It was a moonless night for obvious reasons. Drama first of all, but also because the moon rarely shone on nights as stormy as this one, where the wind howled and the trees shook in fright. It was the long kind of storm, the kind that lingers for days. Grasp on the world so tight and desperate that even the Maple Woods had to let it stay for a while. Not to say that the Maple Woods were a kind sort, oh not so. They were as wild as any, both cruel and kind. All sorts of beings lived there, beasts with ragged fur, gleaming teeth and eyes that knew a great many secrets. And also things of old.

But also newer things, like the city up on that lone mountain to the north. The Maple Woods surrounded it from every direction, with just a few daring roads breaking up the sea of rustling leaves. Through the forest they crawled, then up the mountain foot, creatively dubbed The Foot by anyone who asked. Along its ridges and hills, further and further they went, until trodden dirt turned to gravel, then cobblestone roads.

One might assume that the houses that huddled around this web of roads came first, that someone thought to pave the paths only after the first tents had turned to huts, then buildings of wood. One would be mistaken if so, because this mountain used to have a curiosity that drew travelers like flies.

An old hag used to live on this mountain. Right at the very top. She would go down the old paths during the morning rays, then pluck herbs of all sorts on her way to the Foot. Down there she would tend to her gardens, what few she kept, and maybe she had a goat or two to tend to as well. Not that the goats couldn’t live up on the mountain with her- in fact, many goats actually did, but these were the wild sorts that spat at fences and anyone trying to set them up.

No, the hag’s goats were a tame sort, at least as tame as you could get a goat. They tolerated her care, the food she brought them and the roof she put over their heads during winter. They offered her milk and meat in return, knowing that all things went as they should, even themselves when it was time.

Some refused the end of the axe or knife, taking to the woods instead when their last hour grew near. Only the wisest ones of course, or the foolishly brave.

On the other hand, the hag’s chickens couldn’t rightly be called wise or foolish. They were birds, and as such obeyed their own set of rules and standards. They had their own busy lives to attend to, so human opinions were a trivial matter at best.

Still they cared enough for the hag to let her pilfer their eggs. They also let her keep them in a cozy pen and hut up near her own, all the way up at the peak, and if they felt generous enough they might well deign to eat grain from her offered hand.

They were perfectly content to go about their business as long as the hag minded her own. They didn’t have any business down at the Foot though- except for when one escaped a bit too far, but that was rare. No, the Foot of the mountain belonged to her goats.

And once the goats had their needs seen to, their troughs filled with fresh water and feed, the hag went on the hunt for plants. Harefoot, rowan berries, and sometimes moonbells if she felt a bit sweet. Never crowsmoss though, as that grew a plenty around her home at the peak.

Once her basket was full she would return to the top. She would be home around noon or perhaps sunset if the weather was rough. There she would meet travelers from far and wide. The sick and ailing yet hopeful enough to leave the comfort of home. If they were lucky, the hag would invite them in, offer them moonbell tea or something bitter. And if it was in her power then they would leave for the Foot as healthy as can be a day or so later.

The hag treated the sick for many many years and because of this they sought her little mountain out. It began as tents, then huts like her own. Houses in time, a village sprout. As seasons passed the village became a town, then a sprawling city covering the old pile of stone. We call it Redlog and today it endured a storm.

Old Josei wasn’t really all that old. It was that glint in her eye that gave her the nickname. Or perhaps her profession. Far from the legends of old but wise enough to earn a handful of coins each day. Every city had its fair share of sick and wounded after all, and Josei did her work well.

She was a stocky kind, that Josei. A flattering girth to limb and belly that spoke of a healthy life and nature’s loving touch. A botanist must be well loved by the wilds, see, or their bounties wouldn’t last them very long. A medicine maker must be clever too and have a memory worth bragging about. Josei didn’t brag much even though she could have, if she wanted to.

Her shop lay on the north western side of Redlog, high enough to overlook the farmlands below, and low enough to enjoy a bit of a shade in the summer during the day. A noodle hut was her neighbor, so she didn’t have to go far for a hearty meal. Neither did her customers which was a selling point for many. To enjoy a warm meal was a good way to celebrate a recovery in health, good news, or as comfort if her words had been heavy.

No customers would be visiting her tonight because a storm was raging. It made the cobblestone streets treacherous to travel, slick with rain and old moss. As the city was built on a mountain, every road always had a bit of a tilt to it. Or a near vertical slope if you were unlucky enough. Josei’s street had the fortune of being built by someone with a bit of wit and expertise. It was level enough for what it was and what it lacked in flat ground it made up for with wisely placed sets of stairs. It did wonders for the legs to live in Redlog.

