~Brigid~

The sight of Torin working away had become as constant as the Jackdaw crow who would visit Brigid as she worked on tilling the garden of its overgrowth. The bird's black and gray feathers gleaming in the sporadic sunlight just like the sweat on Torin's brow. Not that she was watching him long enough to really notice. But it's hard to ignore a good-looking man sweating away on one's roof. Her Gran would be so disappointed; that, or she'd find the whole thing entirely too funny.

Torin would arrive at Ash Grove around midday and stay through the majority of the afternoon, leaving before dinner time. It had been that way for a couple weeks already and Brigid honestly wondered how strange it would be when he finished and didn't come around. After living with her Gran since college, Brigid isn't exactly used to being on her own. She likes her space; but there's a difference between sharing a home with someone and having one's own space and living entirely alone. She hadn't really thought about it before buying that plane ticket. She had just needed to get away and feel alive again. Of course, she didn't expect some Irish gentleman to bring laughter back into her life, either.

Since early morning, the two of them had been working outside on their respective projects — Torin her roof and Brigid weeding out the garden. The day had been a glorious one, with occasional sunshine gleaming through the white puffy clouds and new leaves growing on the trees. According to Torin, it was one of the nicest days they've had in weeks. Brigid had been up before the sun, working on the small section of the garden her Uncle had dedicated to the fae. She hoped just putting the time into cleaning the little space would be enough to show the fae she meant them no harm in being there. Torin arrived shortly after, making no comment on the small tree-stump home she had been studiously cleaning on her knees. He simply bid her good morning with that small smile and began his work on the roof. There had been a comfortable silence ever since, intermixed with the occasional comment. Like now.

"That bird sure does seem to like you."

Wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, Brigid turned away from the garden and up to the roofline where Torin crouched on one of his short ladders. He was quickly making progress on the roof and she was mildly impressed. Glancing at one of the wooden fence posts to find the Jackdaw perched there, his beady black eyes watching her. With a smile, she looked back at Torin and shrugged. "He's got good taste. Perhaps I should name him."

"Oh yes, name a wild bird. That couldn't possibly go wrong."

Even from the ground, Brigid could make out the smirk on his face. She could sure hear it, either way. They'd become somewhat of friends the last week and Brigid was enjoying the new form of company. But sometimes she'd catch Torin looking off into the woods or tilting his head like he was listening to something; it was strange, especially when she couldn't see or hear anything. However, every time she grew even the tiniest bit concerned, her magic would assure her again that the man meant no harm. So whatever strange behaviors he may have would just have to be alright.

Looking back at the black bird with a smile, Brigid stood from her crouch, ignoring the way her back ached from holding the position for so long, and walked towards it. The bird shifted on the post; its head cocked from one side to the other. But it made no move to fly away. Brigid almost felt like it had been waiting for her to walk over. When she was only a foot or so away from it, the bird's attention — that had never really left her — seemed to focus in even more. It stood to its full height of thirteen some inches.

It wasn't unusual for animals, especially birds, to hold a level of magic all of their own. The witch stories of old include so many Ravens and birds for a reason. But growing up in the land of more ordinary birds like Robins and sparrows, birds had never held Brigid's attention much. Even as a child, she had been much more fascinated by the foxes and raccoons in the area than birds. But her Gran — her Gran loved birds. Had always said that she had been a bird in a past life and hoped she could be one again. The way this bird seemed so focused on her, Brigid wouldn't put it past the Universe to have listened to her Gran's wish.

"If that thing bites you, I am not patching you up."

Rolling her eyes, and not believing a word of it, Brigid ignored Torin's voice and continued to the bird. Extending her hand out slowly, as to not startle the creature, she smiled when it leaned closer to her hand. She wasn't afraid of its sharp little beak or the fact that a bird that size could probably hurt her. She felt no fear as the bird's beak gently tapped the end of her pointer finger. A tingling sort of zing shot up her arm from the point of contact, causing her breath to hitch. A strange need filled her to take a walk into the woods, away from her little cottage. It was like the bird needed to show her something.

As she opened her mouth to speak — to say something, anything — movement passed the bird caught her attention. Standing there, just where the trees gave way to her yard, was a wolf. But it wasn't the wolf from before. The one she'd seen when she arrived in the forest had been more red, its fur a canvas of auburn and browns. This one looked darker gray than anything, a few specks of white dusted its nose and around its eyes. Its eyes, however, were the same yellow-green shade as the other wolf. The bird, seeing the predator, squawked loudly, causing a few other sparrows to flee the trees. The wolf's eyes snapped from Brigid to the Jackdaw, its brows seeming to almost furrow. Between one blink and the next, the wolf turned back into the woods at a run.

