Sally was put back into her bed, but she hadn't been able to sleep. The pounding of the horse's hooves still echoed in her mind. What did the rider want? Was he warning the Mayor of something and if so, why would he have been treated as he had? Belmeade was a widely respected kingdom. Within the walled city there were nobles and magnificent shops, huge stables, knights rumored to be the most highly trained...or so she had heard. She couldn't imagine the rider would have travelled all the way to Lush Acres were it not for some grave matter.

Sitting at the small window to her room, Sally watched the rust-colored sun rise through the trees in the east. She wondered if the rider's presence was somehow associated with the darkness on the western horizon. It had been lingering there for nearly a week. There had been news of a terrible storm in the west. A storm of an unnatural source that made its way eastward. How this news came to the tiny village of Lush Acres was a mystery. Sally had first learned of it from overhearing some of the other children in town.

The village was perched on the hills above the banks of the Northdale River - which ran from the north all the way to the Dale countryside. Beyond the western banks of the river lay swamps and vast plains.

Some said that more of the storm was revealed from the lofty tops of Sandy Dunes, an area of steep sand banks southwest of town. But climbing them was a painstaking trek. Besides, it was highly questionable, a rumor at best and she could easily see the distant black clouds from the bluff in the farmer's yard that overlooked the river.

Sally had heard one man from town mention that squirrels were storing nuts more vigorously than he'd ever seen in preparation of the coming danger. But Sally figured she'd be concerned when and if the storm ever reached Lush Acres. Until then, worrying was useless.

When it was light enough to see, Sally was permitted to go outside. She went downstairs. Sunlight illuminated the open space and she felt reassured by the diurnal version of the fireplace and table and chairs than earlier when it had seen shrouded in shadow.

She stepped outside and the brisk air rushed at her, causing her to wrap her coat tightly around her tiny frame. Hastening down the steps and into the yard, she retrieved three bulky logs from the wood shed then hurried back indoors. After gathering some kindling and tinder, she arranged the items accordingly in the stone fireplace. She then smashed the steel striker against her father's flint and quickly achieved fire.

Sally had certain responsibilities and one of them was to light the morning fire. Although she was just twelve years old, Sally was very independent. There was always work to be done and she took enjoyment in doing her part. Besides, if her parents toiled as they did for the benefit of the family, then she figured it was only fair that she assist by completing her chores. Sally often took on more than was asked of her, but her sister Gracie claimed that she was just trying to get more attention; and that simply wasn't true.

Aside from tending to the garden, sweeping and fire-making, Sally often accompanied her Father into the nearby woods to learn how to track animals and sometimes the prints that people of the village made in the soft ground near sources of water. On firmer ground, it was wise to pay attention to which way the stalks of plants had been bent or broken, which could reveal the direction the pray had been moving.

But when she encountered damaged vegetation, it troubled Sally. She couldn't be sure, but it seemed to her that even plants experienced distress when harmed. The life of a plant should be cherished. They provided food and shade, shelter and beauty. She had learned those things from Farmer James and often sought him out to discuss such matters.

After everyone had awakened, Mrs. Mordigan made breakfast. The family sat at the long table next to the fire. They had wonderful flatcakes with blackberries and smoked sausage. When they had finished, Sally got dressed and went outside to pick more berries. Later she would make jam with her mother and sister to sell at the market in Tinston.

"Don't wander too far, my dear," said her mother.

"I won't mother, I promise." She didn't have to go far; only around the corner and across Second Street to the Farmer's property.

Once she crossed, she entered the farmer's fields through a natural archway of tall rose bushes. Her favorite were the tea roses, which bore yellow petals trimmed with pink. She leaned close and inhaled their lemony fragrance.

Farmer James cared for an immense plot of land that stretched from the road all the way up to his cottage, and twice as wide. All told, it was two acres or more. It was a wondrous place, possessing the best gardens not only in Lush Acres, but also, Sally believed, in any bordering land. Together with his wife, Marion, the farmer provided for not only the town, but for nearby Tinston as well.

Walking along a winding path, Sally turned off at just the right spot and came through some brush into a small clearing surrounded by blackberry bushes. Thorn the wolf was there as usual, basking in the sun. "Good morning, Sally," he said.

"Good morning," she replied.

"What have you brought me to eat?" said the wolf.

"Nothing," she said, concentrating on collecting berries and paying him no attention, which is exactly what he wanted.

