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Goody roused herself from her ale-tinged ruminations. There in some less fuddled corner of her mind was a voice, a question. ‘Granny!’ now who would call that out to her, she wondered. The only seeds she’d sown and nurtured had been those herbs she’d grown for simples. No get from her barren belly e’er got babes of their own.
‘Begging your pardon, Granny . . .’
Her eye focused on the halfling’s face as she recalled his question. ‘The Green Man? Take back his gifting?’ she cackled loudly at the thought. ‘Nay, nay, my little friend.’ Her gaze shifted round the room, peering into the shadows. ‘But that’s not to say there’s not others would douse the light and swallow us whole.’
She pushed back some straying strings of hair and tucked them loosely behind her ear. ‘Something’s moving in the darkness. Best poke up the fire, good sir, and drive it back.’
She laughed again a phlegmy undertone rattling against any merriness she’d intended. Goody held out her cup to Willem. ‘Granny’s throat is dry lad. Fill my cup to keep it wet, and I’ll tell you a story ‘bout those creatures your grandfather spoke of . . . the ones as watched over the trees.’
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