The wolf moved to the edge of the water, stretched out on his belly, and pushed his head against her shoulder. Her fingers immediately delved into his fur. She sighed with pleasure as she relaxed in the effervescent water. Leaning her head back, she gazed up at the stars.
"Aren't they beautiful? They shine so. Do you see?"
The wolf whined softly.
"I was to wed Ronin next year," she said with a sigh. "And though I did not love him, he was my only hope for marriage. Ah, well, perhaps someday another will want me. I hope so, for I should dearly love to have a child of my own." Tears thickened her voice. "Will you come to me, then, Magick? Will you be my eyes so I can see my child's face?"
The wolf licked her cheek.
"I shall take that for a yes."
She lingered there a moment more, until the wolf took her hand in his mouth and gave a gentle tug.
"Right you are," she said. "Sure and we'd best go back."
The wolf watched her as she rose from the pool, the water dripping down her skin like dewdrops. The moonlight danced in her hair, making silver highlights in the thick golden mass that fell past her hips. Her body was slender and perfect, her bu**ocks gently rounded, her legs long and coltish, her br**sts small, the tips a dusky rose.
She stood there a moment, letting the warm breeze dry her skin, and then quickly pulled on her dress. Sitting down, she put on her stockings and her shoes, then stood once more.
"Magick?"
The wolf moved up beside her and she took hold of his fur. Moments later, they returned to the site of their camp.
Sitting down on her bedroll, Channa Leigh removed her shoes, then slid under the covers.
"Come," she said to the wolf, patting the ground beside her.
The wolf stretched out beside her. With a sigh, Channa Leigh draped her arm over his neck. Stroking his soft fur, she stared up at the stars. How beautiful they were, sparkling like dewdrops against the dark sky. A butter-yellow sickle moon hung low in the heavens. Smiling faintly, she began to count the stars.
A short time later, her soft, even breathing told the wolf she was asleep.
Easing out from under her arm, Darkfest took on his own shape. "Sweet dreams to ye, my sweet Channa Leigh." he whispered. Seeking out his lonely bed, he stared up at the dark sky, but it was Channa Leigh's image rising from the waters of the hot spring that followed him to sleep.
The next day they traveled through a deep valley. As they rode on, Darkfest was overwhelmed with a sense of evil. The horses felt it, too. It could be seen in the way their ears twitched, in the way they picked up their feet, the way they sidled close together.
As they moved deeper into the valley, Darkfest reached inside his shirt and withdrew a small leather pouch. Inside were bits of birch, hazel, rowan, ash, and willow. And a large piece of alder. He also wore a bracelet of carved alder on his left wrist
He saw Channa Leigh lift her head. "Where are we?" she asked.
"The valley of Madrigale."
"Something is amiss."
"Aye. I sense evil here."
She shivered and drew her cloak more tightly around her. "What kind of evil?"
"I know not."
They rode onward, and the sense of evil grew stronger.
Darkfest reined his mount to a halt, and the mare drew up alongside. His gaze moved over the valley before them. At first, he saw nothing and then, gradually, a dull shimmer, like moonlight on water, rose up before him, changing, twisting, taking on solid form and shape, until a figure with wrinkled gray skin and white hair stood before him. She wore a long black robe decorated with skulls and exploding comets.
"Who dares to cross my valley?" she demanded, her voice dry and brittle, like old bones.
"I am Darkfest, crone. Let us pass."
"Nay. Be gone!"
"I mean you no harm," he said quietly. "I seek the dragon Blackencrill."
"Then you are twice a fool," she said, cackling. Her deep-set yellow eyes narrowed as her gaze shifted to Channa Leigh. "Leave the girl and you may cross my valley in peace."
"Nay. The girl is mine." And even as he spoke the words, he regretted they were only partly true. She was his for this year only, no more.
The witch lifted a skeletal hand. He heard her mumbling something under her breath, felt an increase in the energy arcing between them.
He reacted instinctively, his right hand tingling as he summoned his power. There was no time to invoke a spell. He flung his own energy out to block her incantation. Power flowed from deep within him, racing down his arm, shooting blue fire through the tips of his fingers. There was a sudden crackling, like ice breaking, as blue flame met the black lightning hurled by the crone. A sharp whoosh of air flattened the grass and bent the trees. The crone screamed, a high-pitched cry of outrage and pain, as blue fire engulfed her. And then, abruptly, there was silence.
"Darkfest? Darkfest!"
Channa Leigh's frightened cry brought him back to himself. "I am here." He stared at the blackened patch of ground where the crone had stood. A faint wisp of black smoke rose skyward. "The danger is past."
They camped that night near a narrow stream bordered by slender willows. After supper, Channa Leigh sat beside the fire, staring broodingly into the flames. The fire's light cast golden shadows on her fair skin. Desire stirred within him, a hunger for the touch of her hand, the taste of her lips.
She turned as he came up behind her. "My lord Darkfest, is that you?"
"Aye." He sat down beside her, his insides quivering. "Channa Leigh, would you grant me a boon?"
"If I can, my lord. What is it you wish of me?"
"A kiss," he replied, chagrined at the unexpected quiver in his voice. "Would you grant me a kiss?"
She hesitated a moment. Was she repulsed by his request?
Or was it only maidenly modesty that made her delay before answering?
"And would you grant me a boon in return?" she asked at last.
"If I can."
"I should like to see your face," she said.
" 'Tis a bargain then. The wolf will come to you later." He drew his knife and placed it in her hand. "When he comes to you, cut off a bit of his hair and place it in this pouch."
"Will he let me?"
"Aye."
"Will you collect your boon now?" she asked, her fingers closing around the small leather sack.
"Nay. On the morrow, when the sun is new, we shall look upon each other. For now, I bid you good night."
"Good night, my lord."