Chapter 37
Trewoofe
Trewoofe sulked on the pallet, fidgeting with his claws, while he waited for Avice to return. He did not know what he had done to make her so irritable, nor why she had fled from his touch. Normally, she leant into his gentle hugs and caresses.
Bramble padded over and offered his head for pat. She will come back.
Trewoofe scratched behind his ears. “Why was she so angry with me?”
She will apologise, he assured. She bears a great weight in her position, and it sometimes overwhelms her. The Gardener women have looked after the humans of Lamorna for more generations than I can count. Yet, it has never been more difficult for one of them to administer their care.
Trewoofe frowned. “Why?”
“The Cross God followers,” Ashling interjected, landing on his hand. “Once, witches here were honoured members of the community. Now many of them barely tolerate Avice’s presence. They need her, but she is an outcast.”
The door creaked open, snapping their attention to it. Avice swept in, discarding her cloak and her boots, before making her way to the pallet.
She gripped her pendant. “I am sorry. I have been unbearable today…”
Trewoofe studied her while he waited for her to find her words.
Her cheeks were rosy, eyes twinkling, her loose hair tangled around her face, and her posture more languid.
She also smelt more. More like herself: sweet, floral, and laced with something delicious he could not put his claw on, but it made his mouth water.
She chewed her lip. “I offer it not as an excuse, because there is not one for the way I spoke. But I am scared, my darlings…” Her gaze swept between the three of them. “If this does not work… Well, it must.”
“Forgiven,” Trewoofe purred.
Bramble bounded over to her, presenting his head to be patted. Ashling zoomed around her, a sparking golden trail in his wake. Trewoofe grinned at the scene as he rose from the pallet. Avice had never called him ‘darling’ before and he liked the way it sounded in his ears.
He approached with arms spread wide.
Without hesitation, she barrelled into his hug.
“Oooof!” he grunted, squeezing her tight. “Little witch?”
“Mmmm?”
“What is it you need?” he asked.
She wriggled in his embrace, looking up at him through snarls of her hair. “I need to get ready.”
Trewoofe sat turned away from Avice as she prepared. He amused himself by watching the flames in the hearth dance and scratching Bramble’s head. He wanted to busy his hands, but with all the offerings made and no more linen to sew they were torturously idle.
“Do not look,” she ordered as she stepped into his periphery.
Trewoofe covered his eyes with his hands, but unable to resist the temptation, cracked open his fingers to peek at her. She bent by the hearth in a cloud-white dress and gathered a small bowl of ash.
Avice tossed him a look over her shoulder. “I know you are looking.”
Trewoofe snapped his fingers together. “Sorry!”
She giggled and moved back behind him. He dropped his hands and went back to patting Bramble. The Grim thumped his tail against the floor in response. Trewoofe tapped his foot, dying to know what she was doing. She and Ashling had been fussing behind him for what felt like forever.
“You look perfect!” the Wisp exclaimed.
Trewoofe twitched with anticipation. “Little witch, may I see please?”
Avice giggled. “Yes.”
He jumped up, cracking his horns on the ceiling. “Ouch!”
“Lord! Are you well?” Avice asked, dashing over.
He saw double for a moment before he was able to focus down on her.
Bramble butted his hand. Lord?
His breath was stolen at the sight of her.
Her raven hair was up. Braided in a crown around her head and interwoven with his flowers.
Trewoofe had wondered why she needed ash, and his question was answered.
She had circled it around her big brown eyes.
The soot had not stuck to her raised scar.
It was striking, like a shooting star streaking across the sky.
His gaze dipped.
Thin, white ribbons held her gauzy white dress in place, secured by simple knots on the curves of her collar bones where the little inked leaves trailed over her shoulders and down her back.
He ground his fangs, longing to bite through the little ribbons that tickled her skin.
He swelled with pride as he saw his gifted pendant remained, the purple crystal glinting in the flickering firelight.
Trewoofe vaguely registered Ashling landing on his horn.
He looked further down. The dress was simple – more of a shift – and draped around her curves loosely. It was cut low, revealing her impressive cleavage. He had not seen so much of her smooth skin since her state of undress a few days prior, and how he longed to run his tongue over her again.
His mouth watered and his cock hardened beneath his hose.
Avice stood on her tiptoes and waved her hand in front of his face, the scar that started at her wrist glittered in glow from the hearth. “Lord?”
Trewoofe blinked. “Yes?”
“Are you alright?”
