For him to live, a witch must die.
Driven out of his village for the curse he possesses, Tavor is alone. With nowhere else to go, he must venture into the Eylderfell to hunt down the witch who cursed him.
But the forest is dangerous, wild with magic...
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Warmth.
It was the first thing he noticed once he'd entered the house. The Eylderfell was starved of warmth, the days and night long and cold. But here, soft candlelight danced against the plain walls, and the subtle scent of incense curled through the air, filling it with cedar and white sage.
Books and scrolls lined the walls. Tavor had never seen so many in one place before. The village had a modest library, but the wealth of information here far exceeded it. How could one person have so much of it?
A wide, circular window overlooked the glade he'd just entered from. He could make out the familiar shape of the forest: the lake glimmering in the clearing, the willow tree dangling drooping branches against the still water. But in here it was daylight, and brilliant sunshine burst across the lake's surface in ripples of aquamarine and bright teal. He hadn't seen the sun in what felt like days.
"And who might you be?"
Tavor whipped around. A woman stood behind him, tall and ethereally beautiful. For a moment he thought her to be carved from white marble: skin delicate and pale, framed by silver-white hair that flowed over her shoulders and down her back.
"Tavor." The word slipped unresisting from his mouth, like silk unfurling.
She smiled. "What a pleasant surprise. I so rarely get visitors." She extended a hand towards him. "What brings you here?"
He managed to avoid her gaze. "I entered the Eylderfell by mistake," he said. "I've been trying to find a way out."
"And you managed to stumble upon my home in the process?" The woman's eyebrows flicked up. "You must be lost, indeed. Do make yourself comfortable. Let me take your cloak."
She stepped behind him, and Tavor made ready to remove the fastenings. But then he remembered the hazel branch tucked into the cloak lining, and shook his head.
"No need," he said. "I'm still a little cold from outside."
It was a terrible lie. The cottage was warm, infused with gentle fire and the warmth of incense. He rubbed his hands up his arms, as if to prove his point. The woman cast him a sceptical glance, but didn't press it.
"Of course. Perhaps a hot drink to warm you up?"
Again, Tavor shook his head. "Not right now, thank you."
She seemed so pleasant, mild and graceful. Surely this wasn't the spirit the crow had told him of, who would devour him just for knowledge?
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Imizael," she said. The "I had another once, but that was a lifetime ago."
Tavor frowned. So this was indeed the person he'd been looking for. Yet he still couldn't reconcile the two.
"You have a lot of books," he said. "Have you read them all?"
A bitter smile twitched over the woman's face. "I have the great luxury of time," she said. "But I am in no rush. Once day soon, I shall have read them all, and master all the knowledge within."
