she was traveling, tracking an ambulant ash, when her trail was derailed by a swift silver flash. she sank her staff into the snow, seeking with her seven sights. the white-barked birches began to glow; the forest filled with lunar light. she…
Salvonne sat spinning gold to straw. she paused every few bushels, touched a bruise along her jaw. her mutter sounded like a badger bristling. sudden she stopped, tilted her head–someone near was whistling. he came fumbling in a burst of clumsy color…
“we always keep a canary there in our apothecary—you never know when an apprentice’s pestle will press with a bit too much zeal. and there, behind the catsbeds and crowspens, that’s where we keep miss Catherine’s wheel—eh, for spinning, of course, that…