Margret sat back with a sigh. Next to her counter stood a clay pot just a few liters short of being called a barrel. It reached he knees in height, and was wide enough to fit a small child inside. The creature she had stowed inside it fit that description, if only just. The mandragora was large, no doubt having gorged itself on critters and generous surroundings. She’d been lucky to spot it before it spotted her, for the creature’s first reaction to, well, anything, was usually to wail. It was a lot like a child in that way. Easily upset and prone to screaming. Unlike a child though, the mandragora’s scream could kill.

It seemed peaceful enough for now. The dead hare had calmed. Now it’s flower had opened up to share it’s warm pink glow with its surroundings. Margret’s small home invited shadows to dance in the corners of this gentle light. It was a novelty in here. One of her more daring experiments. A wise woman would have chopped it up as soon as it was out of the sack, to avoid a swift and unfair death. It would have been wise, but what would Margret use a mandragora’s root for? They didn’t last long, and rare as they were it would have been a terrible waste to not make full use of it.

A wise woman would have acted differently, but this was a world for the bold and daring wasn’t it? Her experience told her so at least. So she had potted the thing, stupid as that had seemed in hindsight.

The mandragora wasn’t just a deadly and rare creature too. It was a exceptionally rare thing, a lost lantern variant. Usually mandragora would be of more common plants. Thistle, poison ivy, and other such nasty plants were a favorite for the mandragora, and a feared danger for anyone stumbling upon them. Deadly screams and thorns could ruin anyone’s day for good. Roses also had a tendency to mutate into mandragora. Snobby little things they were, in Margret’s opinion. Too good to stay in one place and live out their lives there. Roses loved to wander.

“But a lost lantern.”

It was rare, unusual, ironic, and all the other words you could use to describe this twist of fate. Nature truly liked to reinvent itself. Margret sighed and rose to her feet, back aching slightly at the movement.

“I’m getting old, Herman.”

The rooster squinted one yellow eye open from his perch on her sofa.

“Old and silly. Isn’t that how it goes? Old and silly then deadly. For what lives that long without learning a nasty trick or two hm?”

Herman adjusted his wings and settled down more comfortably, eye sliding shut again at the old woman’s musings. She didn’t care to listen to that reply. He would listen anyway, no matter what he liked her to believe from sight alone. She knew. Margret knew many things.

A knock at her door scared the dancing shadows back into their corners. The old woman smiled and turned to face the door.

“As I knew that.”

Herman snorted. Margret paid him no mind as she strode over to open the door. Rowan was wheezing outside, still covered in paint stains like he had been earlier that morning. A few stains of mud had joined the colorful splashes, and a layer of sweat smudged the corners of the older stains. The man had that wild look in his eyes again, the glow Margret had yet to place. She had her theories of course, but Rowan struck her as someone paranoid enough to go to great lengths to keep his secret. A complimenting trait to his otherwise lacking ability to keep said secret.

“My, did you run here, Rowan? What’s the matter?”

“The lake man- he-”

Rowan was trying to speak and breath at the same time, a effort that backfired on both ends. Margret started herding him inside before he could choke on his tongue.

“Easy dear, sit down, breath in breath out. What’s the lake man done? You went through the Maples?”

She eyed him as he sunk down in her sofa, not even noticing the rooster fleeing from it’s back as he did. Herman let out a indignant hiss and retreated into some dark corner of the room. Margret clicked her tongue at him, then turned her attention back to Rowan.

No visible wounds, despite the marks left by mud and plant. Did he run through the forest? Off the path too judging by the few tears in his pants. The Maples were rarely kind to those veering off the path. Lots of reaching twigs and thorned branches to dodge.

“Didn’t you have a cart this morning?”

She interrupted his stuttering explanation. It hadn’t reached a state where it made sense yet anyway. Better to let him catch his breath over a few less important questions first. The question threw him, and for a moment he simply stared at her. He caught himself soon enough.

“I… I did. It got caught on my way back so I-... I had to leave it behind. But the lake-”

“Nasty woman, that maple rå. She’s had it out for us from day one you know? If it weren’t for Esbi hounding her over it we would be dust and rubble by now.”

