Page 44 of Just Crumbs

Familiars are neither born nor do they die. They are eternal. If he says that is where we need to be to discover what we’ve forgotten, then that is where we will go.

After a quick stop at our small home to change into clean clothing, gather supplies, and eat a quick meal, we stand at the edge of the woods.

“Think the witch is going to get us?” Hans teases. “Just gobble us right up?”

“That’s not funny,” I snap. “You know as well as I do that all rumors have a kernel of truth.”

“Well, she’s said to be an incredibly powerful witch, right? What if we find her and see if she can tell us what we’ve forgotten?” Flint lets out an enthusiastic woof, and I cringe.

“Really? The witch of the woods?”

My brother steps into the tree line. “Do you have a better idea?”

“Fuck, I suppose not.”

* * *

It’s beenages since we’ve stopped moving, my legs leaden as we trudge through the forest’s depths.

“Can we make camp?” Hans asks, panting softly. “Flint is worn out.”

Sure, Flint is tired. We’ll go with that.

“Fine. I think we’re nearly there.”

I grab a fallen tree and drag it into a clearing before setting up a campfire. The moon twinkles overhead, mostly full but on its way to a crescent, giving me ample light to stack the branches by.

“What makes you say that?” my brother asks as he throws himself on the tree. “Flint, go get us some food, will ya boy?”

“The air smells like sweetmeats,” I reply, shrugging. “I assume it’s her home.”

He snorts out a laugh. “You cannot possibly believe that part of the tale.”

“I believe all parts of the tale,” I remind him. “I’m still not convinced we’re making the right call here.”

“Well, there is no harm, right? If she’s not real, we just head back.”

Loud footfalls and branches cracking have me on my feet, spinning around.

My mother stumbles out of the woods with twigs in her hair and her black dress ripped and snagged.

“Mother!” I shout, running toward her. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, my son,” she says sweetly, pulling me into her arms. “I’m so glad I found you. It’s not safe here.”

“We’re grown men, Mother.” She’s constantly treating me as if I am a child. “We’re in no danger.”

Her hands shake as she releases, reaches towards her waist sash, and unties her small pouch. “Be that as it may, I am your mother. I purchased a protection spell for you from a psych mage. Let me place it on you two.”

“We’re just fine, Mother.” Hans’s voice is strained, and he’s looking around the clearing. Probably for Flint. “We don’t need a charm from a low-level mage.”

“Humor me.” There is a bite to her words that can only come from a mother. “Sit.”

I lower myself to the tree, and Hans rolls his eyes but stays seated. She empties her pouch and begins to line up the items from inside it into a strange shape. Hans narrows his eyes as he watches her work.

He uses sigils for more complex work, but this is different. I’ve never seen the addition of objects, and if the way Hans is looking at it, he hasn’t either. My mother waves her hands over it, her mouth moving slowly, when Hans starts to cough. I pat him on the back, but he waves my hand away.

My mother doesn’t look up from her sigil.

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