Page 72 of Apples Dipped in Gold
At first, his question felt overwhelming as I thought of all the reasons, but then I considered how my love for him had only grown since entering the Enchanted Forest. How it had begun to burn hotter, fiercer than ever before, and I realized why.
“Because…he makes me feel safe,” I said, and because of that, I had been able to let go of other feelings like fear. “How do I make him feel safe enough to love me?”
“I suppose,” said the fox, “you just keep loving him.”
We were silent after that as we continued through the forest, and it was not long before we came to a cottage with a pitched roof covered in thatch. A little fence surrounded it, and a path wound through a healthy garden to the door. I had never seen such a welcoming place.
Smoke rose from the chimney, and the air smelled like roasted pork. It made my mouth water, and I thought about how long it had been since I’d had a warm meal. My stomach growled, just as eager.
I started toward the house, surpassing Fox, when I felt something tug my skirt. It was the fox, who had taken hold of my hem to keep me back.
“Take heed, Samara,” he said. “For we are in the presence of a witch. Do not trust your eyes.”
A sliver of unease shivered down my spine and then moved through my entire body. At the fox’s words, my gaze returned to the cottage, which was no longer so pleasant looking but cast in ruin. The roof was buckling, the garden was wilted, and the smoke smelled more like burning flesh.
In the yard between the house and the wood, a woman was bent at the waist, cutting grass with a sickle. Everything about her was gray, from her head to her toes, with the exception of a pair of black gloves. They reminded me of Lore’s, though I doubted she wore them for the reasons he did.
“Do not speak in front of the witch,” said the fox. “For if you do, she will refuse us refuge.”
I had no trouble remaining silent or distant.
“Good woman,” said the fox as he approached. She did not cease slicing blades of grass. “We are told you have eyes everywhere and know where the wishing tree will grow on the night of the first full moon.”
“Of course, good fox,” she said. Her words were cut with the snick of her sickle. “I can tell you where the wishing tree will appear on the night of the first full moon, but you must do me a favor, or none of you will ever leave this forest alive.”
The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. Lore shifted closer to me, and I felt myself straighten.
“What favor, good woman?” asked the fox without fear.
“I have only a glass ax with which to chop wood and require a rick before morning. Go now and complete this errand, and I will tell you how to reach the wishing tree, but if you return the ax broken, you will die.”
“I shall complete your task, good woman,” said the fox. “But would you be willing to give my companions a place to sleep for the night?”
“I have only one bed,” said the woman. “But the maiden may have it if she will help me cook, and the prince may sleep on the hay in the stables if he will cut this grass with my sickle.”
“Thank you, good woman,” said the fox.
She straightened stiffly and dropped the sickle on the ground.
“Follow me, pretty thing,” she said.
Fear gripped me instantly, and Lore could not suppress his growl, which made the witch’s face change. It was the briefest glimpse at her true self, asnarling creature with sharp teeth and eyes like pools of midnight oil.
“A moment, good woman,” said the fox. “I want to say farewell to my companions for the night.”
“A moment, of course,” she said. “But then you are mine.” She left then and entered her cottage.
Once she was inside, the fox turned to look at us. I wanted to beg not to be left alone with her, but the fox was quick to advise.
“You will survive the night if you listen to me. The woman will try to offer you food and drink, but do not take it, or you will fall into a deep sleep from which you will not wake.” Then he looked at me. “Before you lay down to rest, stretch seven lengths of golden thread across the floor from the door to the bed.”
I nodded and did not question why. After what happened to the nixie, I thought it best not to know.
“I will,” I said.
“Good. I will see you at dawn.”
The fox walked up to the glass ax which rested against the fence. There was a small clink as he took it into his mouth by the handle and trotted off toward the forest.
