The cradle stood empty just as she’d expected. It was still a crushing jab of grief to see it when she opened the door to her room in the morning. It sat in her mind like an uninvited guest all throughout breakfast. She’d slept on her wooden sofa in the main room to avoid the sight. Her back was sore but it was a small price to pay for temporary peace of mind.

She’d checked that it still was there when she woke up, then promptly vowed to forget that part of her house ever existed. It wasn’t a good way to deal with a problem but who could tell her off for it here? Only Josei. She lived alone. Her dreams tried but it was to either ignore the problem completely, or face the cradle left to her by what she suspected might have been an elf, those cursed things. A dwarf would have been gruffer, or so she assumed from the books she’d read and the few tall tales that circulated the city’s gossip circles.

A small folk would have been… well, small first of all. Less wrong in the way the stranger had seemed. It wasn’t that he had been ugly or misshapen… not in a telling way at least. A little crooked, a little… greasy perhaps, but ultimately average as far as people thrown through a storm went. It was more about the way he had moved. About the way he smiled. How he moved his body as if it didn’t quite fit whatever hid beneath the flesh.

That was elves for you. Josei would know. She was an avid reader of old tales. A little bit of a nerd if you will. Elves were former humans, if the tales were to be believed, but not all of them. People had wildly different opinions about what should have been simple facts. Former humans, spirits possessing humans, spirits pretending to be humans, humans that thought they were spirits, avatars of the wilds taken human form to mock humanity for its hubris- you got the idea.

One fact most seemed to agree on however was this: elves were malicious. Or well- of ill intent. Misunderstood but ultimately cruel in their indifference to human values? The hows and whys of elven shenanigans could wary from tale to tale, but the bottom line was that the people they encountered rarely had a good time.

Josei sneezed as a rarely touched shelf objected to her rooting through its contents. The storm was still whistling through the rooftops outside so Josei was cleaning her shop. There was little else to do- actually there was lots to do. She had a million little tasks she hadn’t finished yet, just waiting for her to get down to it… but Josei felt like cleaning, so cleaning she did.

She ran a humble medicine shop. Not an apothecary, that was a title granted to a special kind. Hers were herbs of healing and convenience, little tricks and tips and actual methods of mending. From sweetened sap for chewing to poultices of crowsmoss and murklily to treat nasty infections. It was a bit of a thing for Redlog to have medicine makers like her. An old speciality ranging as far back as the city’s founding. According to legend at least.

Legend also dictated that the old hag- lovingly referred to only as ‘the old hag’, had loved and revered chickens. Why? No one knew. Some people thought they knew, and they were well prepared to start a bar fight over it, but most just shrugged if you asked them about it.

That didn’t stop the first settler from erecting a small shrine at the peak of the mountain. Some said it was the very hut the old hag had kept her flock in during days of yore, but Josei doubted you could keep a glorified chicken coop looking good for so long. Nor did she think the old hag would have treated her feathery friends as mortal gods. It just seemed silly to her.

The chickens had their own folktales of course, probably with a few written up and spread by their most avid followers, to further spread the word of benevolent poultry. To be fair, most beasts local to the Maple Woods had one folktale or another associated with their humble selves. Many featured in the book Josei had intended to read last night.

She eyed it after restacking one now very clean shelf. She had looked forward to continuing reading it but… the memory of the elven visitor resurfaced in her mind, and the urge to read about the magical wilds faded as quickly as it had appeared.

She decided to process herbs instead. She had a basket full of crowsmoss that needed boiling. The stuff kept fresh for a long time after picking, but it wasn’t much use fresh. She’d already plucked the red flowers off- they bloomed in fall you see, and put them away into bowls of water where they could soak it up and grow nice and large. A curious property and one taken full advantage off by most of Redlog.

The bright red flowers wouldn’t grow much larger than a thumb nail on their own, if even that, but if you plucked them just so and stuck them in water for a few days the curious little things would hit a growth spurt like no other. She reckoned she’d have a good few baskets of fist sized flowers once they were done soaking.

Once of a desirable size the flowers could be dried, pressed, and used to preserve food stuff. You could grind it down and mix it with the grain to keep it fresh for an entire season, or put it in the stew if you wanted to keep it from molding for a week or two. As long as you didn’t mind the slightly metallic taste they added to anything they touched, you were good to go.

