Page 59 of Whisker me Away
"I hope so. Because if we have to recreate the entire ritual space from scratch, we'll need a lot more time than we have."
The sun began its descent toward the western horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and gold that looked almostcheerful compared to the diseased grove below. Evening was approaching fast, and with it the deadline for their desperate attempt at salvation.
"We should head back," Kieran said, noting how the shadows between the twisted trees seemed to be reaching toward them with increasing hunger. "Get some food, make our final preparations."
"One more minute." Freya stood at the edge of the corruption, feeling the Thornweaver's attention focus on her like a predator sizing up prey. "I want to understand what we're really facing."
The ancient evil's presence pressed against her mind with suffocating weight, showing her visions of Hollow Oak consumed by corruption, of Kieran dying because she wasn't strong enough to protect him, of her grandmother's legacy crumbling to ash because the last Bloom woman had failed when it mattered most.
But instead of breaking under the psychological assault, Freya felt her determination crystallize into something unbreakable. This thing had murdered her family's garden, poisoned her beloved lake, driven half her community from their homes. It thought fear would make her weak, doubt would make her hesitate.
It was wrong.
"I'm coming for you," she whispered into the diseased grove. "Tonight, with my mate at my side and my ancestors' blessing, I'm going to finish what Celeste started."
The Thornweaver's answering laughter rustled through the corrupted trees like wind through dead leaves, but Freya heard something else beneath the mockery. Something that sounded suspiciously like concern.
Good. Let the ancient evil worry about what two young mates with nothing left to lose might accomplish when love and duty aligned.
As they walked back toward town, Kieran's hand found hers and squeezed gently. "Feel better?"
"Actually, yes." Freya smiled despite everything. "I know what we're up against now. And I know we're strong enough to beat it."
"Even if the odds are terrible?"
"Especially then. Bloom women have never been known for taking the easy path."
The cottage came into view as the last light faded from the sky, its windows glowing with warm lamplight that promised a few hours of peace before they faced their destiny..
31
FREYA
The first knock came just after sunset, soft and hesitant on Freya's cottage door. She opened it to find Mrs. Patterson standing on the porch, her weathered hands clutching a small bundle wrapped in blue cloth.
"I hope I'm not intruding," the elderly woman said, her voice carrying a tremor that spoke of carefully controlled emotion. "I just wanted to thank you before... before tonight."
"Thank me?" Freya stepped aside to let her in, noting how Mrs. Patterson's eyes took in the ritual preparations with something that looked like awe. "I haven't done anything yet."
"You've done everything." Mrs. Patterson's voice grew stronger. "You've carried a burden that would break most people, faced an evil that terrifies seasoned council members, and you're still willing to risk your life to save the rest of us."
She pressed the wrapped bundle into Freya's hands. "It's not much. Just some lavender and sage from my kitchen garden. The corruption never touched it, so maybe it'll bring you luck."
Before Freya could respond, more footsteps approached the cottage. Twyla Honeytree appeared on the path, her wheat-colored hair catching the lamplight as she carried something that glowed with faint magical energy.
"Am I interrupting a gathering?" Twyla asked with gentle humor, though her light brown eyes held the kind of worry that came from genuinely caring about someone's welfare.
"Just offering support," Mrs. Patterson replied. "Figured our girl could use some encouragement before she saves all our hides."
Within the hour, Freya's small cottage had filled with people she'd known her entire life. The Tansley brothers arrived with ancient texts and blessing oils, their usually cheerful demeanor subdued but determined. Miriam Caldwell brought protective charms woven from inn linens that had sheltered travelers for decades. Even people who'd questioned her abilities in the past appeared at her door with awkward but sincere good wishes.
"I never expected this," Freya murmured to Kieran as they watched Edgar Tansley carefully anoint her grandmother's athame with oils that had been blessed by seven different magical traditions.
"They love you," he replied simply. "Maybe they didn't always understand what you were trying to do, but they've always known you were fighting for them."
Twyla approached with something cupped in her palms, its surface shimmering with the kind of magic that came from pure intention rather than formal spellwork. "I made this from herbs that somehow survived the corruption. Don't ask me how they managed it, but maybe whatever protected them will protect you too."
The charm was simple but beautiful, a small pendant woven from stems that still held traces of their original color despite everything the Thornweaver had done. When Twyla fastened it around Freya's neck, warmth spread through her chest like liquid courage.
