Utterly Rough. UTTERLY
This draft is terribly rough. It has not been edited, or even really touched, for perhaps two years. I know its terrible, so I probably will rip it down to the bones when the time comes to edit. Please don't wince too much.
Bored beyond belief, she slipped out the backdoor into the yard, absently tucking her hands into her armpits to keep them warm in the chill autumn air. Head tilting back slightly, she managed to catch a stray ray of light, glistening pale gold through the bronze leaves of the many trees her parents had managed to cultivate over the years. The many branches criss crossed endlessly above her head, an insurance companies nightmare waiting to happen, she thought.
“Now when did you become so cynical, Ashe?” The voice had cracked like a whip, drawing her gaze abruptly from sky to ground, flicking to left and right without catching sight of the speaker. Cautiously, she glanced over her shoulder, into the house. Empty. She slipped the backdoor shut behind her, satisfied by the slight click it made as door met jamb. Eyes ahead again, she strained to hear any stray rustle, any sound out of place, as she stepped down from porch to grass.
Nothing.
Take it easy now, Ashe, she told herself. Giving voice to ones inner thoughts was normal. Giving them physical voice, however, was not. And it just was not like her either. Someone just had to be in the backyard with her. She stepped forward into the grass, wild and so unlike the painstakingly manicured grass of her condominium’s lawns. It twisted under her sensible heels, here and there a dandelion joining with the green to find it’s end under her feet. Nose wrinkling in distaste, she had the presence of mind to reach down and draw her pants slightly above her ankles. Wouldn’t do to mar her pantlegs with chlorophyll.
“When did grass become a scientific term for you?”
The voice startled her into spinning around behind, so quickly that her feet went out from under her. The ground hit her, muddy and green, almost in revenge for twisting her heels through it’s grass. She twisted her hands into her thighs, snatching handfuls of material as she forced herself to breathe through the shriek that had shot up to the back of her throat. She had control. Falling in the mud because some strange voice had startled her into spinning out of control was no reason for losing control. Control was what got you ahead of the game in life. People who lost control were left at dead end jobs, flipping burgers, delivering mail in large offices. People who she refused to be. Glaring steely eyed at pantlegs beginning to soak with mud and grass, she grimly forced herself to her feet. She would never be a dead-ender. She’d sacrificed too much. She should simply walk herself out of the backyard, borrow a change from mother and be back to her world of clean lines and precise thought.
Standing there she shook herself, as she’d been staring off into the depths of the backyard as if she was going to go further. Depths? Her parent’s backyard had never been any deeper than you could fling a teddy bear on a snowy day. Now, where had that thought come from? Lily had flung her bear once, and surely as a three year old the backyard had seemed much like a forest, the soft whistles of birds and crickets eerie as the sun overhead cast the yard in shades of green and yellow.....
No, she was an adult now. There was nothing to fear, and she’d be damned if some ramshackle length of dirt and trees would cause her to retreat. She had control, and if her feet made the simple length from middle of yard to back, well, no one was watching, and so long as she didn’t shriek it wasn’t as if the woods had won.
Nodding determinedly, she strode forward, eyes on the familiar knot in the fence that lined the small back line of her parent’s property, where she knew on the other side waited a similar fence that lined the neighbor’s. Tunnel vision, tight with a perspective locked on that dark knot of wood, she walked until her eyes abruptly crossed upon her target and she was forced to blink her eyes to clear them of muscle strain. Before her was the knot of course, but it wasn’t on a length of cleanly hewed wood, stained with age and the weather resistant chemical her father had preferred. Instead it was settled on the wide trunk of a tree, it’s bark gleaming with health and age.
Unbidden, her hands raised to stroke the bark curiously. Where had the tree come from? There were trees in her backyard of course, but none this size or age. The oldest trees even came from stock which tended to be tall but rather thin. This tree was easily as wide as she was tall, if not wider, and it’s height, she discovered, was much taller than any tree that could’ve been planted at her parent’s. In fact, as she spun in a slow, confused circle, she found herself not in her parent’s backyard at all, but in a dark, almost silent wood. Silent except for the faint trickling of water and animals, both of which seemed to echo back as if from within a large cave.
