FOREVER KNIGHTS: #4 Battling Black Roses

“One must understand humility to appreciate life. How can one be grateful for warmth if they’ve never suffered a bit of cold?”

“A bit of cold, huh? Fine. If that’s how it is to be than.” Spinning on her heel, her nightgown swished as she took to the stairs. Loudly closing her door and hovering outside as she waited for the scrape of the rocking chair sliding back into place. Edging along the wall, Chastain peered down the staircase and watched Margaret furtively peeling the shutter open.

Margaret stared out with bated breath. Finally blowing it out and taking her seat.

Chastain slid down the wall and sat a long while before the chair creaked again. Peering down the entryway she found Margaret gone and the chair rocking slightly. The blanket hung off the back. Creeping downstairs she looked for the old woman but couldn’t spot her. Just as she rounded the banister, she caught movement from the kitchen and ducked into the shadows.

Margaret emerged. Laboring under a heavy burlap bag.

Chastain retreated to near the stairs, pressing into the gloom.

Margaret returned. Setting a bag at her feet which made glass jars tink together. Margaret sat before the fire and softly pressed the whistle to her lips. The sound barely audible. Like a breath.

Margaret looked at the bag then out the window, worriedly. Glancing at where Chastain lurked.

Chastain stopped breathing, but it was dark enough Margaret returned her attention outdoors, not spotting her.

Eventually, Margaret stiffened. Hands going to the armrests as she squinted into darkness. Chastain crept along the wall near the kitchen to see but couldn’t gain a vantage point without stepping into the firelight.

Margaret swept up the bag as she headed out the front door.

Chastain glimpsed the bottom of Margaret’s shoe as she stepped. Obviously, she’d worn them the whole time. Margaret took great care closing the door behind her.

Chastain rushed to the side of the window. Peering out.

Margaret looked furtively around as she walked to the gate. Shooting a final look to the window.

Chastain ducked. When she peered back over the ledge, she caught a hand snaking through the gate for the bag.

Margaret followed, easing beyond the gate and letting it swing closed.

Squinting into the dark, Chastain caught the woman disappearing into the trees. She worried her lip, concerned for Margaret following a giant black shadow.

Eventually, Chastain fell asleep waiting for Margaret’s return.

This week it was Mags that brought him the bag of goods.

“Mags!” he called to her.

“Hello, Sweetheart.” She patted his shoulder as he took the bag from her and held the gate for her to walk through.

They strolled the Merwood to the cave. She knew the path as well as he. Knew where his traps were like the back of her hands. Still he resisted the urge to hold her arm to assure she didn’t fall.

She played these woods for many years. He reminded himself. But a little voice argued. But she is getting on now.

He remembered sitting in the cave and smiling as he heard the girls laughing. Playing hide and seek in the trees as they learned the feel of every trunk.

He taught them to know the normal sounds of the forest and to recognize the sudden absence of it.

They were apt pupils. They became very cautious, even while at play. The laughter would stop. Their heads would turn as they scanned the trees and they would rush back to the safety of the Meredith House garden.

He remembered whittling them toys while they climbed over his back and lunged from stumps onto him. Making him growl in frustration. Now they were frail older women.

And one day they’ll be gone. He thought sadly.

“I’m getting old.” Margaret grumbled as if reading his thoughts.

He offered her a hand into the cave and held it, so she’d not slip.

“And here you are, unaging.”

He scoffed. “I age in here.” He tapped his temple.

“We won’t be around much longer.” She murmured.

Don’t talk like that!

He shot her a quick look. “I asked you not to say such things.” He said. “You’ve been my truest friends.”

“Your only friends.” She laughed.

“Sweet daughters of Igonox.” He remembered Margaret announcing that first day he’d met them.

“Do you remember the day we wove your hair?” She giggled at the memory as if she were a mere girl now.

Of course. He shuddered. How could I forget?

“I do.” He groaned. “I couldn’t get them out for days. Bast greatly enjoyed mocking me for them, thanks to you girls.”

“You lit up our world.” Margaret murmured, touching his heart.

He drew a long breath as they entered the main chamber of his cavern. “I still wish you’d left the Merwood.”

“And stopped looking after you?” She paused to give him an appalled look.

“I’d have had to stop looking after you.” He retorted over his shoulder as he put a small metal basin over the fire with water. Letting it heat.

“We make a fine team, the three of us watching out for each other.” She said smiling as she took the wooden chair at his small table.

“We have.” He agreed as he sprinkled tea leaves in a wooden mug and poured on the hot water to steep. “But I wanted more for you girls. Husbands, children, families.”

She drew a deep breath to take in the scent. “You still make the most aromatic cup.” She murmured as he brought it over to carefully hand it to her. “I do so enjoy these visits.”

He smiled at her in return. Me too. He let her change the subject. He knelt opposite her at the table as he only had the one chair.

“You both grew to lovely women.”

“Not lovely enough to catch your eye.” She teased.