Aethel's day had just started, but he already had somewhere else he wished to be.

He was the only son of his village's only daierie, considered by many to be a man in his own right, so (unlike some of the second and third born sons he knew) Aethel's future was secure. This sense of security, however, did nothing to quell the persistent, nameless feeling in his gut, calling him over the hills to parts unknown. Imagine his amazement when a little piece of that unknown deigned to come right to him. At Springs Opening she had appeared like a character stepping from a faerie tale, the one who calls herself The Splendid and Illustrious Leather-Hat.

Aethel just called her Hat, much to her consternation, but he defended himself by claiming to be a simple country yokel who couldn't possibly remember all those long and highborn words (...like "and" and "leather").

He got the feeling, just for a moment, that she was smiling behind her red-lacquered wooden mask, like an adult might smile at a particularly vigorous baby, silently hoping they make it through their first winter and knowing full well they probably won't. He was immediately intrigued and hadn't succeeded in getting her out of his head since. Her mask was simple, having no holes save for the eyes, although no hint of her eyes could be seen peering out of the dark slots. He'd endeavored to find out as much as he could about her, but she maintained her aura of distant mystery (an aura Aethel had become convinced was painstakingly crafted but nevertheless false). She would dodge his questions and refuse to explain the mechanisms behind the magick she wielded in service to the villagers.

She eventually grew so tired of his questions that she allowed him to serve as her assistant when required, as long as he did not speak unless spoken to. Aethel obviously agreed, as this was his aim from the beginning.

Everyone had heard of magick, and those who practiced it, but in his little village it was the stuff of legends and fables. The notion brought to mind old fireside stories of long past wars and calamities that had struck down kingdoms whose names were forgotten to time. Never in living memory had a practitioner of magick visited the village of Trin, and one had up and decided to call it home. It was now the Dawn of Winter, Aethel's seventeenth, and he was still no closer to understanding the Witch he now called neighbor.

Nevertheless he was anxious to learn more. As he rose on a brisk morning, just as the sky began to show hints of gray in the deep black, he pondered what he may divine about the nature of magick today. A fortnight past Leather-Hat had purified one of the village's wells, which had been taken by a Malodorous Humour and rendered any who drank from it ill with Preternatural Heat (which had killed many before). Aethel watched as Leather-Hat pulled various phials and flasks from her long pale-green robe and mixed them in a bucket half full of the tainted water. The bucket proceeded to hiss and steam like a pot at full boil before she pushed it into the well with a unceremonious crash. "Fight a source of Heat with heat." she explained unhelpfully. Great clouds of foul smelling steam billowed from the well for days, which Leather-Hat instructed the villagers to take efforts not to breathe. She promised the well would be safe when the steam stopped. So far, no one who drank had fallen ill. So she mixed together some alchemical concoction that produced heat, and the heat somehow cured the well? Aethel wasn't sure how exactly that worked, but his heart beat strange in his chest when he though about finding out. Unfortunately Aethel had chores.

Of course, being a farmer and the son of a farmer that himself is the son of a farmer, Aethel had an obligation to care for his family's property and a vexing sense of duty that compelled him to see this obligation through. This vexing sense did not, however, object to speed.

Aethel sped through his morning chores like a man possessed, not sacrificing quality in his work (he'd never do that to their sweet milk cows, Queenie, Marigold, and Gwyndolyn) but sacrificing all else. His mother caught him flying out of the house by the cuff of his tunic.

"Don't you drive that brand new horse like he's some battlefield charger, your father and I paid good coin for him and I won't have you sending him to an early grave! And you leave that poor Witch alone!" She yelled at him as he squirmed out of her grip and sped away.

"Come now mother, he loves to run! He was born for it! Just like me!" Aethel laughed as he ran to the wagon just as his father was stowing the last jug of fresh milk. He tactfully pretended not to have heard his mother's last comment.

"Slow down now son, or you're gonna kill me instead." His father had a gleam in his eye that told Aethel he at least partially understood his fascination with Leather-Hat.

"Come on father, this kind of opportunity will never come again in a backwater place like Trin. ...don't look at me that way, I only mean new things don't come often here." The only two things that his father loved more than Trin were Aethel's mother, then Aethel himself.