Perplexed, she eased back until her shoulders pressed against the wood of the wide tree with the once familiar fence knot, let her hands grip it for control. Just where the hell was she? Had she fallen and knocked herself silly? She’d already slipped up once in the yard. Twice was not beyond her, especially not in her work shoes.
She let herself slip down the tree till she perched on one of it’s large roots, gazing around her. There was a length of mossy rock directly before her, about ten or so feet away, a line of trees twenty or more feet away to her left and right. The tinkling sound of water was coming from the mossy rock. Just the thought of fresh water had her getting to her feet and making her way forward out of a thirst just realized. Kicking off her shoes, she stepped up onto the mossy rocks till she discovered the water’s source: a seemingly depthless pool, dark and shimmering with her own reflection. She gazed into her own eyes, a shade of greeney blue she’d always found rather dull, and then shattered her image with her hand, dipping it to draw the cool water towards thirsty lips. She drank greedily for some minutes before drawing her eyes back to herself. And the person staring from the other side of the pool into the reflection.
She darted up, and immediately had to windmill her arms in an attempt to keep from slipping on the moss. Catching herself, just so, she leaned on the pool’s rocky ledge and gazed towards the other person. Her windmill act had caused him to step backwards, to avoid the catastrophe she supposed. She watched his lips quirk to the right before he sketched a bow towards her. And then she caught the sound of the slight snicker as his eyes ran over her, still very muddied suit.
Crossing her arms over her chest angrily she forced her eyes to a cool gaze, meeting his and refusing to turn away. “What? You’ve never seen someone take a tumble in the mud before?”
“Oh certainly, Milady. But never in their night clothes. If those are what you’re wearing.”
“Nightclothes? It’s a pant suit, you idiot.”
Frowning, he passed a hand up over his hair, which ran rather long. “What’s a pant suit?”
Catching the sharp reply with a click of her teeth she instead let herself take in the fact that he wasn’t wearing what she had initially thought he’d been. Instead, he seemed to be wearing a leather shirt that caught to either side with lengths of leather tie, over a billowing white shirt and tight pants. The leather of shirt and pants was in a dark green that almost melded with the forest behind him, the pants ending in black, well worn boots. It seemed as if he had stepped from one of the medieval festivals her parents had taken her as a child. He even had a belt pouch from which dangled a scabbard, the hilt of a dagger peeking from the top.
Groaning she dropped down on her side of the pool and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. This just couldn’t be happening. She had to have hit her head incredibly hard to be dreaming of first being in a forest, and then discovering a handsome stranger wearing too tight pants. Oh yes, they were much too tight to be anything but the by product of some long ago teenage fantasy about a Tolkien character or the like.
“Are you alright, miss? I heard you make a noise. Are you in pain?”
His voice came from a shorter distance away and she forced herself to stand up slowly rather than snap straight up. She still had her control. Even here, she would be damned if she’d be caught out of her depth. Even if her white pant suit was soiled and she was developing a slight chill. Christ, she hoped to wake up soon. “I’m fine,” she heard herself say. “Just a bit cold.”
“Well for underclothes they aren’t a bit thin are they? Probably the mud chilling you.” With that, he’d somehow appeared right next to her, a hand drawing the muddied fabric of her pantleg away from her flesh, pinching it between thumb and forefinger. She slapped reflexively at him but caught only air as he spun around and seemed to dance down the mossy rocks. At the bottom he turned and extended a hand to assist her down. She had half a mind to ignore the gentlemanly gesture, and her face must have reflected the thought as his eyes took on a hint of dare that she couldn’t ignore.
Once he helped her down she retreated to her knotted tree, almost breathing a sigh of relief when her hands touched the rough bark skin. Here was something at least slightly familiar, though really a knot was a knot in her mind; who could tell if it even remotely resembled the one on the fence in her parent’s backyard?
The man crouched before her, seemingly completely at ease on his heels, and cocked his head at her as if waiting.
