The Azalom Mountains were a wild place, full of vibrant foliage and twisting hiking trails. When the sun rose, the mountain range was silhouetted in early morning light, and sunsets would set the jagged formations on fire with color. Game was plentiful in the forest at the base of the mountains, but no one dared to hunt higher up, where the trees grew more thickly together and the beasts were more deadly than not.

Now, in the darkness of night, the mountains loomed ominously overhead as Theiden slipped past the guards at the gate and vanished into the forest. Everything was silent—the calm before the storm, Theiden thought. No birds squawked in the branches overhead, and no small animals rustled in the underbrush. He had never heard the night this quiet before.

Crouching to the ground, Theiden thanked the spirits for the light of the full moon as he searched for footprints. There were many tracks leading to and from the city gate, but the farther away Theiden walked, the more it seemed people decided they had had enough of the forest for one day, and turned back. Almost everyone, it seemed, had stayed on one main path that Theiden knew led to a patch of berry bushes a few yards away. Since spring was coming, more people would be willing to venture outside the city and check to see if any blueberries or fiddleheads had started growing yet.

Finally, the mass of tramping feet had thinned out enough for Theiden to recognize the shape of his daughter's small footprints, accompanied by another equally small set—Helaine's, no doubt. The tracks deviated from the main path about halfway to the berry bushes, and Theiden stepped off the beaten trail to follow them.

It was more difficult traveling through parts of forest that were not so well-frequented, and several times Theiden feared he had lost the trail, only to find the footprints again after several long moments of searching. At some point, Helaine's footsteps had turned back towards the city, and Theiden was left to follow only the lone pair of his daughter's steps. Finally, he discovered what he was looking for, even if the sight of it made his heart jump to his throat.

While Em's footprints were sunken in soft, rounded outlines in the earth, the witch's tracks were the complete opposite. The creature's shoes had left sharp, pointed jabs in the ground, and the gait was irregular, as if she had been dancing—or, Theiden wished, limping. Not long after Helaine and Em's footprints had separated, the witch had come across Em's tracks, and abruptly changed course to follow the way Em had gone. The witch had been tracking his daughter, Theiden realized with dread—hunting down its prey.

Theiden's grip tightened on the strap of his quiver. Now the tables had turned, and he would be sure not to let his prey escape.

After Em and the witch's paths diverted—after the creature had cursed Em, Theiden realized with a glower—the woman's footprints continued deeper into the forest, towards Nagamora, the tallest peak in the Azaloms. The tracks were easier to follow now, winding through the trees and undergrowth with little difficulty, and Theiden picked up his speed.

Finally, through the trees, he caught his first glimpse of the monster who had cursed his daughter.

The figure was only visible as a silhouette, outlined more by a greenish-blue witchlight bobbing along beside her than by the faint moonlight from above. Theiden stilled, watching as she stepped over the roots and stones before her in graceful, lithe movements. If she continued in the direction she was heading now, he might be able to cut through the trees at an angle and ambush her a bit farther on.

Time was limited, and Theiden could think of no alternative. That plan would have to do.

Carefully, he began to pick his way through the bushes and trees, never taking his eyes off the witch for long. Once Theiden had gotten ahead of the witch to a point where he was sure their trajectories would meet, he strung his bow, nocked an arrow, and settled behind a fern to await the creature's approach.

She emerged from the trees a few moments later, humming softly to herself as the witchlight floated along beside her. Now that she was outside the city, Theiden noted, her posture was relaxed and she moved with an easy elegance only seen in the most well-bred of nobles. No longer was her cloak firmly wrapped around her body; instead, she had let it billow out freely behind her as she moved. The dress she wore beneath lacked the bulky petticoats worn by the women in the city, and Theiden found himself staring at the shape of the witch's legs behind the obsidian fabric.

He looked away quickly, blinking furiously. She was more than a witch—she was a seductress as well. She needed to be stopped.

With one glance at the sharpened tip of the nocked arrow in his hands, Theiden swiftly stood and aimed his bow right at the creature's chest.

