Foxheart

Chapter Forty-Five

Esme was unhappy. She was unhappy for multiple reasons. The first was about the two witches and the promise she had bound herself to. That storm Spirit had been powerful, on par with Lake Tranquil, and binding herself to it had been terrifying. What was worse was she knew she was going to regret it. As she watched the two witches fuss about the hut, bringing out the suspicious jar with the odd butterfly and several pots of herbs, her trust in Fox's judgement was dwindling. Either they were going to die here or they were going to condemn a town to a plague of undead as they couldn't speak up about the origin. It irritated her.

The second was about the filth and mud covering her, the sweat trickling down her back and how desperately she wanted a bath.

The third was Fox himself. Despite filling her mind with the witches and watching them mix together herbs into a weird paste with morbid curiosity, her thoughts flickered now and then to Fox. She just couldn't help herself but think of his stupid expression when he came up to find her in their room. She remembered how he called for her through the door, urging her to come out. She hadn't wanted to. She was horrifically embarrassed and didn't know how to face him or explain what on earth came over her. But then he said something odd; that he believed she had been angry at him. That she had wanted to dock him.

That comment made her stiffen before opening the door in disbelief. Seeing him and his stupid expression, calm as could be, made her stomach and heart plummet instantly. It was like he slapped her. It had been obvious what she intended to do, even if it was against her better judgment, yet there was nothing from him. Not a blush, not a nervous action; just the claim she was so enraged she wanted to hurt him.

She hated how that made her feel. She remembered as she got ready for the horrible trip into the marsh, she patted her chest and hips. She looked at herself in the mirror and pulled her hat off to let her hair tumble free. She tried to feel female but she just couldn't. Was that the problem? Did Fox just not see her as a woman? That nearly being kissed by her didn't so much as fluster him? Or that he could never think to kiss her? It depressed her and her depression grew worse when their trek began. She watched how Catriona swayed, how her golden hair shone, how her small body moved with ease, how her beautiful face lit up so nicely. She watched how Fox observed her, how he smiled so quickly and spoke so easily with her; no grumpiness, no long silences. Meanwhile Esme kept falling in the dirt, inelegant and gangly. Every time Fox came to her, his expression increasingly concerned, just made it all the worse. The embarrassment shifted. No longer was she ashamed of what she tried to do; now she was ashamed that she even tried. Fox didn't see her as a woman. He did in Catriona though. She stood no chance against the small, curvey blond and, for some reason, it made her heart hurt.

But all that didn't matter right now and she did her best to focus on the growing danger in front of her. She glanced at Fox, who was observing with a curious expression. A need to keep him out of trouble grew so she clutched Absolon and touched her whistles. If necessary, she had the god of the Everwood at her call. She doubted either Witch had a strong enough Spirit to take him on. She'd protect him.

Esme watched as Catriona sprinkled a collection of crushed herbs and Glenna pour the contents of her slurry upon the strange blue butterfly. It glittered oddly and shone, absorbing each drop of the slop and each flake of herb. It made Esme shuffle her feet. The magic within it was growing stronger.

'What is this?' Fox asked, his voice booming in the heavy silence.

Catriona grinned in triumph and glanced at Glenna. Glenna sighed.

'It's a lock, lad.' Glenna said gruffly. 'One we've been makin' for a long time now.'

'We would've completed it if my whistles hadn't been taken.' Catriona chirped.