“What,” she asked, drawing back the note of irritation that had almost painted her voice. He pointed at her and then shook the same finger as if in admonition. “You. You’re in some kind of nightclothes yet you’re in the middle of Brickerdowns. There isn’t a cabin or thicket for miles here. Just the Moss Pool, and ol’ Knot Eye here.” And his chin jerked up at the last toward the tree against her back. Knot Eye? Well, it was as good a name as any, if you had to name a tree, she supposed. He continued to stare at her, and she guessed he was waiting on an answer to his questions. Fumbling, she forced herself to shrug. “What, don’t you know where you are?” He planted his chin in his hands and stared at her, dark eyebrows arcing to bring further emphasis to his question. She shrugged again. “Does it matter? Or are you just nosey?”
Huffing he rose to his feet again and planted a hand dramatically on his hip, the other flicking the air. “Nosey? NOSEY? Please, lady, I prefer curious.”
“Like a cat?”
His lips parted as if joyed by her comparison,” Indeed, lady, like a cat.”
Grumbling, she half muttered, “Cats do well in sacks too.”
He scowled at her and settled his fists to his hips. “Just because you’re covered in mud doesn’t mean you have to be so grouchy about it. And to think I was going to help get you out of here. Tsk. Forget it.” Spinning on a heel he started to walk away and she gasped, lunging forward to grab his heel. Control be dammed, she thought, I don’t want to be cold and muddy anymore. Or alone in this spooky forest. Forest? You’re passed out in mom and dad’s backyard, reason hissed cruelly. She released his heel as if it burned her and scooted back, arms hugging her knees. She’d just wait here until she woke up. Or something. God, something would have to happen or she’d go insane while unconscious.
He’d stopped the moment her hand had touched his heel and had silently observed her inner monologue and the amusing facial expressions that accompanied it. She must not have realized that she made such silly faces or she never would have allowed it. Too much control she had, he thought, and too little fun. And she looked damn silly in that white outfit.
Stirred back to reality by his amused stare she shot to her feet and poked a finger to his chest. “Look here, mister. If you take me to get clean and warm, I’ll be sure and see that you’re rewarded. I’ve got some cash here, and if that isn’t enough I can get a bit more to repay you.”
He simply stared, first at her finger, and then at her face, before letting out a laugh that seemed to boom abnormally loud through the forest. Catching her finger in a hand he turned and began to drag her, still giggling slightly, towards the darker depths before her. She jerked her hand back and hastily looked around for her shoes. If she was going to amuse her subconscious she could at least do it while still wearing her shoes. The damn things were too expensive to leave lying around even a damp forest in her mind.
A length away he had her shoes in one hand, and extended his other towards her, beckoning, and she hesitated. What could it hurt? Some shrink could probably quote to her the different meanings behind following a handsome stranger in tight pants through a forest, but right now she could only think of being cold and wet and wanting to change that. She reached out and caught his hand.
Later, she put the spoon to her lips and savored the taste, meaty with the chunks of animal and yet also textured by the variety of vegetable Jasper had found along their way through the forest. She tried not to think too hard on the animal meat that had also been put in the stew, and instead drew the cloak around her tighter. Jasper had given it to her, shrugging off her thanks by saying it was an extra. He’d secreted a pack someways from where they’d met, it seemed, and in it had been the cloak and some cooking things. He’d made the fire once they had made their way a bit further from the pool, deeper into the eerie green of the forest. He must have noticed the tense way she’d held her shoulders, for he’d fallen back to walk right next to her and had murmured soothingly about the fact that she was safe with him. None of the mouthless would get her.
The mouthless? Christ. She hadn’t asked, and her shoulders hadn’t relaxed one bit. Not until he’d made the fire, the cozy little light drawing her in a circle of protection that only a house with a lock and bolt would have bettered. Even with the light she had found a likely tree and pressed her back to it, it’s width not as much as ol’ Knot Eye but still enough to give her the illusion of security. Blowing lightly over the cup of stew she squeezed her hands around it for a moment to warm them. Jasper had gone off to ‘scout’, or something, leaving her with the food and the fire. She’d barely stopped herself from asking what he was scouting for. It was a forest; what, was a chipmunk going to come and steal their dinner?
But, there were the mouthless to consider. Not that Ashe had much wish to consider them. Already her imagination was beginning to stir up images fit to give her nightmares when she finally went to sleep. Sleep, while having a delusion. Just great.