"I know son, but she's not going anywhere, neither is this farm. You don't have to run so fast, either when you do slow down you might find yourself frightful far away." Aethel's father was prone to sagely yet esoteric advice that always seemed to encourage Aethel's desires to "find himself frightful far away" rather than the intended effect of settling him down.

When Aethel jumped up to the rickety bench suspended on the front of the wagon, the horse stamped his feet with growing impatience for what he knew came next. Aethel had yet to name the horse, simply calling him "horse" for the two weeks since he'd been added to their modest farm to replace the ancient bow backed plow horse named Sweety that had finally unceremoniously dropped dead after thirty-seven winters of life. Horse was a young gelding that still had at least half of his previous, fiery disposition and he truly did love to run. The road from their property to the village center ran downhill the whole way, the horse was actually there to hold the cart back from gaining speed. Horse loved to instead try to keep in front of it as it continued to gain speed, slowly but surely, down the gradual but persistent decline. This inevitably ended with Horse fully skidding the length of the small cobbled square coming to a graceful stop not two paces from the far side, much to the delight of the local children and annoyance of everyone else. At first, Aethel had succeeded in playing it off as a new horse getting used to new land, but by the third time it was obvious to everyone that Horse was doing it on purpose. By now they knew when he was coming, unmistakable by the cacophonous rattle of the cart at final approach speed. The villager's now joked that Aethel had invented a new gimmick, wherein he leaves the farm with milk and arrives at your door with butter. His mother would come down shortly to sell or trade the now partially churned milk for things they lacked at home. His arrival at the village square also meant that Aethel's time was now his own, and he had long decided how to use it.

Aethel found Leather-Hat sitting under one of the ancient oak trees dotted around Trin, each one older than the kingdom itself. The Witch was tutoring the Tailor's daughter, Rae, a girl of six winters. She was teaching her basic counting and adding and keeping her queries at a level the child could follow, swapping from instruction to questioning and correction at a pace perfect to keep the child engaged without overly burdening her. Aethel stood a respectful distance away, not quite eavesdropping, enjoying the peace of the moment. Eventually he heard the Witch call out to him.

"Does our curious friend wish to test his mettle as well?" She said. Leather-Hat always spoke with a slow, self assured, authoritative voice. Aethel thought it was a barn full of cow droppings but he'd yet to catch her slipping up. He agreed after pretending to be surprised to see the pair sitting under the tree, which sent Rae into a fit of giggles.

"What is twelve again four?" A distinct jump in difficulty from the questions the child had faced. Rae peered at him, skeptical that anyone could solve it in their head. Aethel pondered answering correctly, but decided to play dumb.

"I suppose sixteen." He said, going for the easy mistake.

Leather-Hat regarded him silently while Rae descended into another fit of giggles punctuated by attempts to explain how to properly do it that were mostly correct. Leather-Hat shooed Aethel away, claiming that she was afraid his incompetence would infect the young student, but she alluded that she may need his assistance later that day.

Aethel strolled back to the market to find his mother, by now she'd have emptied a few jugs and would appreciate help loading them back onto the wagon. Sure enough, when he rounded the corner and met her eyes she was relieved to see him.

"Good, you're here. Be a dear and load the empties." His mother continued chatting with Rae's mother Marisha as he loaded the jugs. Aethel mentioned that Leather-Hat was lecturing Rae over by the gill that ran through the village. Marisha seemed pleased.

"To imagine a child o' mine taking lessons from a real Witch..." The village still hadn't quite adjusted to Leather-Hat's presence, although there was a prevailing feeling of quiet wonder. They seemed content to let her do what she would and respected the air of detachment she emanated. Aethel was alone in his desire to learn more about her. It seemed to him a very lonely arrangement for the Witch.

After he finished loading the empty jugs, Aethel excused himself from the two women after promising to come back for the rest later. He was strolling through the village, not going anywhere in particular when the son of the village baker, Lorik, ran up to him panting.

