Author's Note

What? Two updates within 24 hours? Yes. I have some exciting news-- for those who may not know this yet! 

1.) I am entering this in the Wattys! I will be completing it by early September! 

2.) I have a new instagram handle, @AuthorJuneValentine and I would appreciate all kind enough to give me a follow. 

3.) I have finished 1/3 of this novel already! It's so close to done! I just have to do four more weeks of work! 

Thank you to all who are joining along for the ride! As always, I deeply appreciate comments and votes, as it helps me know what you guys think! :D 

Marjorie rushed down her Grandmother's staircase with a quickness she never knew. Now, as her eyes adjusted to the pitch black, the night seemed impossibly darker.

She held a torch in her hand and an empty basket at her elbow. She marched in the opposite direction of the Village. She was going to enter the belly of the beast—Mirkwood.

Sicily was right— praying to Mother would do no good for her dwindling health. Any chance of Grandmother surviving the trip to Beyond relied on the medicinal herbs that grew inside the dark forest. Plants sprouted from the rich green lands of Mirkwood, and when mashed into a thick paste, offered restorative benefits.

The Fewfolk who sold their goods at the market spent their mornings gathering the herbs from the forest. Sungrass for fevers. Motherflower for pain. Devilhair for the symptoms of Brushpaw.

They marked up the flowers to a price Marjorie could never afford and forced the villagers to pay a steep fee or make peace with their pain. But despite the high cost, the villagers still returned each morning with handfuls of coins.

There was a good reason why no one but the brave Fewfolk ventured into the forest. Each time they entered Mirkwood, they bartered with their life. Few who enter ever returned, and if they did, they were never quite the same.

Unlike the villagers, Marjorie held no fear for what may wait in the forest. Behind her, the warm golden glow of Sicily's bedroom window disappeared through the thick canopy of tree branches. Now, the only source of light came from the orange glow of her torch.

The edge of Mirkwood neared, and with it came an unusual uptick in temperature. The forest was an oasis of uncommon weather. Where Core stayed trapped in a frigid winter for the majority of the year and Spring lasted only a handful of days, Mirkwood was neither hot nor cold year around. Instead, it floated somewhere in the middle, a lukewarm paradise. Unlike the Village, rain seldom came to the woods, and when it did-- never with the same lightning or violent wind Core was prone to.

"They are Spring showers," Sicily once tried to explain the difference to Marjorie. "To help the flowers blossom and life grow."

Marjorie unclasped the silver hook of her red cloak to cool off her skin hiding beneath. Tiny beads of sweat formed at the roots of her ginger hair. The changing of temperature meant there was no need to dress in fear of frostbite.

She shouldn't be heading into the forest so late at night, especially when the Wolf will strike sometime in the next twenty-four hours. But there was no other way. Soon, dawn would come and with it, the Villagers would disappear with Vivian to Beyond.

If Marjorie could just find Devilhair, there would be nothing to fear. When the red herb is boiled and reduced to a gel consistency, it prolonged the life of the afflicted. She would bring it to her home in the Village and bottle it up like magick. Then, she would force it down Sicily's stubborn throat.

"Holy Mother," the shocking words fell out of Marjorie's mouth. She stood in front of the entrance of Mirkwood. An invisible line divided Woodsman Landing and the dark forest.

The flat plains of the Landing were abruptly cut off by a fence of impossibly tall, white trees. They stretched into the clear sky above and disappeared into the dark clouds above. Marjorie reached up a hand to touch the bark, it was smooth like glass and warm like it was alive.

This was a world she never knew before, a place she never dared to enter. She shoved all her fear down and took her first step into the forest.

* * *

The torch did little to help lead Marjorie through the thick, green foliage of Mirkwood. If she had passed Devilhair, she was completely clueless to it. Somewhere along the way, the path she followed forked into three directions. She always took the middle, happy to walk in a straight line, until she glanced behind her.

As if the forest had a mind of its own, the clear trail she walked before was covered completely by new, sudden growth. Vegetation that had not existed moments before now overtook the only way out. She had no other choice but to move forward. The forest forced the decision.

She tried to calm the fear pumping through her veins. She knew no way out, and Sicily never once told her that the forest moved liked this—like it breathed and thought like her.

"Do not lose your mind, Marjorie," she whispered in an attempt to minimize her growing doubts. "There is nothing to fear. The moon above you is the same moon you always see."

Perhaps, this was some kind of revenge. She walked straight into the Wolf's den to steal all his precious Devilhair and truly expected no retribution. Maybe the beast was close, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

But then, the rushing of water eased her anxious thoughts.

A river, she thought. Mother River.

She veered off of the path and followed the sound of rapids. Green undergrowth attempted to push her back onto the trail, but she forced herself through thorn bushes and low-hanging flora. She only stopped her frantic running and thrashing until her feet hit red and black gravel.

A shoreline. It didn't matter how deep she strayed into the forest-- Mother River always led back to Ravensport. 

Marjorie listened to the gentle river at her feet. It sounded the same as it did in the village: a soothing and familiar thrum.

The young woman gathered the fabric of her cape and scooted closer to the river. She was thirsty, but she did not bend herself in half to scoop a handful of fresh, icy water up. Instead, her gaze was caught on something awfully familiar hiding in the shallows. Clusters of Devilhair poked up beside neighboring white lilypads. The red, fernlike herb bobbed up in the tide, oblivious to its new fate.

She laughed at her luck and reached a hand down. She grasped the plants by their strong, thick stems. One by one, she placed entire bushels of Devilhair into her basket until it overflowed.

"I fear you are taking something that isn't yours," a deep, unplaceable voice announced from behind her.

Marjorie's blood went cold at the sudden interruption.

She tucked her cape around the basket to hide all her Devilhair from the stranger and searched her surroundings for any kind of weapon. There was nothing but gravel, water, greenery and her waning torch.

She took her chances and grabbed a handful of pebbles.

Marjorie twisted her body around and threw the gravel with all of her might. She didn't bother to look at the man, instead, she stood from where she crouched beside the river and darted in the opposite direction. She rushed toward the safety of thick foliage, and for a moment, she even reached the tree-line.

Just moments before she disappeared completely, a hand wrapped around the end of her cape and yanked her backward. She fell on her hands, immediately bloodying up the tender skin of her palms. Marjorie did not look back to see her attacker, because she knew who it was—who it must be.

The Wolf.