The Roots of Magic | Forest Spirits

CHAPTER ONE- INTRODUCTION

The seventeenth hour of the day and the family had gathered, bickering, as usual, with Mrs. Willowcast. The young woman firmly standing her ground, arms crossed, while strands of her wild brunette locks rest across her face. "May I remind you why we are all gathered here." Her soft motherly voice, unaccustomed to the threatening tone she had hoped to convey.

"Stephanie, dear, Give it a rest. You have already started this fight. I thought by now you would have learnt that you had to finish it." She said, pushing the woman further.

Today wasn't the first time, and certainly would not be the last, that these two ladies would decide they needed to set things straight. But, it is mindful to remember that both these women have two very different definitions of what they thought was right. These arguments had become sort of a past time for the two families. It was usually half for fun, the other half to get a bit off their chest. Neither sides ever really took too much offence to it.

Today, however, Mrs. Bonnie Fizer, a tall, ordinary enough looking woman with one prominent mole on the lid of her right eye, was trying her luck. Any other day, mostly on any other day, Mrs. Willowcast would have not been so offended, hurt or outraged by the woman's rude behavior, if she wasn't already losing her patience (which was a feat in itself to accomplish), because today wasn't the day for any of that nonsense. Mrs. Willowcast knew that, and she would do anything to attempt to bring peace to this ceremony of mourning.

"You know, it's better if you and your kind would leave. They don't belong with us." Mrs. Fizer suggested. An odd suggestion at that, for the large shingle styled grey home they had all gathered at belonged to Mrs. Willowcast's parents.

At that point, Mrs. Willowcast had enough.

The expression that formed on Stephanie's face was clear. Her hand clenching and relaxing as she compensated what she was going to do.

"Now, Stephanie, have we forgotten about the truce already? Your mother would be-"

SMACK.

Yes, Stephanie had enough.

A bright red, rose to Mrs.Fizer's cheek in the shape of Mrs. Willowcast's dainty hand.

"Proud." Mrs. Stephanie Willowcast declared with a growing pride in it of herself. Not for slapping her, but ending the 'discussion' . Something Mrs.Fizer had asked for, because after that one move not many people dared to talk further about her or her kind. Stephanie being a gentle yet firm woman, hardly showed anger or entertained unnecessary conflict, her words were usually enough to reason with anyone she needed, but today she couldn't- not with Mrs. Fizer, because Mrs.Fizer had figured out a long time ago what to do to break that sanctuary of patience Mrs. Willowcast humbles herself in.

She regained her composure. "Now are you going to continue to act immature or are you going to bear with us civilly until the funeral is over." She said, tucking the loose strands behind her right ear.

A small child sat near the far end of the room and watched behind a curtain.

"Come, pumpkin. Pops is waiting for us outside." Her father took her by the hand and guided her away. The small girl's eyes didn't really leave the spectacle until a wall forced her to focus ahead.

They walked until her father, a man with an average height, slightly stern features with dark eyes, picked her up and brought her to the medium sized wooden balcony.

One thing in Mr. Willowcast's appearance that did set him apart was a scar on his left cheek, a gift from one of the convicts. A man that wrecked havoc and taken many lives over the years, but before he was taken away to prison he made sure that Mr. Henry Willowcast had a gift to remember him by. A week after his arrest he was found dead. Henry's children had wondered how he got the scar, but he brushed the questions off by guiding their interests somewhere else. Children were trusting that way.