It descended onto her like assassin’s seasoned blade.

A tingle that gnawed into her tissue sank into her bones, inserting a heaviness that would not be ignored. It invaded her senses and devoured her environment. The berry thicket, the scattering of thin animal limbs, the aroma of a plucked rose, the taste of a bitter berry, the scrapping of a woven basket’s handle, she was bereft of them. Her fingers curled and stretched out in search of a steady place to weather the attack.

Inhale, exhale. She grappled at the familiar action before succumbing to the flexing storm.

At least this time it wouldn’t last long.

She let go . . .

. . . Colors burst open onto her eyes, and the sound of voices clattered like cold chains. She was yanked and dragged like different directions as she struggled to hang onto any sight or sound to understand. Sight and sound spiraled and stretched only to rejoin into an explosion that ended in darkness, leaving but a thundering, stomping of hooves: they’re coming. They’re coming . . .

. . . She gasped, dragging air in and out of her lungs. Her senses returned to her like they had not left her moments before. She squinted at the sunlight filtered through the dark green treetops and spared a glance for her spilled berries. Sighing, she knelt down and gathered the berries with trembling fingers. They stained her fingers with impressions of their insides against the lines in her skin.

Her fingers looked like the aftermath of murder.

She stood up and held her basket so that it dug into her side. The afternoon was retreating into tonight and she with it. The berries needed to be washed and baked, dinnertime was nearing, and checking her wards was an itch that she wanted to scratch. She felt exposed and unprotected in the woods where an attack could come from any direction. That truth was bitter on her tongue.

This was her home, her safe place, her forest. She had trekked over every tree root, swam across every stream, and hiked every hill. Though there existed no document with her name to claim the place as such, this was hers, and now she had lost the security in its embrace. The underlying sensation of eyes that weren’t watching her yet was a tick inside her skin and sucking on her bones. She wouldn’t be able to relax here again for quite some time.

She spied the rock fence that guarded her property and quickened her pace. Her heart thudded against her rib cage in the beat of the phrase “they’re coming,” unwilling to let her awareness be numbed by the sight of her safe place. She could feel the words twitch in her veins as her fingertips scraped skin over the stone. The beat lessened, but remained steady. Vigilance and sleepless nights would be her friends now.

A growl vibrated in her throat as she swung open her wooden gate. She had fought hard for her way of life and comfort in her surroundings. It had taken her a year to go beyond her fence for more than a small handful of minutes. To stop jumping at sudden and strange noises, it had taken her twice as long. Beyond that, for a sense of security in her forest, it was three years before she knew every nook and cranny in which she could hole away if someone sought her out. All that time and effort was snuffed out by a mere nonsensical vision that prolonged its life with a foreboding feeling. If someone did come knocking on her door with her name on their lips, she would kill them for slaughtering her security.

The berries were jostled when she sat the basket down, a few escaping to roll around on the table. That wasn’t worth her attention, however. She needed to figure out what she was to do, and she wasn’t certain of how much time she had. Someone could show up tomorrow morning or three weeks from now so she needed a plan. Whether she would abandon her cottage or fortify herself in her home, it was the first decision to make.

She paced around her table. The pros and cons of both options rolled around with her. If she were to leave, she increased the chance of running into whoever was searching for her. She would also have to find a new place to live and hope that she wasn’t found there. However, this option held some attraction with the fact that at least she would attempting to keep her freedom. On the other hand, if she were to stay, she would have the protection of the wards and could hide until the danger passed. She would have to cover of the woods and the advantage of knowing every inch of it. She also had past evidence on her side that finding her was difficult so perhaps she was safer to remain at her cottage.

Her pacing slowed to a crawl as she continued her route around the table. There was a third option that she hadn’t considered. She could always dispose of the person who found her. All it would take was one attack with a knife and a hole in the ground, and her location would remain unknown to anyone who cared. If anyone else followed, she could repeat her method until no one else was sent.

Her feet stopped, and she stared at her stained hands. Could she do what was necessary for that option? To go through with it, she would have to take the life of another person or several if more people were sent. She would see blood leave their bodies, dirtying the forest floor. The blood would live on in her mind, the rain washing away only its physical form. Her hands would be red. Hadn’t she run away from the red? Would covering herself in red be worth keeping this life away from old red? No, this was not an option for her. To stay or leave, those were her options, but which to choose?

She found herself reluctant to run away from her home. It was hers, and it gave her an advantage. There was the added fact that her location was very difficult to find, and no one had found her in all these years. However, she could not allow herself to not plan or worry. Someone could very well find her, but how would she deal with them? She didn’t want to kill, but she had no other tool to use. She had no political power or wealth to grant her seeker whatever they desired. She had one skill that she could offer as a bribe.

She fiddled with a jade bead in her braid, toying with the idea of removing it and the countless others in her hair. The brief thought of doing so stole the air from her lungs, and her hand flung away from the bead. She would rather die than take them out. She would have to come up with another idea.

So far, she had decided to remain at her cottage, but not kill anyone who discovered her location. She knew defending herself and retreating was also an useless option because they would follow her. If she was going to leave when she was attacked, then she should head out before anyone found her. She groaned. She wished she had a simpler solution in which she didn’t have to interact with her would-be kidnapper.

A idea sparked. She could hide herself away in her basement, in a protected hole that no one would notice. That had been where she had slept during her first year in her home. She would have space to lay down with a pillow and a blanket with food and water. Someone could stay in her home for the night and never stumble upon her hiding place. The place had been warded to remain unnoticed and unseen unless the person had magic. The person coming for her wouldn’t have even a speck of magic in their veins so it was not something that she would worry about. It was a perfect solution. She would stay but remain hidden, and she wouldn’t have to kill anyone.

Now to prepare for the storm.