He nodded. “Will you turn around?”
She giggled at that. “Why?”
“When I see a beautiful wildflower, I wish to admire it from all angles.”
She blushed and looked down to her bare feet.
He cupped her chin and tilted it up. “Do not shy away from me, I want to see you.” He weakened at the knees as Avice beamed up at him. “Show me,” Trewoofe purred.
She nodded and stepped back from his touch.
She slowly spun and showed him her back.
Trewoofe’s erection pressed painfully against the fabric restraining it, and he subtly adjusted himself when she was not looking.
He had never seen so much of her skin from behind.
The shift dipped low on her back, almost to her waist. He was drawn to the ink along her spine and ghosted his claws down the pattern until it dipped below her dress.
Avice giggled and rolled her shoulders. “Tickles…”
“What is it?” he asked, studying the swirls and knots.
There were stylistic images embedded into her skin. The tattoo had impressions of ocean waves, blossoming trees, kissed by hints of beasts from the land and sea. A suggestion of the scales of a snake, the feathers of a bird, and the eyes of a wolf.
With every blink, he saw more.
“A sigil,” she replied.
“Si-gil,” he repeated. “Is this for your witching?”
“Yes. It has one function.” She spun to face him. “To pull power from the Good Neighbours.”
Trewoofe frowned at that. The magic that flowed through some Faeries was lethal.
“Is that not dangerous?” he asked, cupping her cheek.
“Very. For humans, all magic has a price.” She covered his hand with hers.
“I must be close to a willing Faerie for it to work, and their magic must be compatible with the outcome I wish to achieve. It is why I came to you to save the children. The reason I use my medicines, make bargains with the Good Neighbours, carry my iron blade, and have Bramble with me most of the time.”
“Then why have it at all?”
Avice shrugged. “The Gardener women have always had it. It was what eventually drove my Aunt Agnes to her funeral pyre. She pulled power from…” Her eyes drifted to Bramble, who quickly looked away.
Grim’s were hounds of shadow and night. She had no idea why her aunt had pulled from him on the day she died.
It had never been safe to do so. “…to save Father Richard with his failing heart, and that last use killed her.”
“Who is Father Richard?” Trewoofe asked, running his thumb along her chin.
“The old priest, but then he got sent away,” Avice explained.
His expression sharpened. “Are you a pulling from Bramble tonight?”
I would never agree to that again! the Grim barked.
Avice smiled softly at her familiar before turning back to Trewoofe.
“There is your answer.” She ran her fingers up his arms. “Tonight, I am pulling on the magic from the Good Neighbours who come to my garden. It will not end my life.”
Trewoofe exhaled. “Good.” He studied her face again, admiring the way she looked. “Could I have some ashes around my eyes too?”
Avice grinned. “Of course! Can I do it?”
He dropped his hand. “Please.”
She grabbed the bowl, turned back to him, and studied his looming frame.
She pointed to the pallet. “I think you will need to sit, Lord. I cannot reach.”
“Of course!” he replied, ducking his head and shuffling over.
Trewoofe made himself comfortable, sitting cross-legged on the furs. He closed his eyes, gladly submitting to her ministrations. He purred as her fingers dabbed at him, luxuriating under her delicate touch.
“I am done,” Avice announced.
Trewoofe opened his eyes. “How do I look?”
She bit her lip, stifling a chuckle. “Like Bramble.”
His gaze flicked to the Grim and he snorted. “It is the red eyes and black, is it not?”
She smiled in response. “He is adorable though, so take it as a compliment.”
The familiar wagged his tail. Thank you.
“And me?” Ashling piped up from the hearth.
Avice giggled. “Yes! You are all adorable, handsome, and perfect in every way.”
Trewoofe grinned, he knew she spoke her true feelings beneath her gentle teasing. “Little witch.” He touched her braid. “Would you do my hair too?”
She took a step back and studied him, hand on her chin. “I would not be able to style it exactly like mine. Your horns would get in the way. I could do one singular braid down your head. It would pull the hair from your face.”
He nodded enthusiastically. “With flowers?”
“With flowers,” she agreed. “Turn around.”
Trewoofe gladly did as he was told. She ran her fingers through his long silver hair, and he luxuriated under her touch.
Not for the first time since he had come under Avice’s care, he thought he may well have died the day she saved him at the bottom of Knucker hill.
The way he felt, at that moment, he truly believed he was in the Paradise that existed beyond the Shimmering Veil.