A woman selling dried herbs caught her arm and pressed a small jar of honey into Sorcha’s palm. “For Danu.” “I will leave it in the forest,” Sorcha tucked it into her bag. “For anything in particular?” “Good health.” Nodding, she continued to push through the crowds of people. It wasn’t the first time someone asked for a blessing. They weren’t willing to follow the old ways themselves—too risky—so they’d ask Sorcha to leave them for her. If she was caught, she’d be burned at the stake by the same people who handed her gifts to take to the Fae. A few others passed her bits and pieces to leave
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