Rowan gave her a startled glare. He hadn’t expected the interruption.

“The lake-”

“But I guess it’s to be expected. Younger guardians tend to be much more active as you know. Always looking to get involved somehow.” This time Rowan just glared. She could feel his impatience building. Good, it would replace that confused meekness he always tripped himself up with whenever something serious was at stake.

“This isn’t about the guardian, Margret. The lake man-”

“Is a guardian too, Rowan. Don’t let him hear you forgetting that.”

The Artist’s mouth drew a irritated line as he decided to simply stare at Margret. A unsaid ‘are you done?’ hung in the air. Margret felt a temptation to continue her lecture, but Rowan didn’t seem game, so she met the glare evenly, then sighed in mock-defeat and sat down in the couch next to the sofa. She placed a wrinkled old hand on Rowan’s, and for a moment she envied the strength and dexterity in them.

When she looked at Rowan again, it was with affection and understanding.

“What did he do?” she asked him.

Rowan hesitated, and she felt the smallest of nervous twitches go through his hand.

“He took my friend. Said he’ll keep him until I get him a boat.”

The corners of Margret’s mouth drew up into a sad smile, more out of reflex. Then the boy was lost, surely. But she wouldn’t be that blunt with Rowan. At least not intentionally. She hated this part.

“Have you ever lost someone to the Others, Rowan?”

Another twitch. He stared at her blankly at first, then that spark of defiance she’d seen so many times before in people too young to understand appeared in his eyes.

“I have. A dwarf gutted my older sister when I was little. But Cain won’t die. The Lake man said he wouldn’t hurt him.”

He wanted to believe. She could see it so clearly. How she hated this. She gave his hand a light squeeze and straightened up in her seat. Gotta stay composed. Wise. Lest he do something he shouldn’t. She’d seen it so many times before.

“Even if he doesn’t lay a finger on the man… He will not come back the same. If he comes back at all that is. Rowan, you have to understand, being taken by the Others does things to a person.”

She trailed off when she saw anger seep into Rowan’s eyes. Too far. Damn it Margret.

“But, of course we’ll do what we can to get him back. But remember to be prepared for the worst. Now, what kind of boat did he want?”

Rowan hesitated, eyes still angry and yellow, far too bright for her gloomy little room. A shiver ran down Margret’s spine, unbidden. There was something different with this man, and she both yearned to know and dreaded the truth. Such a fine line to balance on wasn’t it?

“He uh… He wanted something large and grand. To sink it.”

Margret blinked. The bright glow was gone, leaving his eyes calm and golden again. She couldn’t help but shudder again. Rowan noticed this time, but Margret started talking before he could make a comment.

“Nothing else? You’re sure?”

A nod. Margret let out a relieved sigh.

“That’s good in that case. We have a loophole to use. How fast can you make a toy boat? Say… the size of a dog? No, a cat. It must be pretty and extravagant.”

Rowan blinked.

“A toy boat? But that’s not…”

“I’ll come with you, so leave the talking and explaining to me.”

Rowan looked like he’d very much like a explanation himself, but Margret started herding him out without giving him one. Time was of the essence if they were to save his friend before the lake man turned his brain to muck, she told him. That got him walking faster.

Waiting outside her door when she opened it to shoo out the artist stood something worse smiling.

Josey Johnsson, kind old lady from near the plaza, skilled tea maker, devot of Katrina, the Guide, and all her other splits.

And lifetime rival of Margret Rotwall.

The two caught each others eye the instant the door fell open, both smiling sweetly like only women their age could. Rowan stumbled past the brunette with a hurried apology, seeing how he nearly ran right over her in his hurry. Josey replied patiently and told him to watch his step, using that mysterious voice of scammers and loons, as if her advice was some kind of prophecy. Rowan’s eyes widened slightly, and the gullible young man nodded and thanked her before running off down the street.

That left the two old women alone to each others whims.

“Margret, just the person I wished to spent my morning with this fine day. Mind if I come in?” Josey’s voice held just the tiniest bit of an edge, which was enough to make the entire sentence drip with sarcasm. She made to take a step closer, intending to let herself inside.

