King of the Woodlands

Chapter 3

The village was still as the grave. The windows were concealed by wooden planks, the doors were locked, and not even the horses stirred in the stables.

Except one.

Aheiran, his name was. It meant King of the Horses. He most certainly acted like it too, the stubborn, vain beast. When Lilibeth snuck into the stables, her feet crunching against the hay, his liquid black eyes flew open. He snorted, tossing his mane.

"Don't you dare, you," Lilibeth said. "It's just you and me for the next few days, so you better cooperate with me." She held all animals close to her heart, but Aheiran was particularly stubborn. He tossed his head, the moonlight staining his dapple-grey coat the color of silver herring.

She plied him with an apple she salvaged from the bottom of a hay bale, and then they were off, disappearing into the night-shrouded woods. People called it the Wise Forest, because it was brimming with faeries and sinister creatures that knew anything and everything.

Lilibeth felt tears rise in her eyes. She squeezed them shut, trying to keep the tears in her head where they belonged. She kicked Aheiran into a gallop.

The forest was quite eerie at night. Moonlight shone through the trees, not enough to fully illuminate Lilibeth's surroundings, but enough for her to tell that she was not alone. She stared at her surroundings, pulling her cloak tighter.

She blinked, and a little stone cottage stared back at her. The charcoal colored roof was shrouded with wisteria vines, and fat puffs of smoke arose from the stout chimney. She could hear the sounds of a crackling fire from the inside. It looked welcoming, although it seemed to monitor Lilibeth's every movement.

It looked like the place to stop if you were in need of shelter for the night. But maybe that was the trap.

Lilibeth knew better than to fall into traps disguised as pretty things. Mother's fairytales danced in her head, warning her of the mistakes people made.

"You shouldn't be here," someone crooned, their guttural voice tangling with the sounds of the crackling fire. "So many girls such as yourself have dared venture into my cottage, and they melted away like snow."

Lilibeth gasped. She tried to get Aheiran to move, but he was completely still.

"Come on," she said, giving his cheek a firm pat. "Do you want an apple or not?"

The arched wooden door opened, and out stepped a witch (a real life witch! thought Lilibeth).

Her short, fluffy hair was the color of winter snow at night, threaded with azure tulips. She looked more like a sweet grandmother or a bean tighe than a mean old witch, but Lilibeth knew better. The witch wore a pale, lemon-colored linen shift, along with a white apron embroidered with cardinals and emerald leaves.

"I'm just joking, poppet. You should see the look on your face." The witch scrutinized Lilibeth with small appleseed eyes. "You're so scrawny. Sour, too. Have you bathed?"

"You smell," Lilibeth retorted.

The witch laughed. "You could use some fattening up," she said.

Lilibeth held her chin high, holding on to her pride. "How do I know you're not using me to fatten you up?"

"Do you really think that nasty old witches wear dresses, child?"

"My mother taught me that witches can wear anything to trick innocent people," Lilibeth said, her head high.

"Is that what your mother taught you? Lies?"