There would be no huffing up or down the slopes tonight though, not for Josei. Perhaps if she had been ten years younger, or foolhardy enough that she thought she was stronger than the weather then perhaps… but she really didn’t have any business outside tonight. She could well let the storm have its due fun.

She was busy enough shuttering the windows and making sure the storm didn’t find a way into her home. Outside it may howl and revel all it liked, but if it tried to come indoors then she would have to reconsider her odds of beating mother nature in a fist fight. There was a time and place for everything and her humble home was not the place for a storm. It still tried its best to get in of course because that was the way of storms.

Huffing and trying her darned best not to let slip a word or two her mother would have disapproved of, Josei did her best to latch the shutters tightly. She had two sets, as most people in Redlog did. One for shielding from rain and wind- because Redlog saw its fair share of poor weather up here on the mountain, and one lighter and more ornate kind to protect the paper screens.

Paper? Why yes, paper. She wasn’t some rich nobleman that could afford glass now was she? Like that baker bastard Geof on Peak Street. It was proof of good business and a severe case of boot licking that saw him equipped with glass windows, tall and clear so he could show off the pies of the day on ornate wooden racks. Josei made do with paper like most of the rest of Redlog city.

Hers were a simple kind, adorned by patterns of leaves and a few flowers, drawn by herself. They let in light and sound during the day, provided a bit of shade during summer, and were easy to mend or replace if broken. The paper was made from a local plant, sunflax. A lovely plant that sported golden little flowers, strong fibers that could be turned into linen, paper, string, and a bounty of seeds for cooking or to be turned into oil. Paper made from sunflax was a local speciality and merchants happily sought it out to fill their stocks.

It also came with a rather pleasant smell. Like summer and grease, like fresh bread and a warm hearth. Even now Josei had to pause a moment to smell it, enjoying a hint of the warmer season despite it being well into fall. It brought a smile to her lips, a bit of calm for her heart.

The sound of rain smattering against her shutters was soothing if you weren’t in a hurry to go outside. Josei was not so she sat and enjoyed it. She’d closed shop for the night, put a few extra logs on the fire, and a pot of water and moonbells to boil in the hearth. It was supposed to be a calm night spent drinking tea, enjoying the company of a good book, and the whisper of nature outside her doors.

That promise came to an end as a set of knuckles rapped on her doors. Josei came to a halt in front of her counter, hand still on the latched hatch that separated the store half of her home from private abode. For a moment she just stood there, pondering the pros and cons of explaining the sound as a stray twig striking her door. Her armchair and the hearth waited for her after all, along with the copy of ‘The Autumn Wilds, a collection of stories’, a book she’d bought on a whim to reward herself for a lucrative month of hard work.

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The knock on her door sounded out again, a little less loudly this time. It sounded almost hesitant, as if the one outside wasn’t sure whether they should bother her at this late hour or not. That made up her mind, funnily enough. Josei went for the door.

It wouldn’t have been the first time she found someone ailing outside. Perhaps a poor person from the Red Light District, or a child from the streets huddling with a sick companion. A dog perhaps, for Redlog didn’t lack in strays. They came with the merchants mostly, left aside due to neglect, or escaping as an unexpected free loader lured along by the scents of food and curious wares.

What met her when she opened the door was not an orphan or a dog. It might have been someone short of coin, for the stranger certainly looked ragged. They wore a torn old cloak, mottled in color by poor quality and… mold? Josei’s nose crinkled at the familiar scent of algae and forest floors. Her forehead gained an extra wrinkle as the scent puzzled her, because that was not a smell that should have clung to a person. Before the query could define itself with thought and words, the stranger greeted her.

“Good evening to you ma’am,” yellow teeth smiled the words at her. They were uneven, but not ill kept. Far from rotten. Merely… off. As were the eyes. “Chance a weary traveler might impose on yer kind home for a moment? I was caught out in the rain I was, taken right off guard. Frozen as the dead it got me, and I fear they might come for me if I linger ‘ere much longer.”

It was a man she saw now, shivering from the cold, thin fingers pulling at the worn old cloak in a desperate attempt to ward off the chill. There was no moon out tonight so she couldn’t see him in much detail, but she thought she caught a glint of shiny nails as the light from her home flickered behind her.

“Why of course- come in you poor thing, you’re shaking in your boots!” Josei put as much warmth as she could into her welcome, fearing that the cold might claim this traveler if she wasted even a moment. He laughed as she herded him into her home, or perhaps that was the crackle of a wet throat before a cough, because the man lifted a fist to cover his mouth soon afterwards.

