The bustle of Dublin welcomed Brigid off the tarmac and even though asphalt and city life surrounded her, she could instantly feel the ancient magic of the land. She had visited the land of her ancestors once before, as a small girl, but the sizzle of magic was exactly as she remembered it. Sparking underneath her skin and setting her heart beat quicker.

Finding transport that would take her the three some hours out into County Mayo had been filled with frustration but after changing buses multiple times and ending with a cab, she was finally here. Some fifteen minutes outside of Kildare, in the middle of green hills and forests deep, Brigid made the cabbie stop.

"Here, lass? You're certain? Ain't nothing out here but the sheep and ruins."

He might not have been able to see it but Brigid could. The magic that was so ingrained in the world around her was palpable. She felt it fill her lungs when she opened the door and it made the hollowness inside her chest lessen a little. Offering the cabbie his fare and a smile, she nodded. "Yes, I'm sure. Thank you."

Looking very unconvinced, the elderly man reached into his glove compartment and handed her a card. "Call, if you need anything. Or need a ride anywhere."

Tucking the card safely into her duffle bag, Brigid tried to reassure the man as she climbed out of the back, dragging her only other bag out with her. "I will, thank you, again." She didn't bother telling him she had no cell phone. She hadn't bothered setting up an overseas account — there was no point out here and she wasn't about to set up a landline. But the offer was nice nonetheless.

As she stood at the edge of the road, the cab finally driving back towards town, Brigid was alone again for the first time in days. The silence of no other humans and the lack of civilization was deafening but as her ears adjusted, she smiled. She wasn't alone out here by any means. Birds chirped in the brush and trees; sheep bleated in the fields beyond; a hawk screeched. No, she wasn't alone out here. So why did her chest feel so tight?

Shaking herself off of the melancholy, Brigid hefted her bags over her shoulders and made for a small, nondescript path just off the side of the road. It was barely perceptible from the rest of the native brush, but animals had clearly been using it as a trail, the fauna stomped down by their steps. Small purple flowers dotted the overgrowth, a gorgeous contrast to the green of the fields.

Following the path as it weaved away from the road and towards the tree line, something caught Brigid's attention at the edge of the forest. If she hadn't been looking around she never would've seen the creature where it hid in the shadows. Its yellow-green eyes were focused on her movement; its pointed ears poised in her direction. Brigid had never seen a wolf up close but even with a few dozen feet between them, she could assume that this one was massive. Her breath caught in her throat; weren't wolves extinct in Ireland? She's positive they are. Between one blink and the next, the silhouette is gone. Maybe the spirits or the fae are playing games with her. Shaking her head, Brigid continued on the path, leaving the field behind to be surrounded by trees on all sides. But her mind kept thinking she was hearing something in the woods beyond. She'd pay her respects to the fae of the land soon; hopefully, that would appease them.

Her breaths were coming in pants by the time she reached the old stone markers that sat at the edge of her family's land. They had been there for generations, probably long before a dwelling of any kind had been erected here. Some towered high, reaching her head and then some, while others had been worn down and weather to barely her thighs. Beyond them a few paces, sitting in a small clearing surrounded by the forest, sat the old cabin. Surprisingly, it held up to the vision Brigid had of it from childhood. Bricks and stones made up the exterior, as well as circled the property in an old layered-stone fence. The thatched roof would definitely need repairing — how bad it was would depend on how many leaks she finds inside. The two chimneys, on either end of the small cottage, looked in good condition. At least, Brigid sure hoped they were. It was still chilly at night in late March. She would need to build fires to keep warm and cook her food until she could cook outside in the fire pit. Or dared to learn how to use the old range stove.

The dark purple color of the door stood out against the deep green of the forest, the color slightly faded but no less vibrant at the same time. A fresh coat and it would be as good as new. An old Witch's Ladder hung on the small porch just beside the door. Its knots, stones, and feathers swing lightly in the breeze. One side of the yard, outlined by a smooth rock path, was what used to be a garden. She would need to work hard to get it ready for planting in a few weeks, but she's sure with a little TLC the ground will be happy to house her food.

Finally, after everything that had happened in the last month, Brigid felt an inkling of hope bloom in her chest. It was time for a fresh start. And here, in the land of her ancestors, she hoped she could do just that.

~~~

First order of business when she got inside was to clean the dust off everything. She'd never been more grateful for her Gran's insistence on learning cleaning magic, no matter how much Brigid detested cleaning. Watching the dust simply blow off the kitchen counters and out of the open window was a little thrilling. The sun had long since set by the time she had cleaned the kitchen and living room, content to sleep on the old — but surprisingly comfortable — couch and clean the bedroom later. She might have been good at simple cleaning spells but she'd actually have to wash the bedding before she wanted to sleep on it. Maybe the mattress, too. And that would take a bit more work than simply blowing on it. A fire was crackling away in the stone fireplace opposite the couch, its blaze strong and warm. But then Brigid had always had an affinity for fire magic.

Overly dried herbs hung from the rafters in the kitchen and she doubted they'd be of any use, but they had been her Great Uncle's, so she wasn't going to get rid of them; May their presence bless the home. She'd only found a few leaks in the thatched roof, but the whole thing would surely need to be replaced. She could patch them magically herself but that wouldn't fix the actual problems in the roof. No, the first order of business would be to find a thatcher. She only hoped she had enough savings to get the job done. But despite all of the dirt and cleaning needed, Brigid hadn't felt this alive in months.

Pulling a small bag out of the duffle that held her clothes, she smiled as she set it down on the table. She hadn't been sure if security would find them or not but she's so thankful they didn't. Little paper bags, all labeled and folded over with care, contained all she had left of her Gran's shop. Seeds from her own garden and herbs that they had cared for together over the years. Brigid was going to plant them, here, in her ancestral home, and think of her Gran every time she cared for them.

Setting them aside, she continued to unpack her toiletries and the few other keepsakes she had salvaged from the doomed shop. She'd find homes for them in the morning. Glancing out the window, the clouds covering the sky in dark gray, she had no idea what time it was. She'd buy a clock in town soon. Of course, the jet lag didn't help. It was, what? Probably only dinner time back in Connecticut? No wonder she wasn't tired, despite the traveling and cleaning.

A loud whistle filled the house. Turning to the fireplace, Brigid carefully removed the iron kettle from its hook. She'd need to cut some more firewood before she could use the old stove — if it would even still work. It was one of those old range cookers, made of metal and multiple doors. It would be interesting to learn how to cook with it, if not frightening. But for now, instant soup and tea over the fire would have to do.

As she snuggled up into the thick blankets found in the cupboard, hot tea steaming in her lap, Brigid couldn't help but think of the wolf in the woods. Because she knows she saw a wolf, whether it was the form a spirit or fae decided to take or something else, she wasn't sure yet. But she knows one thing — come morning, she's going to go see if she can find any tracks in the dirt. Because wolves were extinct in Ireland. So if it wasn't a spirit and held an actual form, then she wasn't the only magical being in this forest.

A/N

Say hello to Brigid, everyone! Not going to lie, Ash Grove grew out of my own wish of a small cabin in the middle of the woods. Maybe I'll find my wee witch's cabin one day ;)

Your comments mean the world to me! Thanks so much for reading.

xx

Sarah