The moss itself had a different use. Josei put a good heap of it into her cauldron, heaved it over to the hearth, then filled it with water to boil. Once soft she would mash it into a paste with a ladle, then store it up in jars for later use. Good for stopping bleedings and treating infection. Also a good base for more complicated blends.

A common but vertisale plant. It grew on nearly every roof in Redlog, despite many attempts to scrub it off. The moss had an affection for anything with a hint of clay, and the red shingles adorning almost every roof was one of its favorite materials to grow on.

Josei used to spend much of her younger days climbing the rooftops to fill her basket with the moss. Sometimes other apprentices of nearby medicine makers would join her, or she would go on her own and imagine it was some grand adventure. Sometimes she would find something new on her ventures, other times she would spot something she shouldn’t, like the inner workings of the Red Light district…

Nowadays her bones ached at the mere idea of using climbing as her main way to traverse the city. She was content in her age, unlike some ladies that liked to moan and groan about every new wrinkle. Hers were the marks of a life well lived, laugh lines around her mouth and crows feet near the eyes from plenty of smiling. The streaks of grey slowly overtaking the red and orange of her hair were a mark of pride, a sign of experience. She could have used a bit more spryness though, if she got to make requests.

Content to let the crowsmoss putter away at the hearth, Josei made herself busy with other little tasks. A medicine maker’s life was never without work. Hang up fresh herbs to dry, grind or store dried batches, package what she would sell, store what she would keep, label and seal and put it all away into the right spots, write the spots down in her grimoire since she would forget them otherwise… Busy busy.

Work helped her take her mind off unpleasant things, such as the cradle the elf had left her… It darkened her heart just to think about it. Her brow knit, shoulders hunching. She should just throw it away… but perhaps at night so no one would see.

Then again, hauling the thing down the streets, then the stairs, then to a trash pile was… a considerable task to take on at night without proper light. What if she slipped and fell? No one would find her until morning, except for maybe the watch… but it wasn’t a given, not in this part of town.

Redlog was known for its unique architecture. How the many buildings were seemingly piled up on top of each other, layer after layer of manmade structures tacked up over a mountain through the course of generations. There were as many nooks and pitfalls to slip down as stones in the cobblestone streets if you weren’t wary of where you were stepping.

Josei shuddered at the thought of what a bad step might do to her if she went out at night. No, there would need to be another way.

Perhaps she could burn it? She rejected that thought at once. Nevermind actually chucking it in the fire, having to sit down and chop it up piece by piece would tear her heart out. She couldn’t even look at it without it wrenching at her heart! Such a wretched thing. The elf really knew how to hit where it hurt the most. Josei took her frustration out on the crowsmoss, grinding it down to a smooth mush with her ladle.

She had a feeling the cradle would stay where it stood for a while longer. At least until she got used to it enough to take action. Until then she would just have to distract her mind with other things.

Once the crowsmoss had been boiled and mashed she set it all to cool. She got a lot of sorting done while waiting, mostly on the shelves. They had an uncanny ability to grow chaotic now and then, no matter how careful she was to put things back where they should be. That was the nature of a botanist’s stock she supposed. There was little else to do other than make do with it.

After sorting came taking stock. Run down the list of the most common materials one should always keep around, be it for coin or convenience. Note down anything close to running out, make a note about picking some more during her next walk down to the Foot, and make a third note to remember planning the trip itself.

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Time could pass quickly for one that was busy, and it was in anyone’s best interest to ensure that the time was used wisely. Obviously one had to make time for a bit of tea and relaxation too, and Josei did just that when the strain of cleaning became a bit too much.

Sweet moonbell petals, a bit of lemon zest, and a hint of roasted dandelion root for that bitter energy made for a heartening brew. Josei sighed in content as she enjoyed a cup by the hearth. Her armchair still smelled a bit of mold but the smoky warmth of her hearth would soon replace it with the smell of home once more.

She might have gone to the city cookery for fresh bread and meat if the rain wasn’t still pelting her shutters. It wasn’t an urgent need anyway, she still had about half a loaf of fruit bread sitting in her kitchen nook. There should be a sliver of salted ham left too if she didn’t forget herself, and perhaps a small block of cheese. The cheese might long since have gone moldy- Josei wasn’t a big fan of cheese you see, but you never knew when you might get a peckish guest and no meal was really complete without at least a slice, or so her father had used to say.

Josei wrinkled her nose at the reminder. Her parents’ fascination with cheese hadn’t crossed over to their daughter. It just smelled too funny for something one was supposed to eat, in Josei’s opinion. Still she kept some, because it was the proper thing to do.

