Today two sparrows sat outside my kitchen window, instead of one. It seems I’m the only solitary being left in this entire forest.
“I can do the talking,” she offers.
I nod, wrapping the bidding tightly around the center of her foot. Her blunt nails dig into the arms of the chair in preparation for the pain.
“My name is Bloom, did I mention that?” I shake my head, and fresh color swims in her cheeks. “Oh. That’s my name. My father is a baker. I’ve been helping him since I was old enough to walk. We sent some loaves to you a few months ago. Did you receive them?”
Again her words confuse me. I’m not sure what to say, so I concentrate on wrapping the bandages securely around her ankle to stabilize it and decrease the swelling. My mother was a healer who taught me and my father basic skills. I’ve never been more grateful for her teachings than this moment.
Bloom’s eyes rove around the room to avoid looking at her twisted ankle.
“Unless, of course, you don’t eat bread,” she murmurs. “Do you eat bread?”
I look up at her as I fit the cotton over her ankle. She hums low in her throat and slides back as if she can move away fromthe pain. I need to distract her. It’s the least I can do, even with my paltry conversational skills.
“I eat bread.”
Moving quickly, I finish her binding and watch her sag with relief. I elevate her ankle on the stool as she leans back. Her skirt rides higher up her legs.
I shudder as I turn away from her flesh on display. She is all delicious curves and sweet-smelling skin. I don’t deserve to look at her. Not unless she wants me to.
And why would a goddess like her want to suffer under a monster’s stare?
“Oh good,” she breathes. “I had brought a fresh loaf for you, but it was crushed during my fall. As were my cookies. They both met a similar fate to my ankle.”
She motions to her destroyed basket that sits in splinters near my front door. In my haste to care for her, I left it open. Lightning bugs buzz along the doorframe. The hinges creak as a strong wind blows it open wider.
“You’re lucky you weren’t hurt worse.” I stand and cross my arms over my chest. “Are you from Dew Hollow?”
I already knew the answer, but I watch her dark head bob. She wouldn’t have known where I was if she wasn’t. The Minotaur Lord of Dew Hollow has always lived in this cottage. Since the first cursed lord a hundred years ago. The reason why he was cursed is unknown, lost to time.
Perhaps he deserved it, perhaps he didn’t. It matters little now. This is what I was born to be, and I will die as one just as my father had. My mother’s love had not saved him, nor had his steadfast protection of the village.
I shake myself from the unpleasant memories and return my focus to Bloom.
“Why would your father allow you to make the journey alone? Surely he or your husband would’ve accompanied you.”
The word husband tastes bitter on my tongue, but there is no possibility that someone as beautiful as her is not already spoken for. She is trusting and has a kind heart. I can sense it. The idea that she’s a part of some plot to murder me fades from consideration.
“My father is too old to make the journey.” She blushes and studies the grooves along the chair's arms. “As for a husband, I don’t have one.”
I lick over my lips. Her confession pleases me. Hazel eyes lift to mine. A quiet determination simmers in her irises. I’m ashamed of ever entertaining the possibility of her coming for nefarious means with the words she delivers next.
“I had to come see you before the full moon tomorrow if there was a chance for you to spare us.” The pleading notes in her voice make my stomach hollow. “We hadn’t meant to fall behind, Lord Rhydian. The winter was hard, as you know, and the grain has become more expensive. With only me to help him, we barely make enough to keep ourselves fed.”
Her desperation is clear. The winter was hard. I’m sympathetic to her plight, but why has she come to see me as if I’m the answer to her suffering?
I’m not sure what answers she’s looking for, so I don’t give one.
I need space to think. With her beautiful face looking at me as if I’m the only being in the world that can save her, it's an intoxicating feeling. If she asked for the moon, I’d find a way to give it to her.
These new feelings can’t be allowed to blossom. There is no hope of a future for us. Not that I even think she wants one.
She has come for my help, and I can’t assist her. I’ll send her on her way with fresh bandages, and that will be the end.
I feel her presence inside my cottage as the silence stretches. Dumping a few dried herbs and fruit in a cup, I put a kettle on toboil. Once it whistles, I fill a mug with the warm liquid and watch the herbs steep.
A medicinal scent rises from the steam. It bathes my face as I carry the concoction towards her.