“Morning? My, starting the day late as usual I see. And what brings me the honor?”

Margret smiled back, and took a firm step right into her path, stopping the prim old lady from waltzing right into her home. Josey blinked and nearly failed to catch herself before she collided with Margret, a event that would have greatly wounded her dignity. Avoiding such a disaster, Josey took a step back and cleared her throat. Margret watched the whole ordeal with a sneer.

“Nothing special really. I just felt like giving you a visit. There’s news I hear.”

This caught Margret’s attention.

“And what kind of news would that be? Or were you hoping that I would provide them?”

Josey scoffed. “Nothing of the sort my friend. I’ve heard some interesting things lately. I’d share them with you, if you don’t keep me hanging outside your door that is.” Josey tilted her head and raised a brow at the door Margret was not so subtly blocking with her body. The two stared each other down for a moment, both smiling politely like old friends. And perhaps they were, in some strange and convoluted sense, friends. They certainly knew how to play that game.

“Why of course, come in come in. I would offer you tea, but I’m afraid I’m all out of milk and I know how particular you are about sprinkling those little symbolic things into your daily rituals.”

Margret was the one to give. After all, as much as she hated the idea of inviting Josey into her home, news in a secluded place like the north were far too valuable to pass up on spite. Sadly, Josey had every intention to rub it in that she’d won this first bout.

“Margret dear, I know how obsessed you are with trying to prove that I dabble in white magic but please, let’s keep it civil shall we? I would hate for you to slip up on your heresy. Wasn’t it taboo to insult a guest?”

Josey’s smile took on toxic levels of sweet as she strode past Margret and into the gloomy little home, leaving the alchemist no chance to answer.

Herman had reclaimed the sofa in the time it had taken for Josey to weasle her way past the doorstep. The two gave each other a chilly glare before coming to the mutual agreement to ignore the other’s presence.

“You’re still keeping that old thing,” Josey said, with far less cheer this time.

“He’s family. Now have a seat before I change my mind,” Margret shot back.

Josey huffed and sat down in the couch. The light of the fireplace played on her golden hair, tricking the eye to ignore the many streaks of grey running through it. She had her hair let loose, curly yet collected in a neat manner. Margret always suspected something less natural was involved to achieve that look. Magic for vanity, the arrogance.

Josey noticed her grimace and shot her a smug grin in return, green eyes twinkling knowingly. She knew her rival couldn’t stand it.

“So, no tea. Very well. I bring news of the elves.” Josey’s smug grin faded into something more serious as she spoke. The words chilled the air for a moment, leaving them both in silence as Margret processed this. The elves? Nothing good came out of the elves. Concerned now, Margret sunk down in her couch, earning herself a unreadable glance from the rooster.

“What have they done now? I thought they were staying quiet.”

Josey shook her head.

“I’m afraid they’ve grown restless again. Rider’s rest lost their children.”

A shudder ran through Margret.

“All of them?”

Josey nodded. “All. Not a single body yet, but this large a raid doesn’t bode well. They wouldn’t be this obvious if they just wanted more surface dwellers.”

Margret nodded absently. She folded her hands in her lap to keep the trembling in control. Rider’s rest wasn’t far away from Harwall. This big a tragedy would affect them too. Josey straightened her back and folded her hands in her lap while Margret stared into the fire. Both women kept a grim silence. Respectful in a way.

Josey was the first to speak again. “Then there’s the werewolf.”

Margret’s head snapped up again. “Didn’t we agree not to talk about the changelings?”

“We did, but now’s different. If the elves draw near Harwall- and there’s talk of a dwarf tunnel opening up near the Spine.”

The alchemist scoffed, cutting Josey off before she could continue.

“The mountains are far away. I wouldn’t worry about things found by the Spine just yet. As for the werewolf, we’re not even sure that’s what it is yet.”

This time Josey scoffed.

“What else could it be? It strikes in a pattern. Never more than twice a month. The bodies are eaten from and torn apart. It mimics.”

“Mimickry is a common trait among the human changelings. It doesn’t point at it being a werewolf.”

“But it does. I might not be as well versed in their kind as you are, Margret, but I’m not blind. We should start spreading-”

“No.”