A rustle in the bushes near her startled her into almost losing grip on her cup as Jasper came bounding through. He was overly graceful, and silent as a cat when he had need to be. And entirely too egotistical. Like when he’d introduced himself finally.
Thumb to chest, he’d spun toward her once they’d come upon their campsite. “You know, I don’t know your name. And you don’t know mine. Makes things rather odd, don’t you think?”
She’d shrugged noncommitedly and stood shifting from foot to foot, praying that they were stopping for the night since the sun was fading into twilight. Unphased by her lack of enthusiasm he’d reached toward her, grasping her hands in his and giving them a firm shake. “Jasper’s the name. Or at least part of it. But you, now, I’ve pegged you for a Jessica. That’s it isn’t it? Jessica? I always did have a thing for names.” Smirking he’d dropped back, letting go of her hands to await what he probably expected to be an excited exclamation of “Oh my, aren’t you right!”
Instead, she had crossed her arms over her chest and thinned her lips in irritation, staring at him. Inch by inch, his smile had faded until he’d fairly pouted at her. Growing ever agitated, he started bouncing from foot to foot, before finally asking, “Well if it isn’t Jessica, then what is it? Surely you’ll tell me your name.”
“It’s Ashe. And just why would you think my name was Jessica?”
Smiling slyly, he’d leaned towards her. “Why, because of your grand beauty, miss.”
She shook her head even now and pressed back against her tree support, staring at the wild man as he strode from the bushes. Beauty? The man was mad for the forest if he found a woman covered in mud appealing. And stinking of sweat for that matter. She’d kill for a bath.
Grinning now, he shook two large waterbags at her in triumph. “Fresh water! I’m sure you’re thirsty by now, walking around in those shoes.” He cast an amused glance at the low heels she’d kicked off the moment they’d stopped. She’d been tempted to take and throw them into the woods, as much as they’d bruised her feet. She’d been overly stubborn or she would’ve have simply hiked without them, prickles, thorns and stray twigs be damned. The edges of her pants had also become frayed from being snagged, stiff with mud and grass. Her shirt and overcoat were layered in sweat and more muck, and she was certain her face was smeared with it from the times she’d absently wiped at herself. Hell, she was probably fit to make one of these mouthless scurry off ai aiing like some kicked dog.
Or at least she hoped so.
Companionably, he handed her one of the waterbags as he settled cross-legged next to the fire, his back to the expanse of night-blackened woods behind him. She shuddered and took the bag, releasing the thong closure and taking a long drink. Crisper than anything bottled she’d ever had, and guaranteed clean unless you caught it down stream when someone took a piss. She chuckled inwardly at her own joke before passing back the bag and finishing her cup of stew, gesturing with her spoon as her mouth was full towards the forest. “So, where exactly are you taking me?” Jasper stared at her and she hurridly caught the dribble of gravy that traced down her chin, greedily licking her finger as she waved at him to answer her. He shrugged and took his time stirring his cupful before speaking.
“Well, I’d be all for taking you home, or wherever, but since you seem to have forgotten how to get there... I suppose I’ll settle with taking you by the nearest cabin. An older couple and their son lives close, another few hours walk once the sun comes up. They might be able to tell me just who you are and where I need to take you. Though you know,” and now he leaned toward her to tap a finger swiftly to her temple, “ I don’t see a bruise, to indicate you bonked yourself hard enough to forget all that. You didn’t eat any of the mushrooms did you?”
Her eyebrows shot straight up at that. “ What mushrooms?”
He made a sound deep in his throat as he tucked into his soup some more. “Oh you know, shadow mushrooms. Some people don’t know better and munch on them from time to time. And then go around making fools of themselves, as if they were drunk. Sometimes it makes them forget all sorts of things.”
“No, I didn’t eat any mushrooms. All I had was a mouthful from that pool.”
“Well, the Moss itself surely would give you problems, but not the water in the pool itself. Hmmmm. It could’ve been magic too.”
At the sound of that she tossed her head back and roared with laughter. Oh this was too rich. Not only was she having fantasies about medieval men and forests, but there appeared to be magic involved. It was straight out of a very, very bad movie.
