Chapter 2
The moment dawn eclipsed the last hues of the velvety night and moonlight melted fully into golden morning, I slipped outside to explore the landscape that would be our home until the next full moon.
I paused on the doorstep, turning slowly to take in my surroundings.
The forest appeared even denser beneath the light of day than it had in darkness.
Towering pines stretched endlessly, their evergreen boughs woven thick overhead, while silver-white aspens shimmered softly whenever the breeze stirred their leaves.
Ferns blanketed the forest floor in vibrant green, interrupted only by scattered wildflowers and patches of amber mushrooms clustered near fallen logs.
At the center of it all sat our little bakery. Its warm amber stone and flower boxes overflowing with herbs and climbing ivy looked almost unreal against the vast sea of green surrounding it, as though the building had been plucked from a fairytale and gently set down amongst the trees overnight.
There was no sign of a nearby village—not a distant rooftop nor winding trail, not even the faintest curl of chimney smoke beyond the trees.
Without the familiar murmur of townsfolk in the distance, the silence felt unnaturally thick, interrupted only by the creaking sway of branches overhead and the occasional tapping of a woodpecker somewhere deeper within the woods.
The bakery had never transported us somewhere so isolated before.
Objectively, I should have been worried.
Remote locations were poor for business, and poor business meant fewer supplies and less medicine for Grandmother.
Yet fewer customers also meant fewer enchanted confections, which meant fewer emotions sacrificed to the magic.
Grandmother worried constantly over what my spells were taking from me, concern I suspected burdened her far more heavily than the failing health she herself had surrendered to her own enchantments years ago.
Perhaps that alone made this place feel strangely peaceful.
I still remembered how wondrous the bakery had first seemed when I arrived as a grieving child after my parents’ deaths.
At first, the magic had felt beautiful—living pastries glowing faintly beneath candlelight, honeyed desserts capable of soothing nightmares, the thrill of waking somewhere entirely new each month.
Then, slowly, the wonder had begun to darken.
I remembered noticing how Grandmother’s hands trembled more after particularly difficult spells, how she sometimes struggled to stand after long days of baking enchanted goods…
and eventually, I remembered the frightening realization that I could no longer cry when I thought of my parents.
That had been the first time I truly understood magic never gave without taking something in return.
A breeze stirred the trees overhead, carrying the scent of pine needles and damp earth through the crisp morning air. My attention drifted towards clusters of herbs already visible near the bakery’s edge and I nodded in appreciation as I recognized many old friends of the plant world.
Moonwort curled beside a fallen log, its silver-veined leaves prized in restorative tonics, while pale stalks of feverfew grew in patches beneath the aspens.
Nearby, I spotted a cluster of glowbell flowers hidden amongst the ferns—their tiny lavender blossoms still faintly luminescent from lingering moonlight, useful in perception spells and dream pastries alike.
At least the forest appeared rich in ingredients, a fact that eased any practical concerns I might have had concerning Grandmother’s healing concoctions. Which left nothing to distract me from the vast, unexplored landscape that lay before me.
Although I doubted anyone would wander this deeply into the woods by chance, before setting off, I propped up our wooden sign beside the path leading towards the bakery.
The painted lettering curled elegantly across the weathered wood beneath an illustration of steaming pastries framed by ivy vines:
THE WANDERING HEARTH BAKERY
Enchanted Confections, Fresh Bread, and Herbal Remedies
One Taste May Change Your Fate
I looked out across the expanse of trees, stretching endlessly beneath glistening rosy dawn filtering through the canopy overhead. My fingers tingled, aching for charcoal and parchment.
It had been nearly a year since we’d last settled within a true forest, and even that one had contained little more than sparse elms near the outskirts of farmland.
This one felt wilder, vast enough to conceal secrets within its shadows…
and mysteries had always fascinated me far more than people ever had.
I withdrew my well-worn journal and opened to a fresh page carefully labeled with the current month and year, then I removed my charcoal pencil and began sketching the world around me, beginning with the bakery nestled amongst the surrounding trees at the map’s center.
My pencil moved swiftly across the parchment, charting landmarks outward in widening circles: a moss-covered boulder near the eastern edge of the clearing, the narrow stream I could faintly hear somewhere to the north, the thickest clusters of pine and aspen, and the direction of the rising sun to establish orientation.
Years of practice had taught me to map landscapes in layers—first shape and distance, then texture, then memory.
By the time I finished sketching the immediate clearing, faint smudges of charcoal already dusted my fingertips.
Satisfied, I retrieved a gathering basket from inside the bakery before venturing deeper into the woods.
Thick moss muffled my footsteps as I wandered, searching for common ingredients for my enchanted confections and Grandmother’s medicines. I paused frequently to gather herbs and mark their locations carefully within my map.
Near a cluster of aspens, I discovered several stalks of silver thyme growing between the roots, their frosted leaves prized for calming fever and strengthening restorative teas. I sketched their location beside a small charcoal symbol before clipping several sprigs into my basket.
Farther ahead, nestled beneath the hollow base of an enormous cedar tree, I found a patch of delicate midnight-blue flowers often used in enchantments involving dreams and memory, their petals shimmering faintly beneath sunlight’s gentle caress.
I carefully noted the cedar’s unusual split trunk beside their location before gathering only a few; magical ingredients were best harvested sparingly so they could replenish naturally.
Despite how long I wandered, I encountered no roads, cottages, fences, or even footprints, no indication whatsoever that civilization existed nearby. I sat on a large stone to add to my map, pondering over why the bakery had chosen this location.
Though we didn’t understand the magic that moved and sustained the bakery, we were fairly sure each move was intentionally chosen.
But if that were so, I had no idea what the motive could be—never had we spent a month in such a remote place that I wondered whether we would have a single customer for our many offerings.
I had just finished sketching the budding pale gold blossoms of heartleaf balm growing in a cluster of dark greens foliage beneath a sprawling oak when I felt a sudden prickling against the back of my neck, the unmistakable sensation of being watched.
I reluctantly pulled my attention away from my map to scan the surrounding woods.
Only then did I realize how eerily quiet the forest had become.
Moments earlier, birdsong had drifted freely through the trees.
Now only faint, distant chirping remained, accompanied by the occasional rustle somewhere deep within the undergrowth; even the breeze seemed to have stilled, as if the forest itself held its breath…
the sort of uncanny calm that often signified a predator lurking nearby.
Yet no matter how carefully I searched, I found nothing out of the ordinary—no movement, no silhouette between the trees, no glint of eyes hidden within the shadows. After a moment, I gave a faint shrug and returned my attention to the map.
Though the strange stillness lingered, the remainder of the morning passed without incident.
Time seemed to melt away when I was mapping, its measurement nothing compared to the lay of the land and all the secrets it held.
Before I knew it, the last traces of the dawn had been swallowed by golden light as the sun rose higher above the horizon, bathing the forest in streaks of shimmering gold ribboning through the trees.
By the sun’s measurement, I’d been outside for about an hour.
Grandmother would be waking soon, and after tending to her I would need to prepare for our first day open, just in case a customer arrived.
Reluctantly, I closed my journal and looked around, noticing too late how far I’d wandered. My rambles often got me lost considering I often paid far more attention to the landscape than my direction, but usually it wasn’t too difficult to retrace my steps and find my way.
However, this landscape remained unfamiliar, a stark contrast to the open fields, sweeping beaches, and rocky mountain outcroppings where our bakery commonly settled.
Here, nothing but trees surrounded me in a tight cocoon, stretching endlessly in every direction.
Pines, aspens, cedar, and oak in hues of green blended into one another until one direction became indistinguishable from another.