Her day started busily and ended without much fuss. No customers braved the poor weather to seek her out and she took that as a good sign. Earning coin for a living was one thing, but Josei much prefered to know that people were healthy enough to stay indoors when they should. She didn’t mind the customers that came for easy tonics as much.

An odd itch, a stubborn cold, a flustered request for something that would make them smell nice to a potential new date, those were customers she prefered. Worse were the actually bad cases, like last season’s nasty flu. Fevers that struck the youngest the worst, even claimed a few for the wilds where the healers couldn’t beat the disease.

Or that one poor lass that’d fallen off a roof during a daring sprint, breaking her leg and shattering an elbow. Nasty business but Josei had done what she could. The lass hadn’t paid much for her aid, nearly a copper for a poultice and cast that should have gone for silvers, but Josei wasn’t the kind to crave fortunes from the poor.

You got plenty of people like that near Peak Street, like Geof Baker and his lot. Snooty old men and women that forgot what it was like to be young and in need. For all the nobles like to tout their tales of generous hens and roosters of gold, when it actually came down to giving, they all suddenly had better things to do. It wasn’t proper that. Downright foul if you asked old Josei.

Her second favorite cup warmed her hands as she huffed into it, tilted at the way some people behaved. For a city founded around a healer, it sure had its fair share of rotten minds. Feeling here eyelids slowly growing heavier, Josei sat and let herself doze off, content and warm after a day of hard but relaxing work.

A rooster woke her up, curse the sun hating fool. One would think that by now the little bastards would have figured out that the sun rose every morning whether they yelled at it or not, but oh no. ‘Kuckeli-kuuuu’ went first one, then two, and then a dozen. That was the downside of living in Redlog, but at least one didn’t lack for eggs and roasted chicken.

Blearily, Josei blinked at her humble home, so crowded by shelves and jars and pots and crates. Storage for the piles upon piles of herbs she made her craft from. She didn’t quite remember dozing off and ending the day that was before, but the sun clearly demanded a new one start now, so who was she to complain.

Grumbling about early birds and their overgrown egos, Josei went about starting her day. She wondered for a moment why she’d fallen asleep in her armchair instead of in her cozy bed, but one look at her closed bedroom door soon reminded her. That cursed cradle, a cruel elven gift, it still sat in there like a plague upon her home. How it soured a perfectly good morning.

Determined not to let it win the day, Josei put on a pot of tea, opened a ledger listing her most recent sales, and got to work counting out expenses and things to keep in mind for the coming week.

The harvest season was in full swing already, so local produce would soon hit lower prices. She should stock up on grain for the winter, dry her crowsmoss flowers and decide what to grind and what to store it whole with. Grain kept better if you added grinded crowsmoss flowers, but the metallic flavor grew stronger when it was mixed and she didn’t much care for that taste. She’d much rather spend a bit of extra time fishing the dry flowers back up than save a moment by sacrificing taste.

She’d heard about a recent trend to tread the flowers up on bits of string. Beads dyed with sunflax and carved with symbols of benevolent spirits to bless the produce to keep for long. She didn’t quite believe in the method, for it dictated that the garlands should be tied around the food’s container rather than store it in with the things it was meant to keep, and that just didn’t sound like proper common sense to Josei. The priests might care for it, but she did not.

Another trend saw people pressing pretty flowers and adding them to their paper screens, a quite pretty idea that Josei liked. It brought some color and cheer to this old city, especially in winter when most plants went to sleep. She made a note to see what she could find during her next venture to the Foot.

The day passed before she could make much fuss about it. She got plenty of writing and reading done, so by the time the night fell her eyes were tired and her thoughts as thick as lead. Tea by the hearth once more soothed her into a pleasant lull, but she kept her senses enough this time to go to sleep on the sofa rather than her armchair. It didn’t do her old back very good to sleep sitting these days.

A week came and went and Josei slowly got used to sleeping outside of her bedroom. The sofa was far from comfortable at first, but a few quilts corrected that well enough. The storm persisted for a good few days, then died with a wheeze near the end of the week. It had spent its last rain within the third day of its stay, but the wind kept howling enough for most to stay indoors.

Josei found herself sleeping lightly at the end of that week. She’d been so happy to see the end of the storm that she’d left her shutters open, with only the paper screen of one window to shield off the cold. A bold move certainly, but to see the shine of the sun through that thin paper was reward enough.