Only when she’d dropped her head back down did she notice Jasper’s eyes tense, his face serious. It was the first time she had seen him anything but jovial. “What? Oh really now, you can’t be serious. Magic? Might as well say that someone came and ate my brain.”
He leaned forward and set his cup on a stray rock with a clink. “Ate your brain? Do you remember such a thing? No, no, if that had happened you wouldn’t be able to do much beyond twitch for a bit. Pfagh.” He waved his hands about him in frustration. “But really, girl, don’t make fun with magic. It’s serious stuff. I know some of the inland villagers think its all fluff and dreams but it’s nothing to joke about. Neither is brain eating.” And he gave a shudder before grasping his cup again, as if entirely much too disturbed to continue with that line of thought.
Sighing, she wrapped her arms around her knees, tucking them close and dragging the cloak ever closer. Fine, let him think what he wanted. She supposed he’d give her an odd look if she mentioned that this all, the forest, him, the mud, everything was simply a figment of her imagination. Let him have his little dreams in her dream. She scrubbed her face against her knees at that last thought. It was entirely too paradoxical for her.
“Have you had enough to eat?”
She made some kind of noise, hoping he took it for an affirmative and left her alone. Her mind felt heavy, drowsy. She was warm enough, and the tree made her secure enough feeling, that she could sleep. Her last conscious thought was feeling his hand ease her onto her side, tucking the cloak around her further, before she was swept off to dreams.
The golden rays of the sun peeking through the forest roused her to a slightly chilled morning. She sat up, stretching off the soreness of sleeping on the ground, and gazed around her. The fire was out, looking to be doused completely. A cup of last night’s stew sat near her, steaming, as dig the waterbags. Taking the cup, she sipped and began to eat, glancing around for Jasper. Not that she was as alarmed at being alone in the forest this morning as she had been in the dark of night. She just didn’t want to be left to herself when she hadn’t a chance in hell of figuring out north from south, east from west. She’d failed that part of her survival training as a young girl. She hadn’t done very well with cooking either, so it was a good thing Jasper had had the wherewithal to make dinner.
He emerged from a side and grasped her arm, dragging her to her feet with little ceremony. “We need to go.” He grabbed the waterbags, slung one of her back and then slipped the other over hers. “Finish it, fast.”
Hurriedly, she spooned the rest of the stew in her mouth and swallowed, let him take the cup and loop it onto the waterbag before dragging her toward the treeline. “But, my shoes..”
“No time!”
She winced at the feeling of stickers and burs catching her pantyhose, but let him draw her further on, picked up her pace when he quickened into a half trot, and tried to keep her over active imagination from thinking of what exactly was making him so jumpy. There were no smiles on his face, no form of reassurance. Simply a desire to make sure she kept up when he glanced back at her. She felt the leaves of trees brush at her face, the branches slap at her as they moved into a dead run, not understanding how she managed to not trip on the uneven terrain. She let him guide her to the point where the forest was a green blur, her vision tunneled on him, even as her ears strained behind to where she could now hear a rustling, growing louder with every step.
Her heartbeat stuttered, her blood burned with adrenaline, until all she could see was him, his arm and hand connecting to her, drawing her away from whatever followed. All she could hear was her blood pounding as if in warning in her ears, a rhythmic percussion almost in time with her foot falls.
And then, abruptly, they broke through the dense tree line and into a clearing, and Jasper dragged her at least twenty feet further before dropping her hand. She immediately dropped to her knees, suddenly aware of aching feet and straining, burning lungs. She pressed her hands to the ground and breathed heavily, panting from the over exertion. When she finally had her breath back she drew the spigot of the waterbag to her mouth and guzzled greedily.
After a moment Jasper’s hand came down lightly on her shoulder and he said quietly, “Look.”
Raising her head to look at him, she then turned to look behind her. And nearly shot back to her bruised and likely blistered feet. There, just at the dense tree line, stood a figure that seemed part man, part deer. It’s lower body was exactly that of a male deer in prime season, firmly fleshed and furred, but instead of rising up into the head of a deer bristling with horns, it rose into the face of a man. The flesh and fur was pale white, with the shininess of candle wax, the eyes pupilless and seeming and endless sea of white. And where the mouth should be lay an expanse of taut skin, as if the lips had been forced together and then smeared away with paint.