He didn’t object to being herded past the counter, nor to the quilts he soon found himself swaddled in, once Josei had him down in her armchair by the hearth. His eyes did linger on the book resting on the small table next to the chair, but Josei soon replaced it with a cup of freshly boiled moonbell tea. His skin felt slimy to the touch as she placed the cup in his hands, holding them for a moment to share some of her heat. They were as cold as the rain! Drenched him to the bone, the poor thing. She was glad to have gotten him into shelter from the storm before it could do worse.

“Most grateful for yer hospitality, ma’am.” The stranger croaked, flashing a smile of crooked teeth, then coughed wetly, hunching over as he did. Josei felt a knot in her belly ease up as he settled down.

“Glad to help you, sir. It’s what any good person should do.”

The stranger smiled, teeth now hidden behind cracked lips. He let the hood of his cloak fall back like the folds of a fat beast, so soaked in rainwater that it looked a far cry from cloth. She didn’t mind it, Josei’s eyes were on the stranger’s hands. Pale and slender, tips blue from the cold. He warmed them eagerly on the cup of tea, cradling it in a tight grip. If they didn’t regain their color she would have to give him something stronger than the tea.

His eyes drew her attention as he coughed again. They were of a dark color, nearly black. They reflected the glow of the fire like oil, slick and deep His gaze was currently set on the soothing brew in his hands. A stare as intentse as if they held a tempting promise. He sipped from it gently, not with the reverence of a thirsty man, but with the eagerness of a collector sampling a forbidden vintage.

He held her curiosity like a vice, an itching wonder at the back of her skull. There was something about the way he sat, crooked like his teeth, bent at an angle that arose discomfort in the watcher, yet seemed to please his old bones well enough. His hair was silky, smooth and of a pale shade of white. Combed into a neatness only found from the human scalp, never the lush fur of the wilds. Despite the obvious care put into maintaining it, his hair lacked luster. It looked more worn than glorified, as if the teeth of the comb scraped at the fine strands rather than soothing them.

He caught her staring, inky black eyes meeting her grey ones. She didn’t look away, because her father had taught her that was a rude thing to do. An expression of guilt or uncertainty. She smiled instead, and the stranger matched it with a grin of his own. To say that it didn’t reach his eyes would have been…wrong. It did and it didn’t. It touched them not in a kindly way, but more like how a cat’s bared teeth made its eyes grow narrow. A wild expression, off when placed over a human face.

“Pardon me manners, ma’am. T’would be an ill thing not to offer something in return for ye kindness. Might I interest you in some of me wares? I happen to dabble in trade.”

Josei started at his voice, caught off guard for some reason. The stranger sat up a bit straighter in her armchair and it somehow made his legs look a bit too long. Bent as if to fit, as if he was a tall man sitting in a dollhouse. Not that she’d ever had anything as extravagant as that as a child… merely make believe and some creatively stacked logs. Dolls, oh yes, but straw and wood, not the ornate things the Peak Street folks gave their young. The stranger’s teeth reminded her of porcelain.

“Trade? Oh- why yes,” Josei had to blink the focus back into her eyes. She felt her skin prickle at her own words but she couldn’t tell the reason why. “What do you sell?” she asked.

The stranger smiled wider at that. “Goods and services, ma’am. Many a kind. Why don’t you tell me what you lack? Does your life want for anything? I might broker ye a deal if so.”

Josei had to ponder that offer. She wasn’t entirely sure what he meant, even if she could think of a few things. Impossible wishes mostly because her life was pleasant enough aside from the wildest of dreams. She had her dream job, a house- even if it was small, all for herself, coin in her coffers, and a stocked larder in the kitchen nook. What she lacked… well that would have to be someone to share it all with. She’d had someone like that once… but time and chance were cruel folks. He was gone now, as were any old dreams of starting a family.

Some days she thought about it though, even now. She might ask around for a child to adopt, even if the local orphans tended to be an independent lot. It wouldn’t feel quite right to do so without her love though. She feared that her loss might tarnish what should be a time of carefree joy.

The stranger probably wasn’t asking for something as grand as that though, so his offer confused her. She said as much. The stranger chuckled then, baring his teeth in a snarl of merriment. Anticipation.

