The Witch Of Blackroot Vale

The witch had learned long ago to be careful with fire.

Elowen lit the candles one by one, murmuring the old words under her breath. The flames bloomed soft and obedient, their light gilding the cramped kitchen of her cottage. Outside, the woods breathed - branches creaking, frost whispering across dead leaves. It was a good night for magic. Quiet. Listening.

She hadn’t expected company.

A knock came at the door. Three quick raps, uncertain, like someone afraid of being heard.

Elowen stiffened. She let the candle flame gutter, then die. Magic receded like a held breath released. Another knock followed, firmer this time.

She opened the door with a charm already coiled behind her ribs.

The woman on her threshold looked nothing like a threat.

She was wrapped in a dark traveling cloak, snow dusting her shoulders, brown hair pulled back in a loose knot that had escaped into curls around her face. Her cheeks were red with cold, her eyes an unguarded grey; sharp, but tired.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said. Her voice was low, steady. “I was told there was a healer here.”

Elowen studied her. No iron. No sigils. No smell of sanctified oil. Just road-dust and something warm underneath; honey, maybe, or cedar.

“I don’t heal for free,” Elowen said.

“I can pay.” The woman hesitated, then added, “Or trade.”

Something about that, about the honesty in her gaze, made Elowen step aside.

“Come in,” she said.

The woman smiled, relieved. It struck Elowen unexpectedly hard.

Her name was Mara. She claimed a wounded leg, a bad fall days back. Elowen cleaned the cut, pressed poultice into skin, murmured charms too soft to hear. Mara watched her hands with open fascination, like someone witnessing a trick they wanted to believe in.

“Does it hurt?” Elowen asked.

“Only when you stop touching me,” Mara replied, then flushed. “I mean... sorry.”

Elowen laughed despite herself. It felt strange and good in her chest.

When Mara left, the cottage felt emptier than it had any right to.

Elowen didn’t notice the faint symbol etched into the sole of Mara’s boot as she crossed the threshold.