The woman's melodic humming immediately broke off in a small, shattering gasp, and the witch froze. Beside her, the witchlight flickered and stilled.

"Drop your basket and lower your hood," Theiden demanded. "I want to see the vile beast that dares to enter my city and terrorize its people."

The basket was lowered, rather than dropped, to the forest floor, and as the witch straightened back up, a slender hand rose to push back the edge of the hood. Theiden's breath stuck in his throat at the sight.

The witch's hair, true to Em's account, was the same serene silvery-blue of the constellations overhead. Now freed from its place beneath the cloak, her hair tumbled down in silky strands like from those of a spider's web.

Em had also been right about the eyes, for the most part. Thick, elegant brows arched above pale, violet eyes that pierced Theiden with an unnerving coldness. Just below the witch's left eye, an ugly scar started at her cheekbone and curved to trail down the side of her face and neck, where it disappeared from view beneath her collar. She snarled when she caught him staring at the old wound, and the hostile expression revealed a row of perfect, white teeth.

"You. You shouldn't be here," she said at last, her voice flat but for a slight flavor of disdain. The pitch was lower than Theiden had expected—instead of an airy chime, her words were spoken in an earthy, honey-smooth tone.

Theiden shifted his stance slightly, making sure his aim never wavered.

"You cursed my daughter," he spat. "A child. What harm did she do to you?"

The creature's eyes flashed angrily. "Would you rather I had killed her, then?" The tone of the reply was mocking. "She returned safe and sound. I thought you'd be grateful."

"Her skin is green," Theiden argued, feeling a muscle in his jaw twitch. "She'll be shunned from society, forced to live her entire life alone and with a terrible, inescapable reminder of what you've done to her."

The witch shrugged. "Then she shouldn't have wandered."

Theiden's anger surged, and he took a step forward, fingers tightening on the bow in his hands. "You're the one who went somewhere you don't belong. I should kill you right now for even stepping foot inside the city."

The witch raised a challenging brow, seemingly unconcerned. "Except?"

Theiden gritted his teeth. "Except I need you to lift Em's curse. I'll let you go if you're willing to return her complexion to normal."

The witch's lips curled into a wry smile. "No."

Theiden's finger tightened on the bowstring. But before he could shoot, the witch raised a hand, fingers bent like claws, and raked it sideways through the air. The bow flew out of Theiden's grip, and at the next sweep of the witch's hand, Theiden found himself flying in the opposite direction, slamming painfully against the unforgiving trunk of a nearby tree.

Dazed, Theiden struggled to his feet and pulled out his hunting dagger as the witch approached. He swiped at her with the long blade, but she flitted to the side, out of reach. When he next lunged forward, the creature reached out to grab his wrist, twisting it painfully. Theiden dropped the knife with a hiss, and the witch deftly snatched it out of the air before it could hit the ground. It was at his throat a second later.

"I think I'll be the one making the demands," she said, then.

But Theiden was not ready to give up just yet. His last weapon, the skinning knife, was yanked from its sheath and in his hands without a second thought. The curved blade cut towards the witch's face, and for a moment he thought he might have a chance of giving her a matching scar on her right cheek.

The hunting dagger flew up faster than Theiden's eyes could track it. It clashed against his skinning knife with a clang, glinting silver in the moonlight. Theiden drew back his arm and struck again, only to be intercepted once more.

He growled in frustration and backed away, searching for an opening to attack. When Theiden charged again, the witch merely sidestepped him, whirling out of reach in a flutter of rippling black fabric.

Theiden felt an elbow jab into his back, right near his kidney. The pain made his eyes water, and he stumbled. Seizing the opportunity, the witch swatted the knife from his hands, where it skittered a few feet before coming to a final stop in the dirt.

Theiden tried to turn, but the witch kicked him in the back of the knees and he crashed to the ground. In the stillness that followed, Theiden kept his gaze on the dirt before him, breathing heavily. The witch had won, and she hadn't even really needed to use her magic.