“Goods and promises! Let me ‘ave a good look at ye, yes? Hm hm…” It struck her then that perhaps… Josei had made a mistake. Not in letting someone into her home, not while a storm as cruel as this was raging outside. She would never turn down a person in need, but…

The stranger eyed her intently, eyes as black as tar. There was something hungry in the way he leaned forwards, smile a little too wide, finger curled around her favorite cup as if it were a brittle bird looking to escape. Coils of steam from the warm tea rolled through his grip, snaked its way around the hand held just above it, as if to catch the very warmth it held.

“Oh yes, I think I can see a wish in there eyes. An ill fate, oh such irony for one of yer trade.” The stranger’s eyes glittered as he said this, and Josei felt that she had to sit down all of a sudden, a sudden weariness settled on her shoulder. She found a chair and did so, all while the stranger purred in her armchair, wrapped in her blankets and quilts, seeping rainwater and muck into the homey fabrics.

The stranger pointed a crooked finger at the medicine maker. First at her face, then he traced it down to her belly. She needn't have stood closer to him to know that. It was clear in the way he aimed, in the way he looked. “Ye crave for a second life, don’t ye so? But cruel is fate to deny it to ye. No child without the love of two to spawn it. But fear not, kind ma’am, for this old traveler knows a thing or two.”

Something caught in her throat as he said that. How could he have known? Surely he didn’t mean… “...P-pardon my confusion, sir… But what would you mean with that?”

Another chuckle, quite this time, like grinding rocks. A crow watching a squirrel slip, miss and fall, knowing that patience would award an easy meal. “I mean to say that I know a way. Why, even your dead love might lend a hand to see it done.”

Josei knew at that moment that she’d invited something terrible into her home. It humored her with words it thought were kind, but it didn’t touch its eyes, much like that smile. It was in no way a forced smile though, there was a sort of cruel glee to it. The stranger watched her hungrily for a moment, then seemed to remember himself. He sat back, exhaled, and drank from his tea. Josei felt as if something let go of her heart. It was hard to breathe.

She should have told him to leave. Or asked him for something else. Told him to pick it up and get out before she threw a boot at his face for the things he’d just said, the old wounds he was ripping open. For the mere suggestion that…

But he had Josei’s curiosity. He reminded her of the stories, of strange things that could promise you wonder. Things that shouldn’t be, but still were. So instead of heeding her own racing pulse, her every shred of common sense, she asked him, “How?”

He told her. Go down the mountain and find yourself a tree. You know the one, a grand old maple. It should be fallen over, dead for many years. Cut it up and carve out a chunk, bring it to a carpenter and have them make it into a cradle.

She threw him out in the next moment, cup and all. She didn’t hear him stumble down the streets, but she heard the crack and crash as her favorite cup broke on the cobblestones. Tears came then, only then, once the danger had passed. Disbelief, fear, confusion, but most of all grief over the open old wounds. She stood with her back pressed up against her front door, shoulders heaving as her mind tried to catch up with what the visitor had said.

He had promised her something she’d long since given up on, never thought to revisit. It was a punch to the gut really, and she regretted the fact that she hadn’t given him one in turn.

Eventually she found herself sitting on the wooden sofa in the kitchen nook. It wasn’t the most comfortable of seats, old padding long since worn down, but her armchair still had those wet stains of rain that smelled of mold and she dared not sit anywhere near it until they had dried.

Her book of wild tales didn’t tempt her tonight, not anymore. Perhaps not for a while.

It was one thing to read about the wild ones visiting mere mortals like herself on sunflax paper, another entirely to meet one in the flesh. He would haunt her dreams no doubt, so Josei didn’t look forward to sleep. His promise would haunt her, for all it had demanded an unpayable price. How could one let it go without wondering how? How would it have been if she had accepted? Could she ever have gotten forgiveness if she… no, no she wouldn’t have wanted that, no matter the reward.

That knowledge set her mind at ease, slowly culling the regret before it could take root. She had made her peace with this. She wouldn’t be a mother. She had loved once, still did, and that love wasn’t something she would sacrifice. Not even for the promise of a family. She would not trade one love for another, nor would she risk marring someone’s childhood with grief. She had made her decisions a long time ago and life had went on.

Yet the stranger had repaid her kindness with a gift. She found it as she entered her bedroom, a cluttered den at the back of her house. It stood in the corner, right beneath the window. A cruel token of gratitude, like a knife in the gut. A cradle of wood, empty. It would remain empty. A stark reminder of the promise she had rejected. It wasn’t made of maple wood, a small relief, but it still cut her deep.

Tears filled Josei’s eyes again as she glared at it, hands tightening into fists at her sides. She shut the door to her room with a slam.