"What?" he gruffed. "You come into my garden bearing no gifts? Now that's no way for a guest to behave."

"This isn't your garden. It belongs to Farmer James," said Sally, looking the great wolf in the eyes. He was quite intimidating, nearly as tall as Sally while he was lying down. Once on all fours, he dwarfed her.

"Every garden in the entire land belongs to me, child," said Thorn, his yellow eyes narrowing a bit. He cocked his head. "Do you not fear me?"

"No," she replied, playing her part perfectly. It was the same conversation each time she encountered the wolf. Sally didn't fear that he would harm her even though the townspeople wouldn't dare go near him. In fact, if they ever saw him, the town's guards would be summoned to try to drive him out...or kill him, and she imagined a majority of the inhabitants preferred the latter.

"If Farmer James caught you out here, you'd be in lots of trouble," Sally warned.

The wolf yawned. "I fear no man or creature for that matter," he said, licking his chops.

Overhead a large flock of geese flew from the direction of the Northdale River toward the northeast. "That's strange," noted Sally, watching the birds. "I thought geese are supposed to fly south in autumn and winter."

"They are," replied Thorn. He raised his snout and sniffed the air.

"Some say there is trouble coming this way," said the girl, wondering if the wolf could sense anything. He stared at her. Studied her.

"And what do you say?"

Sally shrugged.

A rustling sound broke the momentary silence and Sally could hear the familiar singing of the old farmer as he approached. Somehow, he always knew when she visited.

Thorn rose from his rest and shook his massive frame, discarding loose bits of grass and wood chips from his fur. "I shall leave you now. But I will see you again, Sally Mordigan."

"I thought you feared no man," teased the girl.

"I do not," said the wolf. "But I smell a meal on the air. Probably a nice, sweet, soft rabbit. Good day." And with that the wolf disappeared into the thick forest beyond.

Sally wasn't aware of any other animals in the land that could speak. But it was said that enchanted creatures did exist, though they were thought to be from the vast plains across the river. Some of the beasts, it was believed, were actually people that had been placed under a spell from witches. Witches supposedly inhabited the lands well east of the town, toward the sea. Sally had never seen a witch and didn't wish to.

"Ho-do-dee, dee-dee do-do," sang the old farmer as he drew closer. He would create his own wordless songs while he worked. Or at services in the Great Cathedral he would often sing one or two words ahead of everyone else so that his voice might be singled out. Also, if he didn't know the correct words to a song, he would make them up. Sally saw the brim of his straw hat as he emerged from amongst some corn stalks. "Hello there, Sally!" he bellowed with a loud, crisp voice. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Farmer James. Might I take some berries home to my mother?" she asked, squinting as she looked up toward the old farmer. He stood with one hand on his hip, his other arm slung over the handle of a knotted rake as it lay across his shoulder. Under his straw hat, his narrow eyes searched from behind spectacles. His close-cropped beard was thin and mostly gray, with traces of red. Baked by the summer sun after a hard-worked season, his leathery skin was golden-brown. Despite his age, he was still a burly man with thick forearms and what Sally had heard described as a barreled chest. He was softly humming his own tune as he gazed out over his fields but then returned his attention to the girl. He bent down so he was almost at eye level with her.

"Thank you for being so polite, my dear. But you needn't ask me for those berries. They're yours as well as mine." He stood back up placing his hand on his hip once more. "Would you like to take a walk?"

Sally smiled. "I would."

She picked up her basket and went with the farmer and they walked side by side toward his cottage. Overhead Sally saw a large bird circling. She recognized it as the peregrine falcon that always seemed to stay near the farmer. Farmer James had named the bird Haste because he was so swift.

As it passed between the leaves of corn stalks, the morning sun speckled the ground with its warm golden light. Leaving the last of the stalks, they entered a great, plentiful pumpkin patch which would be made to good use when the holiday season commenced with the autumn festival. From there, they took one of many trails that wound through the sprawling gardens. Here and there bright green vines extended out over their borders, seemingly reaching out toward Sally and Farmer James. To the left Sally saw the last of the summer yield clinging to their vines: tomatoes, peppers, green beans, eggplant and asparagus. Some, off to the right, like onions, potatoes, lettuce, cabbage and broccoli, would last until the first frost. When they had left those behind, they came across various herb gardens containing rosemary, marjoram, parsley, thyme, oregano and mint. Out even farther lay the orchards; rows and rows of trees bearing apples, peaches, cherries and pears. Sally breathed deeply, enjoying the wonderful fragrances. This was her favorite place of all.