Stunned, Brigid glanced back at Torin to find him watching her, a frown on his face. Pointing into the woods, she walked a few paces closer to the house so he would be able to hear her. "Did you...there aren't any wild dogs in Ireland, right?"

The frown on Torin's features seemed to deepen. Climbing down from the roof, his boots hit the ground with a thud. Walking towards her, Brigid couldn't stop the shiver that went down her spine with the way he seemed to almost stalk towards her. He looked passed her for only a moment before meeting her eyes again. "No, Brigid. There are no wolves or other wild dogs on the island. What do you think you saw?" The frown that had been so evident on his face moments before was gone, replaced with a curious confusion.

Her eyes scanned the forest's edge, like she was expecting to see multiple wolves just come walking out of the treeline. "I know what I saw. That looked like a wolf."

"Perhaps the spirits of the land are playing tricks on you."

A few days ago, she might have agreed with him. But she wasn't so sure anymore. Shaking her head, she started to play with the ring on her thumb, twisting it this way and that. "No. No, I know spirits and that wasn't one of them."

He hummed, a sound deep in the back of his throat, before he turned and headed back to his quickly put together work bench. Brigid watched him silently as he grabbed his truck keys, the furrow in his brow replaced with a bored sort of expression. Before she knew what was happening, he was heading for the path out of Ash Grove that would lead him to his truck.

"I've got to head home early today. Sorry, I'll come back earlier tomorrow." He said the words over his shoulder, like he didn't have the time to even stop to tell her properly. Brigid didn't miss the way his eyes scanned the forest, too.

Too shocked at the turn of events to really say anything, Brigid watched Torin disappear through the trees until it was only her and the Jackdaw in the clearing. Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, Brigid glanced from the spot where Torin left to the bird still sitting on the post.

"Well, if he's not going to tell me what's going on around here, than I'll find out for myself." Walking back to where the bird perched, Brigid inclined her head into the trees beyond. Into the forest where the wolf had run off. "Alright. You have something to show me? So show me."

~~~

Perhaps she should've thought better of stalking off into the forest in the late afternoon. Her rain boots, that had been perfectly adequate for gardening, kept slipping on the fallen logs and moss she had to climb over. A chill was starting to set into her bones, too. She had left her coat on one of the fence posts in the yard, having worked up a bit of a sweat herself while working. The knit sweater she wore doing little now in the shadows of the woods. But the Jackdaw kept flying low, stopping on branches here and there to look back, to make sure she was still following him. She couldn't very well turn around now.

Just as her legs began to shake from how hard it was to hike in her Wellies, the bird stopped on a low branch at her shoulder. He cawed a few times at her, his wings flapping urgently. Coming to a stop beside him, taking a moment to try and catch her breath, Brigid laid a hand on the branch where he perched. "What is it? What have you brought me out here for?" The bird's beady eyes looked into her own as it touched its beak onto her hand where it lay beside him. The same flash of sensation happened again but this time the direction of where he wanted to go was more clear. With a deep breath, Brigid left the bird's side and climbed over a set of fallen trees. She immediately knew why the Jackdaw had brought her here.

The forest beyond was dying — no, it was already dead. Blackness had replaced all of the bright green she was already so used to seeing. No leaves hung in the trees; no birds sang their songs on the wind. It was like the breeze didn't even reach this forgotten patch of wood. With her mouth open in shock, Brigid took a few more careful steps into the bleakness. In the divots where moss would have once covered the tree roots, a muddy sort of black goo clung to the ground. The viscous liquid was more black than anything Brigid had ever seen; it was like looking into a black hole. Kneeling down, her knee crunching on the dead ground, Brigid grabbed a twig and stuck it into the goo, pulling it up only to watch the substance pull at the stick like slime.

None of this made any sense. Why was the forest in this area dying? And how quickly did it spread? She had walked a good mile or so from her cabin but did that mean her land was safe? What had caused this to occur? Her first thought was something to do with a poison, like some sort of manufacturing plant dumping raw materials. But there was nothing of the sort in this area. The air itself felt different in the black part of the forest, like the oxygen was heavier here. Her own body felt even more tired than it already had been. What in the world was going  on here?

The Jackdaw cawed, ripping Brigid's attention away from the weird liquid and back to the edge of the greenery. He was perched right where she had left him, but he seemed very agitated that she was so far away; or perhaps because she still held the stick in her hand. Choosing to take the sign for what it was, Brigid stood quickly, releasing the twig and letting the mud suck it up like it never existed at all. With her brows pulled tight, she made her way back to the green edge of the forest, the bird's loud voice almost an echo in her mind as she looked at the bleakness around her. Something horrible was happening here and she needed to find out what it was, before this blackness came for the only home she has left.