First Impressions
Cautiously, I crouched low to the underbrush, holding my breath. Peering through the gaps of pine branches, I scanned my surroundings. I waited still as the stick bugs I often found clinging to tree trunks. Earlier, I ventured into the forest on a routine forage for wild berries and herbs. I was testing out a recipe for a new potion, and after three unsuccessful attempts I needed to replenish my supply. It was the crow that first warned me. Having spent so much of my time alone in these woods, I became accustomed to the many sounds of the wildlife that called this forest home. The crow was a good friend, an ally. In time, I learned to recognize each of his unique calls, and when I heard that suspicious caw-caw-caw, I knew instantly there was an intruder.
And there he was! Brambling through my forest, while clumsily trampling valuable roots and toadstools. How wasteful. I resented this intruder for entering these sacred woods, and taking no heed to the flora and fauna around him. Nature should be respected, not carelessly destroyed. I enjoyed my solitude, and his presence annoyed me. I claimed these woods as my own a decade ago, when I was run out of the village by the foolish simpletons who did not understand me or my value to society. I was a mere girl, frightened and alone, but I persevered. Here, I learned to hone my powers and practice my craft. Never once in ten years had I been disturbed, until today. When I saw him flatten a patch of clover with his clunky boots, I nearly lost my wits. But I knew how to trip him up. I whispered a spell bringing life to the gnarled roots of a dead tree, and when the intruder crossed its path, the tree grabbed hold of his ankle, and he dropped like a stone.
I ran toward him, quick as the deer that frequented these woods. Soon, I was upon him, hovering over his slumped body. I kicked him once, and he groaned face down in the dirt.
“Who sent you here?” I asked aggressively.
The man struggled to turn over, but the living tree roots held him fast. Whispering the counter spell, the roots instantly shriveled and the man wrenched his foot free.
“On your feet,” I hissed.
The man stood tall, and I realized he was no man. A mere boy stood before me. He was marked, like I was. Burned, like I was, on the arms and face. Was this child a witch? Chased from the village like I had been years earlier? I had never met another like me, and always thought if I did, it would be another woman.
“They called me wizard,” His voice was raspy from smoke inhalation, “I was nearly burned at the stake. I sought you out to seek shelter.”
I looked at the ragged boy, and took pity. I’d help him, certainly, but he’d better earn his keep.