The woods of Sior were quiet at night, aside from the wildlife. Perhaps that quiet is what Zaer enjoyed about them the most. He stepped through the tall grass, his broadsword held in its sheath at his side. His pack bounced on his back as he walked, the lantern hanging off the side causing shadows to jump around the surrounding trees. The only other light guiding his path was the moonlight that beamed through the leaves above him. He continued to tread through the wild, overgrown ground. It had been long since he had seen a road and it had become very difficult to determine his heading, but anywhere was better than where he had come from. As he continued to walk, Zaer noticed a light in the distance. This light was unlike the cool blue of the moonlight, and seemed to shine a brilliant yellow. Civilization. This was a sight Zaer had not seen for days now, since he left the town of Sior. Memories rushed to him of fresh, warm bread and the comfort of a bed. Those days were gone now, after what he had done. He had no choice but to continue and find a new home. He had spent the last several days eating small wild game and sleeping on a lumpy bedroll. This had better be worth it.

Picking up his pace, Zaer wandered towards the light. He passed through thickets and brush until he found himself just on the edge of a small clearing, circled with thick, thorned bushes. Fireflies floated aloft in jumbled clumps throughout the glade. In the center of the clearing: a thatch house. Small fences ringed a patch of mushrooms that were growing, apparently farmed by the owner of the hut. Next to the mushroom farm was a large willow tree, its branches drooping over the house like a rain of leaves. A water well stood between Zaer and the house. He approached cautiously, unhooking his waterskin from his pack. Reaching the well, Zaer leaned his sword against its side. He trained his eyes on the house and slowly pulled on the well’s rope. The sound of chimes filled the air as the wind picked up, mixing with the sound of the windblown leaves. He pulled the bucket from the well and slowly began to fill his waterskin. Suddenly, a woman’s voice rang out across the clearing.

“That’s not yours, you know.”

Zaer leapt back, the well’s bucket clanging against the inner walls and splashing into the water below. Zaer looked around for the source of the voice, quickly scrambling for his sword. He picked it up, raising its point towards the house. The voice sounded ever present and called from every direction. In the distance, a raven cawed.

“I mean no harm,” Zaer said. “I am just a traveler, and a thirsty one at that.” He looked down, realizing that his raised sword was still in its sheath. He quickly fumbled to remove it, drawing his father’s old, well-worn broadsword.

“Even a traveler ought to have manners.”

He looked frantically from side to side, with no sight of the source of the voice. Then, he turned around. The woman was standing no more than ten feet from him. Her dark clothes and hair faded into the surrounding darkness. She was beautiful, with pale skin and bright purple eyes reflecting lantern light from them. She couldn’t have been more than ten years older than him from what he saw, but her words held an impression of experience. She was mature and beautiful, two traits that combined into one for Zaer: dangerous.

Wait, Zaer thought. Purple eyes? He raised his sword once again. “You’re a witch.” Her eyes narrowed slightly.

“So I am.”

“And you intend to eat me?” A slight tremble skid across his voice.

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“No. Why, do you taste particularly flavorful?” Zaer could swear he saw a slight smile. He gulped.

“Witches eat those who wander the woods,” Zaer said. “Everyone knows that. It’s where you get your power from.”

“Is that so? You seem to know a lot about witches,” the Witch said. She began to walk towards Zaer, who straightened his sword further. The moonlight reflected from it, casting a pale glow into the treeline. He was afraid; he didn’t know if he could even swing it if he had to. She reached out and touched the tip of the blade, causing a shiver through his body. “And is this where you get your power from?” Zaer had never been good with a sword. Perhaps she somehow knew that.

“Yes it is,” he lied. “And I would warn you to stay back if you know what is good for you.” The witch tilted her head, a faint smirk across her dark lips.

“You must be a long way from home.” She lowered her hand.

“I have no home.”

“Now that is something we have in common.” Zaer thought about the dwelling behind him. What did she mean? The witch casually moved her hair from her face, apparently unnerved by the situation. Zaer stepped closer, his sword now an inch from the Witch’s throat.

“You will not kill me today,” he said. “I will sooner destroy you.” Zaer didn’t know what he was saying at this point. Destroy her? He could hardly raise his sword. He wondered if this unearned confidence had any effect on the Witch. He felt a familiar tug at his core, a dark feeling that beckoned him to lose control, to give in to his inner fear and turn it into something more destructive. He took a deep, shaky breath.

“Fancy yourself a witch hunter, do you?” She continued walking, encircling him with her steps. She was completely and totally unfazed, and Zaer could now notice more about her as she approached. Her expression was calm, but her purple eyes were filled with anger. She was not the emotional wall that Zaer had assumed her to be. He also noticed her clothing: dark pants beneath a long black coat. The coat had a peculiar sheen to it, and appeared to be covered in large black feathers. As she walked, Zaer could feel a weight descend upon him. It was like the feeling of being watched, magnified and heavy. They were alone in the woods, and Zaer had never felt so observed. “You know, the reason I live in the woods in the first place is because of witch hunters. Dreadful people.” She stepped back to where Zaer had first seen her. “So,” her eyes pierced through him. “Is that what you’re here for? The hunt? Did some passerby in your little village tell you about the evil witch in the woods?” There was venom in her voice.

Zaer swallowed and weighed his options. If he swung at her, he could easily miss. He had always heard terrifying things about witches. If the stories were true, he’d be dead in seconds. If he ran, the outcome could occur. She could summon hundreds of rats to chase him down, call lightning from the sky to strike him, or simply melt his bones with the right incantations. That’s what the stories say, anyway. He had no idea what she was capable of. He knew only what he was capable of, and that was not much. Shakily, Zaer dropped his weapon. It fell almost soundlessly into the short grass around the well. His father was right; he was not suited to a life of adventure. There was nothing to do now but give up. The Witch raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

Zaers words came out in a shiver. “I am not a witch hunter,” Zaer said. “I’m just… lost.” He fought hard, but a tear left his eye and glided down his face. All of his hope was gone. He had left his home behind only to be killed by a witch in days. Pathetic. All of the pain that Zaer had endured in Sior began to flood back to him. Perhaps they were right about him; he was destined to fail. “I am here not to fight, but to live.” The Witch looked at him with some curiosity- like a cat examining a bird through a window. She sighed, an action that surprised Zaer, and began walking past him with great purpose. As she passed, Zaer could feel the presence which he so closely avoided: the presence of Death. He also felt as though this would not be the last time Death would pass him by.

“In that case, you should come inside.”