Day 7: Winter Whispers

 The wind whispered through the dark, empty trees like a warning in a foreign language. Winter was coming, and with winter the long dark. I tucked the basket under my arm and hobbled into my cabin. 

Herbs hung from the rafters near the fireplace smelling of sage and mint. I carried my basket of eggs and freshly foraged mushrooms to the table. A rumbling purr announced Biscuit, the gray tomcat I kept to frighten the mice and loneliness away. He curled under my arm and brushed my cheek with his cold nose. I lit a candle and began closing the shutters against the cold and the dark. The wind chattered it's warning against loose hinges and down the chimney. A fire on the hearth would soon quiet it's worried moans, heralding a snow storm on it's heals. 

With the fire happily crackling, I kneaded a small loaf of dough. Aged knuckles clicked while I folded in a few spices and dried fruits. Biscuit licked the fat from my fingers after I greased the pan and placed the bread to bake near the hearth. I settled into my rocking chair with goose down cushions and listened. 

The wind was roaring now, it whistled in the cracks. The first wind with winter bight could foretell the season to come. This wind was afraid. It feared the dark and the long biting cold coming behind it. This winter would be deep and long. But more than that rode the back of the wind. 

My left ankle began to ache with the damp chill. I could smell trouble like sharp vinegar, so when a knock came to my door I was not surprised. Biscuit hissed and growled from his basket near the fire as I rose from my chair leaning heavily on my walking stick. "Who is it?" my voice was knotted with age but still strong. 

"Let me in good mother," a young man's voice said, "it's dark and I have no shelter."

"Lift the latch if you can, if not begone from here." I shifted and eyed the leather strap that would lift the latch from the outside. 

"I cannot. You must let me in. My arms are too weak. I am ill." The voice pleaded with anguish. 

"If I can lift that latch then so can you," I said. "Begone foul spirit, I shall not let you in." The wind began to howl and yip. The voice moaned and began to cry pitifully. "The winter will be long enough without you howling at my door." I grumbled. I rapped my stick on the floor boards three times and whistled. Wolf cries came from deep in the wood. The wailing stopped abruptly. There was a scrabbling and the door rattled as whatever was out there tried to get in. Then silence. 

" Open the door woman." It hissed. The wolf cries were closer now. 

" Find your meal elsewhere." 

" You'll not survive the season, let me give you a swift end." The oily voice leaked under the door. 

" I've been through worse."

"Perhapsssss......." It faded just before the wolves came sniffing around the door frame. My three faithful protectors howled in frustration. I listened as they padded back and forth in front of the door. One finally settled down against the door to guard it 'til daylight.

It was going to be a very long winter.