"The Witch is looking for ya. She needs your help." Aethel was already moving before the boy finished his first sentence, the peace of his walk evaporating before the idea that the Witch desired his presence. He found her outside her home, raking the bed of her garden. She had taken the cottage when she moved into the village at the beginning of the year. It had laid empty for nearly a decade; Aethel had been eyeing it for himself when he decided to move from his parents home. He was happy to sacrifice it to Leather-Hat of course, although he would have been annoyed if anyone else had taken it. It was some distance from the village center, and thus was pervaded by a peaceful quiet. Now that she occupied it, it was clear it was perfect for Leather-Hat.

She was working hard to break up and turn over the soil in the garden bed, preparing it for winter plants. She was still wearing her characteristic pale-green cloak, but she had the sleeves pulled up to her shoulders where they formed poofs like a fancy ball gown. Her arms were thin but strong and her skin was a pale creme color that reminded Aethel of the inside of freshly baked wheat bread. It contrasted sharply with the deep chocolate of Aethel's, and indeed all the villagers. He had never met someone with the same shade. Leather-Hat also had curious black lines that curved and curled across her skin. Aethel cleared his throat as he approached, entirely aware it was more of her than he had ever seen.

"There you are. I need your help moving a rather large cauldron." She left the rake by the garden and strode off towards a small storage barn behind the cottage. Aethel noticed she smoothly pulled her sleeves down as she turned away. He followed her around and found the back of the cottage had been cleared and tidied same as the front. Inside of the storage barn, among many other things, was a massive cauldron larger than any Aethel had ever seen. He was sure it was not among the luggage unloaded from the carriage she arrived in, and was equally sure that such a cauldron could not be found in any store in the kingdom.

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"How in the world did you get this into here?" Aethel said with incredulity. Leather-Hat explained that the one who delivered it placed it there at her request. Slowly and strenuously, the two of them managed to tip the cauldron onto its side, after which they rolled it out of the barn and into the middle of the back garden. Aethel couldn't help but notice during this process that Leather-Hat was at least equally as strong as he, and he was left with the uncomfortable suspicion that she was in fact stronger, despite Aethel being a head taller and a man. He then helped Leather-Hat fetch the water to fill the huge cauldron. It was such a normal, domestic task that it wasn't until they were halfway done that Aethel realized he was helping a Witch.

"Is this not something that can be accomplished by magick?" He asked, breaking the rule for the third time today. Leather-Hat had stopped reminding him weeks ago, she seemed to now tolerate his questions due to their newfound infrequency.

"Magick is not a power to be used lightly, we do what we can and use magick only to do that which we cannot." She explained in her characteristic authoritative voice. It seemed odd to Aethel, not to use power that one has to its fullest. He supposed that may be why he was not blessed with magick.

After they finished filling the cauldron and lighting a fire underneath, Aethel help Leather-Hat chop vegetables and add them to the heating water. He was somewhat disappointed, as he had hoped he was going to help her make some alchemical brew brimming with magick, but it had quickly become apparent he was helping her cook a very large stew. Aethel, however, was content to do anything to spend time with the Witch, on the off chance he may learn something new. Eventually his curiosity got the better of him, and he finally asked.

"What exactly is this for?" Leather-Hat didn't answer at first, now stirring the stew from a stool that allowed her to reach over the edge. When she did speak, it was to ask a question of her own.

"Do you like this village?" Aethel was taken slightly aback by the off topic question. Of course he loved Trin, it was his home, everything he knew. He quickly squashed the swell of defensiveness. He was sure she wasn't trying to insult him, but couldn't figure out the point of the question.

"Yes, I'd like to think I'm fond of Trin, although its a little dull." He couldn't quite imagine living anywhere else, but was nevertheless filled with a conviction that he would not live here forever.

"If you could wish something for Trin and the people who live here, what would that be?" Aethel's head swam with possible answers, but he quickly settled on the one he wanted most.

"That's easy, I would wish we would make it through a winter without losing any children." Death was a constant in Aethel's life. No family in the village was untouched. Indeed he himself was not the only child his parents had ever had, he was just the only one that made it to adulthood.

