The first thing she sensed was the smell of mint and charred wood. For a long moment, she couldn’t open her eyes. Something heavy pressed on her body, and a strange, dry sweetness clung to her tongue. The air was warm, saturated with herbs and smoke—surprisingly pleasant, though unfamiliar.

  When she finally lifted her lids, daylight danced across a wooden ceiling. In the half-dark, she noticed bundles hanging above her—lavender, mint, and plants she couldn’t name. From one beam dangled a string of dried spiders. Beyond that were shelves crowded with vials and little bottles, some labeled in an alphabet she didn’t recognize. In the corner, leaning against the wall, stood a wooden staff capped with polished bone.

  She tried to sit up, but a small groan escaped her before she even moved a shoulder. Every muscle protested. She lay on something soft, covered by a wool blanket that smelled freshly cleaned. She remembered following an old woman, but not how she’d reached the hut or fallen asleep.

  “Oh, you’re finally awake!” a voice called—warm as honey, carrying a hint of laughter.

  A woman stepped out from behind the hearth—older, round-faced, with silver hair braided into a long, thick plait. She wore a simple linen dress and an apron stained with earth and something dark red. In her hands, she carried a wooden bowl steaming in the dim.

  “I thought I’d have to tickle your feet to drag you back from the other world,” she chuckled, setting the bowl on a small table beside the bed. “Better you came on your own. It’s always best when a soul decides for itself to stay.”

  Dara didn’t answer. She lay still, too dazed to gather her thoughts. Her eyes roamed the walls—a goat skull on a shelf, a beaded pendant with a dried thumb, runes carved into the mantel. Her heart quickened.

  The old woman noticed the look. She sighed and sat, the way someone sighs who has explained a thing many times and never wanted to.

  “Easy, dear. None of this will harm you. They’re only objects—stories folded into things. A few old secrets. Some like to be kept where you can see them.”

  Dara tried to lift a hand, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. The woman brought a spoon to her lips—an infusion the color of dark gold, smelling oddly familiar.

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  “Drink. Leaves of sleep and words nobody speaks anymore. It works, don’t fret. You’ll be on your feet in no time.”

  Dara swallowed and winced slightly. It wasn’t bitter—just warmly strange, a taste like dried apples and… fire? She wasn’t sure, but she liked it.

  “Who are you?” she asked softly.

  “Folks here call me Granny Sulis. Just Granny will do, if you like,” the woman said with a smile, tucking the blanket around Dara’s shoulders.

  “Why did you help me? And how is it I’ve never heard of you? I’ve lived here all my life, and my father is—” her voice snagged, her eyes brightening—“was the reeve.”

  “Young people always have so many questions. Come now, child, no need to shed more tears,” she said, brushing one away with a fingertip. Dara didn’t pull back. “How could I not help someone in need? Especially when someone asked me to. And your ‘whole life’ isn’t so much. I value my peace.”

  Sulis studied her for a moment. The smile remained, but something odd flickered in her eyes.

  “Someone asked you? Who—my father?”

  “Too many questions and too much lying abed, not enough vegetables in the pot. Up, up, or the day will slip away.”

  She sat beside Dara a moment longer, watching her face. Outside, something moved in the forest—a deep, throaty rustle with an ancient sound to it. Granny Sulis didn’t react. She only nodded and stepped away.

  Dara sat at the table. She still wore yesterday’s clothes. It was late morning, judging by the bright light pouring through the open door. From outside came the hush of grasses and the distant scolding of birds. Dill and boiled garlic perfumed the room.

  Sulis fussed at the stove, stirring a big iron pot. Her apron looked like it had seen a thousand soups and not one wash. She didn’t seem to mind. Catching Dara’s glance, she grinned wide and set a bowl in front of her without a word. Vegetables floated in a broth with a greenish cast.

  “Eat before it cools. Soup works better when it still remembers the fire.”

  Dara lifted the spoon, wary. The taste surprised her—intense, lightly spicy, as if someone had wrapped all the flavors of a garden into one bowl.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. “There’s something in it I’ve never had, but it’s good.”

  “Good,” Sulis said, sitting across from her with her own bowl. “People who’ve lost their sense of taste tend to miss what matters.”

  They ate in quiet for a while—the clink of spoons, the pot’s slow burble. Dara’s gaze wandered. In the corner, a cat as black as midnight, with ears too large, slept coiled tight. It cracked one eye open at her. The pupil wasn’t round—it was a vertical slit, like a serpent’s. She blinked. The cat yawned and dozed again, its eyes ordinary. Just her imagination.

  Charms of dried berries and twigs bound with hair hung from the rafters. Beside the door, a symbol was carved—simple, familiar. Dara couldn’t place it. Something about this place suggested it wasn’t only an old woman’s house.

  “All of this… the marks, the jars—aren’t you afraid of it?” she asked at last.

  “Child, does a cat fear the mouse bones it’s just chewed?” Sulis muttered, blowing on her spoon. “What folks don’t understand, they fear. You don’t have to understand everything.”

  Dara frowned. With her stomach soothed, her head felt fuller. There was definitely something off about the old woman.

  “You said ‘Atros’ yesterday. Who is that?”

  “Yesterday? Well, a good man who sometimes walks the roads of dreams.”

  “Atros—that was his name. He told me to live. An old man with a staff.”

  One of Sulis’s brows lifted, but her face didn’t change.

  “Oh. Then he was courteous.”

  Dara drew a breath to ask more.

  “Enough talk, child. There will be time. Wash the bowls, please—we’ll need them tonight. You’ll find water out back.”

  Dara wasn’t sure whether to be afraid or to trust her. Deep down, no dread tugged at her. If anything, this felt like where she was meant to be.