by The Awethors
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Max awoke hours later from a nightmare in a fit of distress. He rubbed his eyes, which were surprisingly clean and clear. His hands were clean as well; even the dirt under his fingernails had been scrubbed away. There were bandages wrapped around his arms and forehead to protect the burns. Altogether, he felt refreshed, well rested and very safe. It was a strange thing to feel, since for as long as he could remember the people of the village of Amarelle had warned him not to go to the cottage by the woods.
It was this memory that made his lower lip tremble. It was also this memory that made him jump in surprise when the mysterious woman appeared from behind the veiled doorway. He must have looked wild and frightened, because the look on her face softened. “Calm down,” she told him sternly. “You have nothing to fear.”
“I...” Max searched for words, but none came. He let his head fall back on the pillow and relaxed as she approached him with a bowl of soup.
“Eat this,” she commanded gently.
He obeyed, lifting his head slightly only so he could swallow properly. If she had been nice enough to clean him and tend to his wounds, surely she wouldn’t feed him poison now.
And it wasn’t poison. But it wasn’t soup either. It was sweet like honey. “What is this?” he asked, but she ignored him. She moved to the fireplace that was on the other side of the room and tended to the pot that boiled there. He watched her for a moment and was reminded of his mother. When she returned to him, she sat on the edge of the bed and fed him another spoonful of the unknown substance.
Seeing fire blaze in the fireplace made the breath catch in his throat, and she noticed this. “It’s all right,” she assured him. “You’re safe here.” He relaxed yet again, but once she was finished feeding him, he turned to face away from the fire and curled up under the warm blankets.
He looked at the wall opposite the bed, and all the strange things that hung from it. There was a boar’s head which didn’t scare him as much as it should have because it wore what looked like a pink sun hat. A shelf filled with books and other little knick-knacks hung below the boar’s head, with a longer shelf next to it, filled with an odd assortment of knives, bottles of spices and colorful liquids.
He cleared his throat. “Are you a collector?” he asked, turning slightly to look at her. The woman shook her head, a faint smile on her lips.
“Oh... are you a scholar then?”
Again, she shook her head, leaving him befuddled.
So, he turned away and returned his gaze to the shelves. There were animal skulls here and there as well, which he found very odd. That wasn’t even the half of it, but he was becoming too tired to worry about it. Slowly but surely, he slipped back into sleep, and she left him there to rest.