The furniture was plain and obviously home-made, built to last rather than for comfort. A spinning wheel stood in the corner next to a bag of wool. The smell of smoke and wool oil filled the house.
“Seat yourselves, please.” Their host gestured to a high-backed bench to one side of the fireplace.
“What was that all about?” Wiz asked as they sat down.
“What?”
“The business at the door.”
“There are things which can take human form and deceive all save the most clever. But few of those can enter a house unbidden. In the Wild Wood only the foolish or very powerful invite a guest within.”
“Umm,” said Wiz.
The cottager settled himself on a similar bench across from them. “I am called Lothar,” he said.
“I am called Moira, a hedge witch. He,” she jerked a nod at Wiz, “is called Sparrow. We thank you for the use of your fire. I have injured my leg and wish to brew a healing poultice, if you will allow it. If you or any of yours have ills that I may treat I will be happy to do so.”
“You’re welcome to the fire, Lady, but none of us are in need of healing.”
Moira looked skeptical but said nothing.
“You are also welcome to spend the night within if you so wish,” Lothar said grandly.
“Thank you, Goodman. We would be most grateful.”
Moira produced the small bronze kettle from her pack and Lothar called the children down from the loft. He sent the oldest, a boy of about ten, to fetch water. While Moira laid out her kit on the rough plank table the other two children, a boy and a girl about eight and six respectively, watched in awe.
When the water was fetched, Moira selected several leaves and roots from the packets in her pouch and put them to simmer over the fire. Meanwhile Lothar bustled about fixing a meal.
They dined on venison, tubers and vegetables and Lothar served up a pitcher of beer to wash it down. It was a delicious change from trail food and Wiz wolfed down his portion.
As they ate the twilight deepened to night. The only light came from the fire crackling on the hearth. The smell of pine smoke filled the room. Outside the crickets began to sing.
After dinner they retired to the fireside. Although Lothar had said little while they were eating, he began to pump them for news as soon as they were seated. Since he was mostly concerned with the happenings around his old village of Oakstorm Crossing, and since that village was fairly far from Moira’s there was little she could tell him. She answered as best she could and Wiz and the children listened.
“How fare you, Goodman?” Moira asked when she had run out of information.
Lothar smiled and Wiz saw two of his front teeth were missing. “Well enough, Lady. Well enough.”
“You are far from neighbors here.”
“Aye, but I’ve good land. And more for the clearing.”
“Did you not have a farm where you were before?”
“Well, you know how it is on the Fringe. Farms are small and the soil is worn thin. It’s hard to make a living in the best of times, and when the crops aren’t good, well . . .” He shrugged his massive shoulders.
“My grandsire talked of this land,” Lothar told them. “His father’s father lived near here. So when things got bad in our village, we came here.”
“It is dangerous to lie this deep in the Wild Wood,” Moira said noncommittally.
Lothar smiled. “Not if you keep your wits about you. Oh, it was hard enough at first. Our first two crops failed in a row and the cattle were stolen. Then my wife died and my daughter had to look after the little ones. But we stuck it out and here we are.” His smile widened. “Secure on a farm the likes of which I could never have had back on the Fringe.”
Moira smiled back tightly and the tension grew thick.
“It looks like a nice place,” Wiz said.
“Wait another few years,” Lothar told him. “Next year I will clear more land and erect a proper barn. Then we will expand the house and add storerooms. Oh, my grandsire did not lie when he called this land rich!”