Josey gave her a affronted look.

“You can’t mean to- If we don’t act who will? Spreading it through food and drink is the fastest way to deal with it. We could be rid of one killer in just a few days if you agreed to it.”

Margret narrowed her eyes at the tea maker. Josey faltered, but only slightly. She met the stare stubbornly.

“We are not contaminating the food supply of the settlement. It’s far too risky. And what with Rider’s Rest losing an entire generation like that… We couldn’t risk it. We need this place to birth a healthy generation, and feeding mothers wolfsbane could prevent that. Don’t be foolish, Josey.”

The tea maker didn’t like that.

“What are a few infertile women when it could end a threat that would eat half the settlement if left on its own. Not to speak of if it started targeting said women. Infertile women can adopt or join the Sisterhood. Dead ones will only feed the rats,” she argued.

“Better give them a fighting chance than doom them in secrecy. What if the Sisterhood targeted us for poisoning those women? Did you think of that, Josey? Better to bide our time and find who the werewolf is rather than risk a massacre.”

“It wouldn’t be a massacre if-”

“If we killed unborn children and got assassinated for it in turn? No, Josey. We won’t resort to that.”

Yet. The word hung unspoken in the air. Hasty as she was, Josey had a point. A man eater whittling down Harwall’s population would cost them in the future, but they weren’t at the point where they should risk crippling their people just to weed out one killer.

Josey stared hard enough that her nose wrinkled. Then she gave up and sagged back into the couch.

“Please tell me you have a better plan then. Waiting it out costs us lives, Margret. We shouldn’t sit idle like this.”

Margret agreed, but she’d be damned if she let Josey know that. She decided to throw her a distraction instead.

“Death and wolves aside… The caravan will arrive any day now, and with it, some much needed supplies.”

Josey perked up at this.

“Took them long enough. Why the delay?”

Margret shrugged.

“I heard a troll hill got in their way. A young one, but still enough to get their guides all turned around.”

“That or a flock of unicorns,” Josey shot back, voice dripping with half-amused sarcasm. “The tales they make up when they’re behind schedule,” she added. Margret snorted.

“Who knows. Maybe it promised them great treasures and fame if they followed it around. Could have been in cohorts with the troll hill. The vile machinations of Ilo’s ilk huh?”

This time it was Josey’s time to snort. The old blond covered her mouth and chuckled.

“This is the problem with Ilo followers. I can never tell if you’re serious or not.”

“Such is the struggle of you prim and proper folks. Lady Lantern keeps you in the dark eh? The irony.”

Josey shot her a glare at the use of Katrina’s less liked nickname, but the anger wasn’t really in it anymore, so she changed the subject before it could turn into another fight over the proper way to address each other’s deity.

“You went out again? Still trusting in that moon goddess of yours to keep you safe at night? We’re old now, Margret. The woods is no place for us anymore.”

Margret scoffed. “It was, and will remain our place. It all starts in the woods after all. You don’t outgrow it.”

Josey waved dismissively. “Maybe so, but thinking faith alone will keep you safe is arrogance. Don’t tempt the wild.”

Margret scoffed, but didn’t argue her claim more than that. Doing so would have seemed arrogant after all.

Another moment of silence followed after that, until Josey felt it necessary to complain about the barn scent Herman gave to the sofa. Margret countered that she should enjoy that scent, since it was so similar to the taste of the teas she so prided herself in. The tea maker scoffed at this, and when Margret remained smugly chuckling over her own insult, Josey decided that her presence was needed elsewhere.

“Do take care dear Josey. It would be such a shame if something were to happen because of your sloppiness,” Margret cooed in the door.

“Oh I will, don’t you worry Margret mine. I’ll be o so careful finding that werewolf, and Margret help you if you’re the one hiding it. I wouldn’t be shocked as much as disappointed really if you were,” she replied.

“KRAAAAAAAAAAA!!” Herman shrieked and Margret smiled and pushed Josey the rest of the way out the door before she could continue any kind of self-righteous farwell speech. The door clicked shut with a click. Margret sighed.

Gods, being polite to rude people was such a shore.