A Dark Root Christmas: Merry's Gift: A Daughters of Dark Root Companion Novella by April Aasheim

Author:April Aasheim [Aasheim, April]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dark Root Press
Published: 2015-11-25T00:00:00+00:00

BUNDLED UP IN scarves and thrift-store coats, the girls walked through a sprinkling of snow towards Harvest Home, the Victorian style bed-and-breakfast where Aunt Dora lived with old Miss Rosa. It wasn’t quite suppertime but the sun had already begun its descent, hardly visible on the pine-prickled horizon. The bleak arc of orange and yellow above the tree line hastened them onward.

Merry trailed behind her sisters, walking slowly so as not to jolt Starlight, who was tucked into the nook beneath her arm. She felt him quiver under her coat, now and then jerking uneasily before falling back into his somber contentment.

In the foreground, mighty oak trees mocked them, their long bare branches hooked like arthritic fingers. But Merry didn’t fear the trees, or even the deeper woods beyond. She was at home in the woods. In harmony, in fact. As the other girls ducked branches and skirted boughs, Merry reached to stroke them. The branches seemed to reach back, quivering, clambering for her magick touch.

She had a private spot in the woods ahead, a place where she went to do her homework, work on her herbalism skills, and talk to the forest animals. The animals didn’t speak back, of course, not in the way that people did. But she knew their every trouble, their every intent. She was as tuned to the energies of the forest as a bird is to the seasons.

As she neared the small dirt path that led to her hideaway, Merry was startled to see wafts of smoke rising up from the woods––thin white wisps that curled upwards in frivolous loop-de-loops. She scrunched her eyes and sniffed the air, peering deeper along the tree-guarded path. Smells of roses and chocolate drifted out. Also ginger, not unlike the smell that came from the concoction she made in her mother’s store. It was strange to detect those fragrances here, dominating the natural scents of pine and wet earth and leaves. She sniffed again, just to be certain. It was not a trick. The aromas were real.

There was also a muted yellow light emanating from within a thick clump of trees.

She took one step from the road, towards the smoke and light, but was hooked through the arm by Maggie.

“No hiding out in your spot now,” Maggie said, pulling her onward. “If we have to spend the evening listening to Aunt Dora complain about Mother, so do you.”

Merry cast one final glance down the path before rounding the bend.

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