They left the gardens and finally reached the cottage; a tiny, two-story house that had been built from the gray trunks of ash trees. It had white trim and stood in the shade of tall maple and poplar trees. Sally smelled a wood fire and then noticed plumes of fragrant smoke billowing from the chimney. The farmer's wife must've been baking, as the scent of fresh pies and bread filled the air. Sally's mouth watered.

Climbing the stairs, they stepped onto a wide-planked porch on the side of the cottage and entered the home. The door opened into the kitchen and Sally's eyes centered on the large stone oven. Inside, opposite the red embers were four pie tins.

A counter on the left was cluttered with containers of flour, sugar and spices and a large bowl of eggs. On the table, pie crusts were placed, waiting to be prepared with delicious fruit filling. A beautiful bouquet of fresh-picked flowers stood in a handmade jar.

"Good morning Sally!"

The Farmer's wife entered the kitchen from the pantry. She was a tiny woman with snow-white hair. Through spectacles, her gentle eyes looked on Sally with genuine kindness. Miss Marion was very welcoming and always made Sally feel very comfortable.

"Good morning, Miss Marion," said Sally. "Are you baking pies?"

"Yes, dear. I am."

"And the ones on the table still have to be baked?" Sally asked as she glanced around the room, filled with wonder at all the tasty goods.

"Yes. In the oven are four apple pies. On the table are two peach, two cherry, and two blueberries. And of course, my special strawberry-pear pie." Would you like a little taste of the filling?"

The girl's eyes widened with delight. "Oh yes, I would. Thank you."

Miss Marion scooped a spoonful of the filling and gave it to Sally who eagerly accepted. "Mmmm," she mumbled. It was truly one of the best things she had ever tasted. "Why are you baking so many?"

"They're for the town meeting this evening. There will be a lot of people attending."

"Oh yes, of course," said Sally. "What's the meeting about?"

Miss Marion hesitated. "Oh, well...all sorts of things, dear."

"Like what?" Sally pressed. Looking around, she noticed that Farmer James had remained outside. She went into the adjoining front room of the house where she knelt on a chair by the window and scanned the yard for him.

"Well, for one thing, winter will be here in a few months and preparations must be made to preserve the town's food supply. Then there's that pesky fox that has been meddling around the chicken pens on Mr. Greendiddle's farm, and..."

As Sally searched the grounds for the old farmer, Miss Marion's words became muted as she rambled on about what would be discussed at the town meeting. Sally didn't mean to disregard what the old woman had to say, but her thoughts drifted to another place as she spotted Farmer James up on the old bluff that overlooked the Northdayle River.

The bluff was a ridge at the top of a hill just a short walk from the front of the cottage. It provided an unobstructed view of the river.

"It's about the dark horizon, isn't it?" Sally interrupted.

"Oh? What's that dear?" fumbled Miss Marion, flustered by the suggestion.

"The town meeting tonight - I bet it's about the dark coming this way. In the sky," she said, pointing toward the west. "And about the rider on the road."

"Well...I'm sure they're just a couple of the many things that will be discussed, honey." Sally understood that Miss Marion knew the true purpose of the meeting and that she was only trying to protect her from the frightening truth. The entire town was uneasy. Something had to be done, even broaching the subject of the darkness might be enough to ease tensions.

The farmer's wife left what she was doing and made her way to the window next to Sally. Placing one hand under the girl's chin, Miss Marion said "Now you'd better run along sweetie, before your mother begins to worry."

"Okay," said Sally, reluctantly.

"Alright, then." The old woman, who was like a grandmother to Sally, brushed a strand of dark, fine hair from the little girl's face and kissed her on the forehead.

"See ya tomorrow!" Sally called.

"You mean tonight," said Miss Marion.

"Oh yes!" Sally chuckled. "I forgot already."

She rushed through the door and stepped outside. Once down the stairs she ran through the backyard, toward home. At the entrance to the gardens she looked back and waved to Miss Marion who returned the gesture from the window.

Sally turned to leave, but instead ducked behind the chicken coup. She watched until Miss Marion had left the window frame and gone back to her baking, then dashed toward the far end of the cottage, to the side opposite of where the kitchen door was, and then snuck around to the front, pausing to check each of the windows above her. Certain that she had not been spotted, she then ran up a small hill to the bluff.