The Wood

Part 2, Entry 6

Day Sixteen, Fourth Moon, Hunting Year Five Hundred and Four

Mags is tall -- intimidatingly so. They have to stoop every time they pass through anyone's door but their own. Their hands are big enough to wrap around my entire bicep and then some. I haven't seen them smile yet, and their frown takes up half their face. They're strict and no on wants to cross them. Word must have spread that Samson and I were coming because Mags was waiting, arms crossed and leaning against the doorframe when we  arrived.

"So, this is her?" Mags' voice was deep and wide, unhurried.

"This is her." Samson's answer was accentuated by the whines of his dogs. Samson looked at me. "Meet Mags."

"You got a name, girl?"

I tried not to feel affronted as I answered. "Kyla."

"How're you gonna get around, Kyla?" Mags settled their fists on their hips and raised a brow.

I cringed, pulling myself protectively inward. "I -- I--"

A hand dropped onto my shoulder. "Hey, take it easy," Samson's voice rumbled from above me. "Don't worry about their tone, it's an honest question. We've got people who get around by sled or rolling chair or crutches all the time. They sound brisque, but they just want to know what you need." He turned back to Mags. "Kyla told me that she had splints to hold her steady. The uncles broke them when they left her in the woods."

"And splints on my hands and wrists, too," I interjected.

Mags breathed a few words I didn't quite hear before saying, "Well, we'll get you some new ones, but until then, I'll give you a lift."

I wasn't so sure that I wanted a lift from Mags, but Samson gave me a reassuring nod and unhooked one of his hounds from the sled. "Keep Jack with you for a few days," he said, "just to help you get around."

I don't know what I expected to see when I entered Mags' house, but what I saw wasn't it. The ceilings were high, but the dark wood evoked a cozy sense of comfort and warmth. Most of the counters and cabinets had short and tall versions side by side, and beside the stairs rested a curious, square platform with railings and a system of pullies and levers. After a supper of soup -- Mags put it in a cup sturdy and wide enough that I felt comfortable balancing it between my wrists so I could feed myself -- I found out what the platform did. Mags set me on the platform and showed me how the pullies and levers worked to lift the platform up to the second floor. I was skeptical when they gestured that I should give it a try myself, but Mags showed me how to fit my arms through the loops so that I could pull on my own.

"If it helps you," Mags said, "we can see about trading for one of Samson's dogs. It could even be trained to help you move the platform if you have weaker days." They went on. "I've got rules for staying in my house. Treat me and everyone you meet with respect, help with the chores, go to bed on time, and otherwise listen to my instructions. You follow my rules, and you and I won't have any problems."

Mags pushed open a door at the top of the stairs -- which I noticed had two doorknobs, one high, and one low one linked together. As Mags twisted the higher knob, I noticed that the lower knob turned simultaneously -- and a feeling of surprise settled in my stomach. An odd assortment of bunks in different shapes and sizes filled the room. Mags marched down the center aisle until we stopped at a low bed with a couple wide steps on one side and a short slide on the other. They shook the shoulder of the child sleeping in the bed until bleary eyes blinked open.

"Sasha, take the top bunk. We have a new resident," Mags said without preamble. Sasha, wide curls falling across her eyes climbed out from under the covers and dragged herself up the ladder to the top bunk with a sleep-drunk wave in my general direction.

I settled under the blankets, soft and warm with use, Jack curled up at my feet, and slept peacefully for the first time in weeks.