Nattie Umber had less than three copper coins in her pocket when she arrived in the capital city of Hearth in the kingdom of Fellsbrand. 

Guards eyed her at the city gates, but didn’t deem it necessary to stop and check the travel papers of such a slim, tired-looking young woman. In fact, they looked pityingly at the beautiful, bedraggled peasant, and so they waved her through unbothered. Nattie slipped through a sea of merchants, laborers, guards, and children who always seemed to be running and laughing underfoot. She’d never seen so many people in her life, so she kept her meager collection of coins hidden in the bodice of her blue dress. She pulled her thin woolen cloak tight around her face and tried very hard to go unnoticed.

At a baker’s shop, she traded one copper coin for a measly little bun and asked, “Which way to Greenleaf Apothecary?”

The kind, round baker’s wife smiled. “You’re nearly there, dearie. It’s just up the street. A green and gold wooden sign with a sprig of leaves carved onto it. Can’t miss it.”

Nattie thanked the woman, ate her bun in two gulps, and headed up the street as directed. It was only after she arrived at a little thatched shop with the green sign that she finally breathed a monumental sigh of relief. 

It had been nearly a month since her escape from the mountain. In that time, she’d pretended to be an average, human girl. She’d walked for miles, completely ruining her elegant temple slippers. She’d hitchhiked on the backs of farmer’s wagons, bartered with traders to take her as far as the next town, and earned little bits of coin along the way doing odd jobs. 

She was exhausted, but she’d finally arrived at her destination.

Nattie reached out and pushed on the door’s handle, which gave way, and entered the little apothecary shop, the chime of a bell announcing her arrival. Inside, the shop was empty of customers. Nattie peered around at the cozy library of wooden shelves, each one overflowing with neatly labeled jars of herbal tinctures, bags of tea, handmade soaps, candles, woven baskets of dried herbs, and glass vials filled with liquids in every shade imaginable.

The air was thick with the mingling scents of lavender, rosemary, and something sharp and medicinal that tickled the back of Nattie’s throat. Beeswax candles flickered in sconces along the walls, casting warm, dancing shadows over the cluttered countertops and well-worn wooden floors.

Bundles of dried flowers and herbs hung from the rafters in careful arrangements—sage and yarrow for protection, chamomile and valerian for sleep, bright orange calendula for healing. 

In the corner, an old mortar and pestle rested beside an open book, its pages covered in delicate, looping script. A small cauldron sat atop a cast-iron stove, steam curling from its surface, filling the room with a sweet, spiced aroma.

The apothecary had the feel of a place long lived-in, well-loved, and brimming with secrets. It smelled so familiar.

Like home.

“Be right out,” called a woman’s voice from the back of the shop. Nattie’s heart raced at the sound of her voice.

While she waited, she approached a calico cat that lounged lazily next to the money till and flicked its tail in Nattie’s direction. When she reached out to pet the cat, it sniffed her hand. Then, it raised its little white and orange head and purred, rubbing its face against her fingers. Her heart warmed at the cat’s immediate acceptance of her, and she reveled in its soft fur. 

Then, the sound of footsteps made both the cat and Nattie snap to attention, as a beautiful middle-aged woman appeared from the back room and stood behind the counter.

“Welcome in, love,” the woman said, wiping her messy hands on her apron. “What can I do for you today?”

Nattie stared at the beautiful witch. The woman’s clothes were modest, her apron covered in all manner of medicinal concoctions. Her copper hair—so similar to what Nattie’s had been just a month ago—was streaked with silver. Best of all, the woman’s eyes were a familiar, warm honey brown. 

Just like Nattie remembered.

Nattie lowered the woolen hood from her face, but before she could speak, Isla Greenleaf’s mouth fell open in shock.

“It can’t be,” she cried. “Blessed be the gods… are you—?”

“What? How did you know?” Nattie gasped, her smile falling. “I changed my hair and my eye color! I’ve been hiding my magic aura and everything!"

Isla’s expression did not seem particularly happy to see the young woman. In fact, she looked more than shocked. She looked like she was seeing a ghost.

“They told me… they said you were probably dead,” Isla whispered.

“I am,” Nattie agreed. “At least, Natalia Ellwise is presumed dead.”

“You wanted to be presumed dead? You’re in hiding?” 

“Yes.”

Isla blinked, totally baffled. “Well, who are you supposed to be now?”

“Uh… Nattie Umber?”

“What? No!” Isla cried. “If you’re in hiding you’re not supposed to answer me like it’s a question!” Isla raced around the counter and flung her arms around Nattie, crushing her to her chest and laughing like it was all some terrible, wonderful joke. “You’re supposed to say it with confidence! How else will people believe you?”

Tears filled Nattie’s eyes, and she melted into the woman’s sturdy, familiar arms.

“Aunt Isla,” she sobbed. “I have s-so much to t-tell you.”

“It’s alright,” Isla soothed, running her hands through Nattie’s now golden blonde hair, her soft fingers and lavender scent finally feeling like home. “You’re safe here, my little fox. You’re safe.”