Her friend laughed softly, lowering her voice. “Aye, but you blush enough to give me my answer.”
Fawn shook her head, though a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “Some things are not meant for sharing.”
Sara leaned closer, her tone turning more serious. “Fawn… people speak in hushed tones this morning. The sheep, thewolfhounds. Folk ask who would dare such a strike, and why now. They fear what it means.”
Fawn’s smile faded. The truth of it had haunted her since the pen. “Aye. Whoever set those hounds sought to weaken Rhodes, not the flock.”
Sara’s hand smoothed over her belly, worry flickering in her eyes. “Then we must pray he finds the one behind it quickly. For all our sakes.”
Fawn touched her arm gently. “He will. Rhodes does not bend easily.”
They spoke a while longer of lighter things, of Sara’s bairn, of Boyce’s constant fretting over her, but Fawn’s thoughts wandered. At last, she excused herself, her steps carrying her beyond the cottages. The laughter of children and the sound of shovels faded behind her as she turned toward the slope where the sheep pen lay quiet beneath its shroud of snow.
She needed to see it again. Needed to know if the truth still lingered in the silence the hounds had left behind, she pushed out into the pale morning.
The snow was deeper near the sheep pen, piled high against the rough wooden posts, the silence broken only by the creak of branches heavy with frost. Fawn drew her cloak tighter, her breath misting in the cold as she climbed the last slope.
She stopped short when she saw a figure already there.
“Elune?”
The old woman turned, her dark cloak a stark comparison with the snow-streaked fence. “I thought I’d take a look for myself,” she said, her voice quiet, carrying easily in the still air. “But there’s little left to see. Too much snow since the attack.”
Fawn’s gaze swept the ground. Where blood had stained the earth and tufts of wolfhound hair had clung, there was now only a blanket of white, freshly fallen snow. Still, her chest tightened at the memory.
“Curiosity brought you here?” Fawn asked, stepping closer.
“Aye.” Elune’s eyes were steady, but there was a shadow in them. “Curiosity… and concern. The talk in the village grows heavier by the hour. When folk don’t understand what they face, they look for dark causes.”
Fawn tilted her head. “You think this is more than men with hounds?”
Elune’s lips pressed thin before she answered. “I’ve lived long enough to know when malice walks in the open. But sometimes it hides behind things unseen. Dark forces move in ways that leave no trace.”
Fawn studied her, unsettled. “You speak as though you’ve known such things.”
Elune gave a small nod. “Where I come from, witches were hunted. Mostly old women, those who kept to themselves, those who lived with animals instead of people. It mattered little whether they had power or not. Fear is quick to turn to accusation.”
A chill that had nothing to do with the snow slipped down Fawn’s spine. “And that’s why you left?”
Elune turned her head as if needing a moment, then turned back. “It is why I have wandered. A woman alone with her knowledge, her herbs, her creatures—it is enough to draw suspicion. Enough to bring a pyre to her door.”
As though he sensed the tension, Sprig peeked his small head from Fawn’s cloak, letting out a soft mewl.
Fawn stroked him absently, her eyes never leaving Elune’s face. “Do you believe such dark forces are here? In this place?”
Elune was silent in thought, the winter air heavy around them, then at last she said, “I believe that evil has many shapes. Some wear the form of beasts. Some wear the face of men. And some…” her voice lowered, “…lurk where we least expect them.”
The words lingered in the frozen air, heavy enough to stir the fine hairs at the back of Fawn’s neck. She squared her shoulders, her green eyes narrowing on the older woman.
“Speak plain, Elune,” Fawn said, her voice firm. “You hint at shadows and whisper of evil, but you give me no truth. If you know something, say it. I’ve had enough of warnings that come with no reason.”
Elune’s gaze softened, though it did not waver. “You are bold, lass. Bolder than most would dare with me. But what would you have me tell you? That I feel darkness here? That I sense a stirring in the air I cannot name? Words like that comfort no one.”
“They comfort me more than silence,” Fawn pressed, her chin lifting. “If danger is near, I’ll face it. But I’ll not stand by while riddles are tossed at my feet like scraps.”
For the first time, a small smile touched Elune’s lips, though it was touched with sorrow. “You remind me of myself when I was young, questioning, unwilling to be cowed. But boldness can draw its own peril, lass. Remember that.”
Fawn’s hand stroked Sprig’s head where he peeked from her cloak, his purr vibrating softly. “So can holding your tongue when truth is needed.”
