning it out, along with my garden. Most of my herbs were dead, as if it were my presence, not just the earth, sun, and rain, that made them thrive.
I avoided the village, and, though I foraged for food in the woods, I did not return to the grove.
On the third night, I returned from a long day searching for food and found gifts on my front stoop: three dead partridges and wood for the fire. I searched but couldn’t find any trace of a visitor until the next night, when I caught sight of a dark wolf slipping between the trees along the path.
“No,” I snapped and used my walking stick to shake the brush. “Maddox. Come out.”
A wind lifted my hair and sent prickles down my spine. M