Footsteps approached and stopped before him. After a long moment of staring at the leaf-littered soil and feeling the damp earth seep into the knees of his trousers, Theiden looked up, ready to face death.

"You came to ask for a favor, yet all you did was threaten and try to kill me," the witch commented drily. "Tell me, do all your conversations turn out this way?"

Theiden glowered at her. "The attack was warranted. You're an evil creature who deserves no less than a painful end."

Perhaps it wasn't the wisest thing to say, for without moving a muscle, she somehow managed to radiate even more contempt.

"Go on then," Theiden spat. "Kill me. You won, didn't you?"

The witch turned away and beckoned to her floating light. The object zoomed to stop before her, and she stroked it thoughtfully.

"I would actually prefer something less violent, if you're still willing to negotiate," she said. Her voice was calm, but a slight bitter undercurrent hinted at her annoyance.

Theiden blinked in surprise. "You'll un-curse Em?"

She shot him a stern look. "On my terms, not yours."

"What terms?" Theiden hated the desperation that leaked into his voice. What would the witch want? A task for him to complete? Some sort of payment?

"What is your name?" Those unnatural violet eyes bored into him inquisitively, and momentarily distracted, Theiden answered.

"Theiden Guster." He winced as soon as he realized what he had done. He should have remained silent.

"Theiden." She repeated it slowly. "My name is—"

"I already know your name," he snapped. Lenesa Evergreen. But monsters shouldn't have names.

The witch paused and tilted her head slightly. "Your daughter told you?"

Theiden answered with a curt nod.

"I see. And you would do anything for little Em, would you?"

"She's my daughter! Of course I'd do anyth—" Theiden broke off, suddenly realizing that he had said too much. The witch had him wrapped around her finger, and she knew it.

The woman nodded and stroked the witchlight beside her once more. "Well then, Theiden Guster. I propose a trade."

"What kind of trade?" Theiden asked warily.

"I will give you what you want," the creature replied slowly. "Your daughter's skin will resume its normal shade, and she will go on to live a regular life."

Theiden held his breath.

"In exchange, you will come with me."

The air in his lungs left in a sudden whoosh. "What?"

The witch regarded him dispassionately. "Without knowing anything about me, you thought you had the right to take me from my life," she said. "It is only right that I should take you from yours, so that you may understand. You will come with me, to live or die as I see fit."

"I don't need to understand." Theiden growled. "I know all I need to know about you. No matter what else I hear about you, my conviction will always be the same. You and all your kind deserve a slow, painful death."

"You reject my offer, then?" the witch said. Her strange lavender eyes flashed in warning. "You have only these two choices: a trade, or your daughter will forever be the outcast of Patachal City."

Theiden gritted his teeth. Two choices? There was no choice. There never had been.

"I accept," he sighed, closing his eyes and knitting his brows together in despair. Would he ever see Em again? His mother? Would Evaly wonder what had happened to him?

"Give me your hand."

Theiden opened his eyes in alarm, only to find the witch with her hand held out expectantly. Slowly, he stretched out his left arm, palm facing up at the night sky. The witch grabbed it, and before Theiden could protest, cut a long horizontal gash across his palm with his hunting dagger. Then she did the same to her own hand, and clasped their hands together. Theiden grimaced at the slickness of their blood and the witch's sharp nails digging into his skin as she began to chant something under her breath. Against his will, he began to feel the tension in his muscles melt away.

"What are you doing?" he snarled, willing himself to get back up and at least wound the woman. Instead, his body remained disobediently in the position he had landed, on his knees in the dirt.

"With these words, we are bound," the witch said after a final incantation. "From now on, you belong to me."

With blood still dripping from her fingertips, the witch went to pick up her wicker basket. Turning back, she gestured for him to rise, and Theiden followed her unwillingly into the night.

~*~

Dedicated to linahanson, for her wonderful encouragement and trying out another crazy story of mine in the last chapter.  Thanks m'dear!  <3