Meanwhile, back in the clearing, Gande stood at the edge of the forest, eagerly waiting for their return.

“Don’t you want to go into the woods?” She ignored the shrill voice that fell on her ears. It wasn’t the first time that the Witch had tried to instigate her into following after the men into the forest. Honestly, she was starting to get annoyed.

She had heard a lot of different voices, whispering, opinions, and comments on her weight, character, and loose temper, since her childhood. She used to get angry, hyperventilate, and overreact, but that was when she was young. She used to hate the world, but then she got old and realized what others said was nothing but noise. She could choose to close her ears if she didn’t want to hear their opinions and suggestions.

As for going after the men, she disregarded the idea without thinking about it. There was no need to burn her brain over something so stupid.

She believed in her man.

Being a hunter’s wife was a tough job. She had to send her husband and son to the woods every day, knowing well that they might not return home in the evening. Many lesser women had married hunters and lost hearts. It was her belief in Khargosh that gave her peace of mind. She let him take her oldest into the woods because she believed he would bring the boy back to her every evening, and she wasn’t going to step in the woods because she believed he would bring him back again.

They were the hunters, the trappers. They knew how to find someone who was lost in the woods. She --she was just a butcher. She cooked them food, sold their hunt, and tied up after them. The men were their own creatures. They were not different from animals in a certain way. The only way to bind them at home was with warm food and a cozy bed. That was what she needed to do -- not blindly follow them into the woods and increase their worries.

She saw the garden, the variety of vegetables growing in them, and her eyes lit up. She wanted to get a pumpkin from the garden to cook a meal for the men, but the Witch stopped her.

“You better not do it.” The witch said.

“I won’t destroy your garden if that’s what you mean.” Gande resisted.

The witch stared at her for a few nervous minutes then let out a snort. “Who knows what you can and could do? There is a crate full of food, rotting in the hut. Feed that to the fool and the others pigs.”

Gande ignored the remark. She wasn’t in the mood to confront the loud-mouthed, old, small-minded, devilish, HAG over something so small.

Humph!

She shook her head and decided to look at the Witch’s hut after some consideration. Everyone was interested in knowing what went inside the small, dilapidated place. She was more interested in seeing what kind of conditions Mannat lived in. She was also interested in finding where the witch was hiding Noor, but Raesh had told her to let it be. If Mannat said his mother was safe, then they would believe him.

As for the hut and its supposed mysteries that had dazzled generations of villages over the years, well, she found them less than impressive. She could say it looked like an abandoned home and there would be nothing wrong with her statement.

The hut was bare bones and it was dark inside. There was a bird stand by the window and Mannat’s bedding lay beside it. There was but a small table and two chairs at the center and that was all the furniture there was. There was a hard brown covered book on the table, along with a slate with unrecognizable words squiggled on it, pieces of used white chalk, a few yellow pages, and a boar skin dossier that she knew Mannat had asked from his father, not to forget the melted candle at the center.

She didn’t see a lantern or scones for hanging one. Either the boy lived in darkness after sunset, or he only used the hut to sleep and spent the night outside. It angered her that the boy’s father hadn’t thought of this problem. Sadly, she knew men were clueless toward such things and couldn’t stay angry for long.

She saw carrots, potatoes, ginger, ale, and onions in the crate. She took a whiff to see if anything was useful and was astonished at their freshness. They smelled great. It would have been perfect if there was meat in the crate.

She brought the crate outside, grabbed a skillet and a knife, and started working by the fire pit.

She peeled and chopped some onions, ginger, tomato, and green chilies into the skillet and stir-fried them. She waited until the onions turned red, then added chopped bell peppers, potatoes, and eggplants into the mix. Five minutes later she added water and covered the top with a lid to let it cook.

Soon there was a great odor of food coming from the skillet, but the clouds painted the sky black and Gande was starting to get anxious. She had almost lost her oldest on a similar day. She kept looking in the direction of the woods until a warm red light filled the clearing. She saw the tree glowing and her heart skipped a beat. She knew it could glow, but seeing it again after such a long time caught her off guard. It aroused her old memories and made her heart grow solemn.

Suddenly, Gande tersely addressed the Witch who was standing by the house. “Did you know this day would come?”

The Witch didn’t entertain her at first but pushed back when Gande called her an old hag who had both her feet were in the grave.

“Everything has cause and effect, foolish girl.” The Witch said. “You can’t ask nature to bend itself and not cause a few ripples in the process.”

Gande didn’t let her drop the conversation. “Are you enjoying our desperation? Is this what you wanted to see when you helped us?” Her voice rose by a few octaves, as did her temper. She wanted the night to end and the day to come and fill her world with light. She was tired of hearing the clouds and lightning.

The Witch cackled and licked her lips. “You were far more desperate then, and pitiful. Perhaps, I’ll get to help you once again.”

Gande’s gasped in horror, as the Witch cackled in pure, unblemished joy.

“YOU BITCH--”

The Witch interrupted her. “Oh look,” She said smiling from ear to ear “Your piglets are back.”

Gande desperately turned in the direction the Witch was looking. She didn’t see anyone but was already on her feet. Slowly her feet drew her toward the dark woods. Her instincts told her something was wrong. It was when she reached the edge of the tree did she see a silhouette in the dark walking toward her. The fire burning on the log fizzled in with the wayward wind, as slow, dragging footsteps approached her from the depth of the woods. She rushed to help the men. They had returned.

Her heart fell when she saw them.

Raesh was shirtless and covered in cloth bandages. His face was pale. Khargosh was supporting him. Behind them, Pandit walked with Mannat, holding a half-broken cleaver that once belonged to his older brother. Gande didn’t see her oldest with them.

“What happened?”She asked Khargosh with a stiff voice that didn’t know whether to cry or accuse. “Who hurt you?” She asked again ignoring the devilish voice that arose in her mind. She hoped Khargosh would tell her something different, but the river was flooded, and closing her eyes to the truth couldn’t save her from being swept by it.

“Our son,” Khargosh said passing her. He didn’t stop for her.

Gande couldn’t believe him. How could a boy so weak and small hurt a man like Raesh? It didn’t make sense. It didn’t. It didn’t!

“BOY!” She yelled into the woods, but the only answer she received was one of silence. She yelled again, but the outcome didn’t change. Her cries went unnoticed. She was going to walk into the thick of the night when someone softly grabbed her hand. A smile curled her lips, but her joy was short-lived. The hand belonged to Mannat, not her son.

“We need you here,” Mannat said and squeezed her hand.

A chill swept Gande’s heart. Mannat led her away from the forest and took her back to the hut. Everyone else had already gathered by the fire. They were battered and bruised. Physically handicapped and mentally tortured. The boy was right. They needed her there. Despite her yearning and urges to find her son, she stayed.