Engastrimyth

Useful scars and corokia tea

Bloody hell, it’s finally getting cool up on the mountain. The harvest has finally begun. It starts early up here, but I love every minute of it. Gathering in the fruits of my labor, canning, storing, making, anticipating the treats and treasures I’ll enjoy in the long winter months. There are things besides food we harvest, too, Many of the monsters shed their light summer coats, or skins, or feathers, to grow thicker, warmer coverings for the winter. This particular day I was on the hunt for werewolf fur, they shed it in great big smelly clumps that I wash and spin into yarn. It’s incredibly warm, a little itchy so an undershirt is recommended, but it also increases confidence and sex appeal; heightened animal magnetism is a popular request among clients.

We had gathered quite a lot, plus some mystery fur I was interested in divining the owner of and were headed back when a voice began talking to us from the trees. The dogs were immediately on edge, hackles raised, and growling. We made our way up to the cabin, listening to the woods around us speak in garbled, grumbly tones. Something about making something and mis-something being nigh. Which sounded familiar, something from a long ago memory. One thing about being a witch is that all those painful long ago memories end up being useful. So there’s no hiding from the past. Instead we dissect it. Lay it bare and open up its guts. We must remember every wound, how we got it, how we cured it, and how we got revenge.

That voice kept growling at us, coming from everywhere all at once. I guess it wasn’t so much a growl as it was a belch. Words being pushed out with the air. It said various things, most incomprehensible. I did catch, “die without knowing you’re dead.” Curious. I wasn’t sure what to expect when we reached the cabin steps, but it wasn’t a cotton-haired octogenarian in hot pink that much I’ll tell you.