Now she saw them aglow once more, but the light looked off to her newly awoken eyes. Too pale, almost blue. It confused her greatly until she opened them up. A great fullmoon peered down at her from the peak of the sky, clad in a mantle of stars and cloudless blue.

Perhaps it was the chill of late autumn that woke her up? The distant Maple Woods looked near black in this light, a far cry from the vibrant red they sported during the day. Josei spent a moment alone with the moon, breath forming soft clouds of steam in the chilly air. How quiet it was during the dead of night. Far too late for even the most lively of drunkards to stay up. As silent as a lullaby, gently rocking the city to sleep. A smile rested on her lips as she closed the shutters, feeling the nip of fall shoo her away at last.

A different kind of cold hugged her bones as she turned around. Despite the darkness of her home, the still flickering embers in the hearth provided enough light to see her bedroom door. It stood ajar.

Josei stared at it for a long while, feeling freezing fingers inch up her spine for each moment she looked. A cruel premonition tugged at her hair, making it stand on her arms.

She debated running up to the door and closing it with a slam, but something held her ankles like a taut snare. She couldn’t move, at least not towards it. Dread ate at her heart and made her shoulder blades tighten. She stumbled towards her armchair instead, the weight of the world suddenly hanging off her back.

She wouldn’t play along to any elven tunes tonight. Not tonight. She felt old. Too tired for this kind of mischief. It pained her too much to humor the cruel jokes of the wilds. She sat, eyes drifting to the flickering embers playing in her hearth.

Josei picked up the book laying on the top of the mantlepiece, gently touched the red leather cover. “The Autumn Wilds, a collection of stories,” she read aloud. The book felt warm in her hands. She rested it on her lap, opened it where the bookmark sat. “A gift from Mother Wolf, the busy matron.

“Here is a tale for mothers to beware. You are not alone in this most trying of journeys. But just as the trial of family is taxing, it is also the most rewarding. None knows it better than Mother Wolf.

A parent, may it be a mother, father, or something else, may sometimes find something odd in the den of their home. That most precious place, where their young one rests- is not always as they left it. Some nights there will be a second child resting there, rosy of cheek and chubby of limb. A well kept child, not short of love, for Mother Wolf loves all children alike.

Should you care for this child, this uninvited sibling of your own, then Mother Wolf will thank you when she returns. She must hunt you see, for Mother Wolf is a beast like all the others. She is alone, the poor thing, because the elves killed her pack. It is therefore that Mother Wolf seeks out fellow mothers, fathers, parents of all, and trusts us to care for her ward during her hour of need. She must hunt beneath the moon, her beloved companion, until her belly is full and she can return to nurse her young.

Should you care for that child that is not your own, Mother Wolf will be grateful, but make sure you do not disappoint. Should you care not for the child, she might leave with both, you see, for Mother Wolf’s trust is easily lost. Should you care only for her child and neglect your own, then she most certainly will leave with both.

And should you care for both, as lovingly as a mother should, then Mother Wolf will remember this kindness til the end of her days. Once she has picked her ward up again she will leave you a gift, precious as few, as thanks for a job well done. Sometimes her gift is magical, other times not. Some speak of gems, shinier than stars. Others of cloaks, warm even in the deepest of winters. Others of a simple spinning top, or a cluster of toys. Whatever you might need to find the brightest joy.

Mother Wolf is kind, but she must hunt. If you’d ask ‘why?’ Why trust humans to care for her young? Well, she would laugh first of all. A kind, hearty growl from the depths of her belly.

‘Because humans are kind,’ she would say. ‘Because few other beasts would look beyond kin to share their family’s love.’ Then she would smile with all her gleaming teeth and bid you goodnight.

That is Mother wolf, kind, caring, but also a beast.”

Josei closed the book with a sigh, fears forgotten. The darkness no longer felt like a threat, just an old friend, wrapping a warm quilt around her shoulders. She let the quiet grumblings of dying embers lull her to sleep. She thought she heard another sound mixed in with the crackle and snap of burning coals, the faint crying of a child. A sleepy thought perhaps, woken by the tale she’d just read.

Josei let her eyes fall shut, imagining for a moment that the sound was real, that she was a busy mother caring for Mother Wolf’s precious ward, that her loving husband was still alive and that their home sang with autumn cheer.

Then something fell over inside her bedroom, a soft thump. The cries grew louder and Josei realized… They were real. By Mother Wolf, they were real.