Leather-Hat was quiet for a long time. Aethel ran out of things to do to help and stood watching her cook, silently praying she wouldn't tell him to go away. After the stew began to softly boil, she stepped down from her stool and walked into her cottage. Aethel didn't dare follow her inside, so he stood awkwardly next to the cauldron wondering if he should leave. After a few moments Leather-Hat reemerged with a tray holding two steaming cups. She set the tray onto a nearby table and sat. Aethel hesitated, but decided the second cup was an unspoken invitation and took the seat opposite the Witch. He felt a bit like he had come across a doe in the forest, any sudden movement or noise and she would dart away. Aethel took an exploratory sip from the cup and found it was an exotic tasting tea. He tried not to glace at her when he realized she'd have to remove her mask to drink and resolved to keep his eyes on the bubbling cauldron. His caution was proved unwarranted when Leather-Hat detached the lower part of her mask along an invisible seam, revealing only her mouth and chin. Aethel noticed her skin was clear and unwrinkled, before he caught himself staring and averted his eyes.

"Why did you give the wrong answer this morning? I know you knew the correct solution."  Aethel was again caught off guard by the seemingly off topic question. He was close to abandoning any effort to understand the lines of logic that Leather-Hat wandered down.

"It was a simple jest. My father made sure I knew enough numbers to avoid getting swindled."  It was true, he was rather good at the Reckoning of Numerals. 

"I may be able to grant your wish, although I'll give no guarantee. To do so, I need something from you." What she could possibly need from him he couldn't imagine. He got the feeling she somewhat enjoyed catching him off guard.

"Whatever it is, I'll give it." He meant it too, if it meant no child would die the coming winter.

Now it was her turn to seem taken aback.

"I trust you'll engage in caution in the future by not repeating that to any other Witch. Some would leave you with nothing." She sipped her tea for a while before speaking again.

"I did not live in a village like this when I was a child, so I must admit I'm fairly curious what it was like to grow up here. Tell me about it." She looked at him expectantly. Aethel had no idea where to start. He told her about the good parts first. He explained how safe he felt growing up with a whole village supporting him. Aethel told her about the time he had fallen in the crystal blue waters of the lake Trin got it's name from. He was out and sputtering on the shore before his parents even knew he was in danger. Next Aethel told Leather-Hat about the aspect of life in Trin he didn't like.

Aethel explained that deep, ancestral grief hardened the villagers and pressed them together in order to survive their harsh mountain lives. The grief was ever present, felt in the quiet lulls in conversation and the empty chairs at each family's tables. As he spoke his voice cracked, and a tear began to roll down his cheek. Leather-Hat suddenly leaned forward and scooped the tear into a tiny vial. She then stood and walked over to the cauldron and tipped the contents of the tiny vial into the stew. Aethel wasn't sure, but he swore he saw a flash of light when the tear dropped into the softly bubbling cauldron. He got the uncomfortable idea that the tear may have been the only reason he was here. 

"Thank you for your cooperation. I must confess I have come to love this village and it's people and so happen to share your wish. Would you gather the village, as if for a feast or festival?" Trin had never had a festival, but they were well acquainted with feasts. The major feast each year was at the end of the winter, at the beginning of Spring's Opening. The feast served as a celebration for those who survived the invariably harsh mountain winter and a chance to mourn those who did not. The people of Trin believed that winter was a time for dark thoughts and introspection, but once any new knowledge to be gained from the previous year was internalized such inward pursuits should be left behind and the new year should be greeted with hope and a willingness to work hard. A feast just before this season of reflection struck Aethel as an interesting idea. He also secretly hoped it would warm the villagers to Leather-Hat, and remove the self-imposed wall she had built around herself.

"Of course, although I'm not very sure how much assistance I provided. I'll go straight away and spread the news. This is good timing, everyone should be finishing their work for the day." The sun had begun it's descent while the pair had been chopping vegetables. 

"Nonsense. This would not have been possible without you." She seemed sincere, but Aethel was fairly convinced Leather-Hat could have moved the cauldron on her own. Regardless, he said his farewell and left to spread news of the Witch's stew to the fifty or so residents of Trin. The reactions varied, from wonder and excitement from the children and particularly child-like (Aethel's father was decidedly in this camp), to caution and wariness from those older and more world-worn. All, however, agreed to come. Whether through sheer curiosity or a desire to be there if anything did happen, each villager agreed to share in the Witch's feast. 