It stared at her. She didn’t know how she knew that it looked at her and not Jasper, she just knew. She could feel those colorless eyes burning into her flesh, causing her own to begin to crawl. The sensation of something crawling further made her glance down and see the movement of bugs along her limbs, not climbing her but moving over her to get further away. Away from the mouthless.
“Come, Ashe.”Jasper’s hand eased her up, drawing her back away from the monster. She stumbled from her sore feet, had to stop herself from clinging to him, from clawing at him to get away. She bordered on the verge of panic, forced herself to tear her eyes from the mouthless to Jasper. Fought the urge to look back until she finally did, and found the space it had inhabited only a moment before empty.
She sagged against Jasper in relief and physical pain. “It’s gone. I don’t know what the hell that was but it’s gone”
Jasper chuckled mirthlessly. “You knew what it was. But I understand. We can’t linger here though. It will come back.”
“Why didn’t it come for us? If you think it would hurt us, and I think it would as well, why didn’t it? I mean it just stood there and stared as if looks could kill.”
Jasper snorted. “Don’t joke about such things, lady. Come, we must go.” He drew her to her feet and helped her hobble a few feet before hissing and swinging her into his arms. She let out a gasp, startled at the change of balance, and stared at his face as he began to lope through the clearing towards another treeline. He’d handled her as if she’d weighed no more than a waterbag. Granted, she wasn’t an overly large woman, since most times she forgot to eat when working, and working was her life, but she wasn’t tiny. And he wasn’t a big bruiser of a man who should be able to swing a woman into his arms. He was lithe, but not thick. She shook her head at that and simply counted herself lucky not to have to move further on her blistered feet. Focusing ahead at the tree line, she found herself puzzled. The trees were green, but not too green, as if in the autumn, just beginning to shift from deepest green to gold and bronze. She looked back over Jasper’s shoulder at the treeline they’d just left and blinked. The trees there were the darkest greens and browns she could imagine, and even the light lent itself to a greenish tone.
Why hadn’t she noticed that before, when she’d been under their branches?
She sat, her feet in a hot bucket of water, and sipped from the fragrant drink the old woman had given her just a moment before. She was more than grateful to be sitting upright in a sturdy wooden chair before a cheery fireplace, tonight. They’d reached the cabin Jasper had spoken of earlier only an hour after their encounter with the mouthless, and Ashe had never been more grateful to see a kindly grandmother open the door. She’d been all wrinkles, the old woman, who Ashe learned was named Hilda. Making much over Ashe’s battered feet and directing Jasper to set her up in a chair as she tottered about getting them both settled. It had immediately done wonders to Ashe’s spirit after meeting the mouthless. And after discovering she was still in this little delusion world.
Sipping at her drink, Ashe wondered if there was a possibility that she wasn’t dreaming after all. She lived in a world of numbers. Numbers pushed this way and that made money, money for herself, her clients, and her company. Her bosses had many reasons to rejoice over their employment of Ashelia Grace when she’d popped directly out of school. Her willingness to work long hours, eschew personal attachments and social scenes had given her a one way ticket to partner, to the corner office, and the large condominium.
She’d only had to sacrifice family, love, and life to get it. But in this day and age money meant dreams. Money meant her parents didn’t have to struggle as they had when she was a child, sacrificing for their children, starving for the little things. Money meant no debt. And no debt was a big deal to her, and to her family. Her parents had complained from day one about never seeing her, and she even recalled the longest fight she’d ever had with her mother. About giving up dreams for money. She’d told Ashe it’d eat a hole in her.
“It’s not worth it, Ashelia.”
“Not worth it? Mom, for Christ’s sake look what its gotten you and Dad? How long has it been since you’ve been able to rent a movie without worrying that five bucks will mean no food for a few days?”
“Don’t talk that way to me, Ashelia. You girls were always worth the sacrifice. Money alone can’t buy you dreams or happiness. Not unless you’re soulless.”
