“Once, months after my arrival, I was hidden in an alder...

“Once, months after my arrival, I was hidden in an alder copse when I sensed her again, that watcher in the woods. I could hear the muted whisper of her footsteps sliding softly on rotten leaves and old mulch, smell the scent of lavender and mint. I wondered if she was holding a bow on me, an arrow nocked and ready.

I lifted Christian from his sleeping place and crept deeper into the woods until I found a darker, more hidden place—an old cedar, its pungent branches circled like a fallen nest. I needed to nurse my son.

From that spot, I finally caught sight of her: a slight and careful figure, tiptoeing around the fairie rings and fallen logs, plucking carefully the purple loosestrife, the wild rose and thyme. She was the only other soul I’d ever seen so far afield, for this was where wolves and wild boar roamed. Only those of us with great need traveled here; in fact, I had thought that only I came so far, so deep. She was a woman my age, but small as a stripling lass, her hair thin and bright as flyaway straw. I watched her for a long hour and thought I had escaped unobserved.

As the early spring day flattened into dusk, I made my way back, a load of heavy wood upon my back, Christian sleeping in my arms. A little wind rushed through the elms, a chiffchaff called, the scent of rain was on the air.”

— from the novel SINFUL FOLK

PHOTO: overlapse: by f/2.0 fotografia | Pedro Portela on Flickr.