Aethel led the way back to Leather-Hat's cottage and found the back garden transformed. Many mismatched tables and chairs had been set up around the huge cauldron now steaming enchantingly over a small fire. A table nearby had a huge stack of, again mismatched, bowls and cups waiting to be filled with stew. The Witch herself was nowhere to be seen, Aethel assumed she must be inside. After a few moments the Witch emerged. 

"Thank you all for agreeing to come today. I have learned from my conversations with Aethel that the winters here are very harsh. We already feel the first chill breaths coming down from the mountains. This stew is imbued with a subtle blessing, I hope it will help warm you on particularly cold nights." Aethel was sure no one else noticed, but he swore her voice wavered slightly, as if she were nervous. Perhaps he wasn't the only one who hoped this feast would warm the villagers to her. Aethel moved first, filling three bowls for himself and his parents in an effort to avoid an uncomfortable moment where no one moved. Thankfully a throng of village children followed close behind him, each lured by the mouth-watering scent coming from the massive pot. They in turn were followed by their mothers, chasing after them and telling them to slow down, go one at a time, don't use your hands, etc. By the time Aethel had found his parents and delivered their bowls, filled with steaming stew, the whole village was lining up to get a bowl of their own. The stew was thick and savory, and perfectly seasoned to bring out the subtle flavors of the tubers, carrots, and onions. It also seemed to fill Aethel with nostalgia for his home and those he shared it with. He noticed the effect in others first, as everyone began to swap stories of growing up in Trin. Leather-Hat seemed to drink it in, listening to each in turn, asking questions and nodding along. Aethel had been prepared to introduce her to the villagers, but he quickly discovered he was not needed in this respect. Instead he was content to listen, as he heard many stories that were new even to him. 

After the sun had set completely everyone was still at Leather-Hat's cottage, laughing and happily chatting amongst themselves. The children had all curled up on the ground next to the iron cauldron, which still radiated heat despite the fire having died hours earlier. Aethel was off to one side, watching everyone get along and laugh in a time where historically everyone would have been turning inward. The Witch approached him and sat, then watched the villagers with him in comfortable silence. After the first family started to gather themselves and head home, Aethel broke the quiet moment.

"All night I've felt a curious stirring in my chest, like a taught bit of string being plucked. You cast a spell on that stew, didn't you?" He had first noticed it when we went to get his second bowl (everyone had at least three). A strange thrumming in his ribs that brought to mind the time he had caught a tiny bird as a child. The bating wings of the bird in his clasped hands had felt just the same. 

The Witch seemed surprised. She sat for a few moments as she gathered her thoughts.

"How unusual for one such as you to be able to detect the presence of magick. Have you ever felt this 'stirring' before?" Aethel immediately noticed a difference in her voice. The authoritative tone she usually spoke with had dropped, and had been replaced with genuine interest. He was struck by how much younger it made his perception of her.

"I have decidedly not. It is entirely novel. Do you mean that others cannot feel this?" It was impossible for him to ignore, though not unpleasant. 

"Indeed it is as rare as those who can use magick. It is a prerequisite in fact." Leather-Hat sounded deeply puzzled.

"What did you mean by 'one such as you'? A peasant?" Again Aethel was sure she did not intend offence, although there wasn't any meaning he could think up that wasn't offensive. 

"This ability invariably appears in girls. Indeed the further ability to harness and master magick only ever manifests in maidens. I've never once heard of it appearing in a man." She sat deep in thought for a long time. One by one the families left for their homes, full of food and positivity in equal measure. Aethel's mind, meanwhile, was reeling with the new information. If only women could become practitioners of magick then it meant all his efforts learning were in vain. Yet if he possessed this ability that supposedly only manifested in maidens, perhaps he could learn to harness magick after all. It didn't sound like he had very good chances of convincing Leather-Hat to teach him, but it couldn't hurt to try. She, however, beat him to it.

"If indeed you have the ability to harness magick, as well as detect it, it is far to dangerous for you to know nothing. On the off chance that this ability also manifests itself in you, I will prepare you." The authoritative tone was back but now that Aethel had seen behind it, it seemed far more affected. He didn't care, however, because the most unlikeliest of his dreams had just come true.