Siobhan crouched beside a tree at the edge of the forest and watched the humans in the field beyond. Heavy clouds leaked cold mist. She shivered and reinforced her spell of warming.
Young men gathered downed tree limbs from the edge of the Sidhe Wood. They did not venture alone into the forest, fearing such as she.
Two men swathed in heavy homespun brats over their shirts and wool leg wrappings approached. Siobhan blended so well with the tree that sheltered her they would not see her.
One man, taller and older than the other, carried an ax over one shoulder. He surveyed the nearby trees and pointed.
“We’ll take that one, Cormac,” he said. “It’s near dead and will burn long.”
His youthful companion paused. “Too far in,” he said. “I do not plan to never see home again.”
“Ach,” the other man scoffed. “What can happen to us in sight of our clansmen?”
“If sight there is in such uncanny shadows,” the younger man mumbled.
The man with the ax laughed and strode forward. “Just don’t eat or drink anything the witch offers you. Besides, our witch is addled.”
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