Forever Green

~4~ They Tend to Wander...

Theiden stared up at the ceiling, apprehension and anger boiling beneath his skin. Dawn had come, and with it, the renewed gravity of his situation, weighing down on him with a crushing force.

The witch's words from the night before still echoed in his ears: To live or die as I see fit.

From now on, you belong to me.

Theiden shook himself and rolled off the thick blanket. As soon as he was on his feet, he froze and tilted his head, listening for any sound of the witch below.

There was none.

A layered black cotton robe and loose pants had been laid out at the foot of the closest stack of books, along with a pair of large fleece-lined slippers. Although Theiden had never been inclined to wear slippers and had never before seen such an unusual style of dress, he couldn't deny the chill in the cottage and the state of his own ruined, dirty clothes.

He changed into the replacement outfit quickly, belting the robe with a patterned gray sash and hastily stepping into the slippers. To his surprise, the clothes fit his broad shoulders, and the material was even long enough to stop past his ankles and not before. It was often not the case with the trousers he bought in the city, and he usually relied on his boots to cover up any deficiencies in the length of the fabric.

A soft scuffle came from downstairs, and Theiden's well-trained ears perked up at the sound. The witch was awake.

He crept to the loft railing and peered down, where motion to the left of the cottage drew his eye. The witch was in the kitchen area, chopping up vegetables and occasionally crossing over to check on a skillet simmering on the wood-burning stove. She was wearing a loose gown this morning—quite a contrast from the traditional Patachal City attire she had worn the previous night. The fabric was a dark amethyst with long, loose sleeves, and swept down to conceal even her toes. The resulting effect made her seem like a phantom silently gliding across the floor.

Violet eyes darted up to meet his.

"Good morning," the creature said, pleasantly enough to someone who wanted her dead. "Would you like some breakfast?"

Theiden didn't think. He swiped the nearest book from one of the stacks and sent it hurtling down at the witch. Regrettably, she was too far for the attack to take her by surprise, and just before the heavy volume hit her, she deflected it with a single swipe from the wooden spoon held in her hand.

All the while, the witch never broke eye contact with him. Theiden stared right back. It was something he had learned from hunting—never to break eye contact with the predator. Never give in.

Yet, unlike the wild creatures Theiden had encountered, this woman showed no sign of discomfort under his scrutiny. Her eyes were sharp and wild, and finally her unnatural gaze became too much and it was he who looked away.

The smell of cooking eggs and mushrooms filled the air in their silence.

"Breakfast is ready," the witch announced simply, turning back to her skillet. Perhaps it was just his imagination, but her tone seemed to have lowered a few degrees to something a bit colder. "I promise you, it's not been poisoned."

Theiden sent a glance towards the door.

"You may try to run," the witch said, "but you won't get far. Now, come down and eat."

Theiden felt the corners of his mouth turn down in disgust. To accept the hospitality of such a monster was unthinkable. But he had to keep up his strength if he ever wanted to escape from this place. He would need to wait until the time was right, and then he would kill her. The witch hunters in Patachal City would certainly accept him into their group once he returned with her head. He would be regarded as a hero, and he would lead them in exterminating all the remaining witches in the Azalom Mountains.

With one last glance at the witch, Theiden turned to make his way through the book stacks.

The witchlight was still curled up on the armchair of the fireplace as Theiden descended from the loft. It had maintained its cat form over the course of the night, but now instead of a dark greenish-blue, it had lightened to a more bluish-white color instead. When Theiden stepped off the ladder, the thing cracked open an eye and blinked at him.

"Please excuse the absence of chairs," the witch said from the kitchen. Theiden turned to find her setting out two plates of vegetables and eggs on the kitchen table.

She looked up briefly when he failed to respond. "They tend to wander," she explained. "They get stiff, otherwise, so a bit of exercise is a bit good for them."

Theiden suddenly realized that his mouth was hanging open, and he closed it with a clack. The witch continued.

"The armchair's a bit too old for all that nonsense though, and usually stays by the fireplace. On occasion, it'll prefer the warmth of the kitchen better, or if it's an especially nice day, it might wander out into the garden." She turned back to the counter to fill a teakettle with water from the sink pump. "The sun isn't good for the upholstery though, and the mud isn't good for the legs, so I try not to let that happen."

"I see," Theiden managed to say. So the evil thing had lost her mind as well, it seemed. He would have to be especially careful now.

The witch turned back to him with a small smile playing on her lips, and her eyes flashed wickedly. "My how alarmed you look," she commented, crossing to the table to pick up her plate. "There's no need to be frightened."

Theiden scowled. "I'm not." He stormed across the cottage to prove it, stopping once he reached the other side of the small kitchen table and snatched up his own meal.

Her smirk grew. "How reassuring." She gestured with her right hand, then, and the table before them stretched upwards in a groan of twisting wood. Theiden jumped back, nearly spilling his food in the process.

The witch lowered her hand, and the table bent its legs, dropping low enough for the witch to sit down cross-legged on the floor. She settled down unconcerned, and quirked a challenging brow in Theiden's direction.

Theiden gritted his teeth and stepped back up to the table. He sank to the ground and set his plate upon the tabletop, but it was a long moment before he began to eat.

"What am I doing here?" he asked after a few minutes of silent eating.

The witch merely shrugged, keeping her attention on her breakfast. "Whatever I wish."

Theiden felt his hands clench into fists. "Is my life just a game to you, then?" he snapped. "You have nothing better to do than ruin other people's lives? Do you realize what you've done? Em only has her grandmother to look after her now. I need to be there for her."

This time, she did look at him, but her stare was unforgiving. "You took responsibility the moment you went looking for me," she shot back. "You agreed—"

The teakettle began to sing, then, and she broke off to remove it from the stove and pour the boiling water into a black cast iron teapot. The smell of jasmine filled the air, and after a few minutes she returned to the table with a steaming cup of tea for each of them.

"You agreed to my arrangement," she continued, sitting down across from him again. Theiden fought the strong urge to throw the scalding tea in her face, right at that terrible scar of hers. But that would not solve anything.

"You gave me no choice," he replied tersely. "What father wouldn't give up anything for his daughter? You shouldn't have cursed Em in the first place!"

Her eyes narrowed. "I have my reasons," she replied. "If you wanted to keep your daughter safe—"

"You dare lecture me on protecting my daughter?" Theiden spat. "You creatures know nothing of protection, or love. All you care about is how many people you curse and kill. Em would have been safer facing a pack of wolves than you!"

The witch's lips thinned into a tight line, and Theiden noticed how her eyes had darkened to the same dangerous, bruised shade of thunderclouds before a storm. "You know nothing about me or my kind," she replied tersely.

With that, the witch stood, cleared her plate, and swept out of the cottage.

~*~

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