“Thank you.” Aysling took the cup of hot tea handed to her by Mrs. Petra.

They had walked a long, unsteady trek to a small wooden cottage where this elderly woman lived.

“Since we met, all you’ve said is ‘thank you.’ I told you, you don’t have to be so formal.” She sighed, sitting down at the worn wooden table beside Aysling.

She poured herself a cup from the same teapot and began drinking her infusion, watching as the young woman finally drank hers with a bit more confidence.

She didn’t blame her for being distrustful; it was wise, and the girl seemed intelligent. So beautiful, though, that she only invited misfortune in this savage place.

“My name is Aysling,” she finally said, taking small sips with trembling hands.

“Well, everyone calls me Mrs. Petra, so you can call me the same.” The older woman suddenly stood and went into another room, returning shortly.

“Here, I suggest you apply this ointment. It’s natural, made by me. It’ll help you heal and, most importantly, get rid of tha