Her mother’s voice had rung in her ears even after she’d flipped her cell phone shut. Soulless. Money had always been the issue in their house. Their lack of it, their want of the things that could only come from having it. And yet, while there had been arguements when she had been younger, her parents had always made sure that she and her sister had never gone without. She remembered her mother saying she wasn’t hungry and simply scraping her portion of dinner onto her plate.
Money would eat a hole into her. And not having money for food would eat a hole into her parents. Straight through the middle.
“Do you need more tea, dearie?”
Ashe smiled at Hilda and shook her head. “No, thanks. I’m still good.”
“That’s good. Just let the salts do the trick on your feet here and I’ll give them a good slatherin’ with the herbs. The blisters have already popped so they’ll just be a mite tender.”
Ashe smiled again and nodded, taking another slow sip of her drink. Normally she didn’t care much for tea, but the stuff Hilda had brewed for her had an slightly cinnamon taste that seemed to eat away her weariness. The thick nightgown and robe helped too. Hilda had chased the men outside and had given Ashe a brisk scrub, ignoring protestations and the weak embarrassment Ashe had managed to garner. It just wasn’t right, being stripped naked and scrubbed by some old woman who didn’t look strong enough to walk half the day. But she’d certainly been able to manhandle all twenty-eight years of Ashelia into doing what she’d wanted.
Ashe had to admit that it was worth it, being clean and warm and hopefully safe in Hilda’s four bedroom cabin. A greatroom for all things, two bedrooms and a little cubby for storage, all made out of roughly hewn logs that seemed ancient from their color, turned from the smoke of the fire over the years. Here and there hung plain seeming tapestries, a rug or two on the floor to take the bite from the air, and a handful of chairs before the fire to eat and rest on. Cozy.
The sound of the only door opening caused Ashe to turn her head, idly watching as Jasper, Hilda’s husband Dean and their son John slipped back in, eyes carefully down until they realized Ashe was clothed. Ashe realized then why John was still at home with his parents. He had the look of someone who was somewhat mentally impaired, and in this atmosphere she doubted there were pills or shrinks to attempt to heal a mind born unable to do much beyond simple things. Her theory was proven when Hilda rushed to clasp John by the cheeks, planting a kiss on her much taller son’s chin and exclaiming, “My, our John is a tall boy, miss, but don’t be afraid. He’s as docile as a kitten. And with just as much sense.” Fondly, she and her husband beamed at the boy and Ashe ducked her head down into her cup. She hadn’t meant to be caught staring, and to be thought of as afraid of their son was embarrassing.
“I doubt she’s afraid of John, Hilda. Ashe got a look at a mouthless earlier.” Jasper gave her a nod, and she sent him silent thanks for rescuing her from that moment of embarrassment, even if it did make her return to thoughts of the mouthless.
“Oh, those things. Be glad that Jasper was the one that was with you, child,” Dean said, moving to take one of the other chairs near the fire. She could hear the popping of joints as the old man eased into the seat, heard him sigh in relief at weight being taken off of old bones. He was as weathered as his wife, all wrinkles and sinew, with wild white hair and a beard to match. A grandfather to match her grandmother, all right.
“That’s the thing, Dean. Do you recognize her at all?” Jasper settled to the rug before the fire, crossing his knees indian style and gazing expectantly up into the old man’s pale eyes for an answer.
Dean scratched at his head for a moment before turning his eyes back to Ashe, seeming to absorb her appearance for a long while. Hilda puttered about, filling mugs with tea and passing them ‘round before settling John in another chair. Finally, Dean glanced back to Jasper, moving thumb and forefinger along one side of his mustache idly.
“Ashe you said her name was? Never heard of an Ashe. Leastways not an Ashe from around here. Where’d you find her again?”
“Deep in the Everwood. At Moss Pool.”
“There? Boy, why would you be sticking your clever fingers in that spot again? Aint brought anyone but trouble, going into the realm of the mouthless. Even if they do normally leave your type alone. You said they chased you today, so they’re either becoming more bold or more eager for the hunt.” Dean took a long sip of his tea and eased his back into his chair, crossing one leg over the other as he regarded Jasper. Jasper left his cup untouched on the floor next to him, looking first from Dean to Ashe, and then back again, before shrugging.
“I had a need to go there.”