The hut was clean. The floors hummed with glee at a life free from dust.

Branches pushed through the walls forming shelves upon which vials and jars of powders, roots, flowers, and what looked like the organs of tiny animals gleamed.

Methuzalan gestured to a couch in the center of the room. It was only upon sitting that I realized the couch and table before it were actually roots that emerged from between floorboards and twined together into a lattice that was springy and stable at the same time. A fluffy animal pelt of white, grey, brown, and black draped over the "couch" roots. The "table" roots before me supported a steaming teapot and set of cups, carved from some white material. I would have guessed bone, but that was absurd.

The ageless healer danced around the desk, seemingly the only piece of independent furniture, which rested near the wall opposite the door.

I could have sworn the hut was smaller from the outside.

But once I entered, it was an airy study fit for the finest scholar. The room was a perfect circle, which was strange, given that the building was a rectangle when viewed from without. What had appeared to be small holes in the walls, were actually glorious windows that allowed the golden light of sun and sea to bathe the room.

Methuzalan picked up a quill, made some quick notes on a parchment that lay on her desk, then came to pour the tea. She offered me a cup, which I took–suddenly parched–and seated herself on the floor facing the window which looked out to the water.

I took a sip of the tea. It was bitter and I sputtered and blinked. When I got a hold of myself the room looked smaller, more cramped. More like what I would have expected from the outside.

The witch turned to me, her dark eyes meeting mine, and the room faded.

I was four years old, my stubby legs swinging back and forth as I ran after Falmar, my older brother, my world. I couldn't catch him.

Then he stopped, turned to me, and kicked me in the chest. He laughed, then kept running.

I would never be strong enough to catch him.

Tears welled in my eyes.

I was seven, My arms were shaking, holding back the tiny bow my father had commissioned for me to practice with.

My dad was watching expectantly. His eyes glowing. His pride radiated off of him, warming my chest.

When my father nodded and turned to look at the target, a rock and a squawk of laughter escaped from behind a barrel. The rock hit my elbow, turning the bow and causing me to loose the arrow right at my dad.

He screamed when it sank into his thigh.

He broke my bow, and I never tried archery again.

Tears were hot on my cheeks.

I was thirteen and Celestine Longhammer was walking around the back of the smithy, carrying a freshly finished hatchet blade to the Longhammer warehouse.

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My heart thundered. I'd spent months thinking up what to say.

I stepped out into the alley.

"Hi Celestine!" I said, my voice cracking at the end.

As she turned toward me, a pair of shutters opened above me. She opened her mouth, but I never heard what she said. A shower of yellow liquid crashed onto my head and shoulders.

That was when my innovative brother coined the nickname 'piss-face'.

Burning shame plumed across my cheeks.

I was fourteen. It was raining. I was running.

Under my cloak I sheltered a piece of parchment, afraid the rain would get it and make the ink run. The first deal I'd made all on my own. I'd learned about the drought in the east just before a farmer had wandered in. He'd overharvested and was desperate to unload his produce.

I figured out pricing, logistics, security, and the profit margin was great!

I burst into the house.

"Father! Father!" I yelled, waving my contract in the air.

He was crumpled up on the floor, rocking back and forth, cradling my mom.

She was grey and stiff.

Iyena was in the corner, sobbing, stroking Hanmar's little head.

I never got to say goodbye.

Something cold and hard clogged my chest. My breathing grew labored.

I was seventeen. I'd decided to leave. My wagon was packed.

My dad's face was a war of emotions.

Hanmar stood by his side. Hand resting on the pommel of his sword. Face stoic as ever. When had my baby brother grown taller than me?

Iyena's eyes were puffy. An older man stood by her side, bejeweled hand around her waist. For some reason, after years of resisting, she had finally agreed to get married to help the Golden Fox Spice Company grow. She wouldn't meet my gaze.

Falmar hadn't shown up.

Mom…

All was darkness.

I came to with a jerk, back in my seat in the witch's cabin. I was so dizzy all I could do not to vomit was grab the fur on my seat and squeeze.

"I'm tired, boy," said Methuzalan. The lines on her face were deeper, more far reaching. Some of the luster had left her shining moonlight hair.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" I replied. I had learned over the years that it is best to lean on manners when you are off balance. Had the old woman somehow induced those visions? Had she seen them too?

"I don't know why I bother," she said, looking back out the window. "You aren't going to listen anyway. They never do."

"Try me," I said. The spinning in my head was slowing.

She sighed.

"Fine," she looked back into my eyes, but this time I didn't fall into the void that hid behind her gaze. "Tragedy awaits you. Don't go with the caravan. This village may not seem like much, but it would welcome you. You could even be happy here."

"All do respect, ma'am," My temper was starting to wear thin and I was feeling anything but respect. "What I do with my life is none of your business. Besides, since I arrived here, I've been in the throws of your magic. What reason do I have to trust you?"

"To your peril then." She looked away. "The boy named Kelmar Fox shall die, and once again, the witch Methuzalan can do nothing to save anyone."

She stood and shambled over to the window, seeming suddenly very old.

The wind tossed her hair as she whispered, "Why grant me foresight, but no way to change anything?" The words seemed to be directed at someone or something, but it was just the two of us in the room. She continued mumbling out the window.

I didn't know what to make of the magics I'd experienced while her guest, but I had no interest in entertaining the madwoman anymore.

I put down the teacup and backed up to the door. Once my foot crossed the threshold, I ran. The shelf I'd shimmied along was wider now. The passage through the rock was easier to pass through. And soon I was back in the ravine.

The sun grew high. I would miss the caravan's departure if I didn't hurry.