When the Woods Call Her Name
There are predators in the woods — skulking, baying, and clawing through the frozen soil. It’s the time of year when we barely leave our hovel outside Boundary Wood, the last true refuge for uncharmed mortals who do not want to pay tribute to the Winterking’s court.
My sister Aida sits by the fire each night, knitting little socks for babes unborn. It’s an old charm leftover…