Luckily for Autumn, it didn’t take long to find the wand mentioned by the old witch. The wand had been sitting on the workbench itself, just hidden amongst the other esoteric items. 

Eleven inches long and bent like an old weathered finger. The color of the wood was unlike anything Autumn had seen before in nature, like an iron rod carved with wood grain. Her hand wrapped around a cold white bone handle and the wand sat with a comforting weight within. 

Before Autumn could allow her imagination to truly unfurl, a loud snap interrupted her thoughts. With a frightened, nervous glance, she checked her newly made ward; it was unbroken. Another snap resounded faintly within the space, echoing from outside the confines of the witch’s abode from the shattered window. 

As an icy chill crept and crawled up her spine, Autumn shuffled on healing feet to the broken view. Outside and across the weed-filled lawn was a sight that sent shivers down her skin.

The Wild Hunters had crept closer in the night.

Not only that, but more fur and bone-clad fae had gathered before her. A small host that was nearly a hundred large had camped outside the witch’s protections. 

Autumn saw magnificent stags larger than any possible, with antlers that rose high into the sky. Between roots stretched many tents of skin and hides and patrolling hunters who watched the hut with focused intent. 

The way back was thoroughly blocked.

What was even more concerning was that the wards that fended off the incursion as they were failing. Now and then she saw the fae steadily pushing against the protections, their wild magics sapping what little witchcraft the aged bird skulls and rusted iron kept. 

Witch Augus’ safeguards were fleeting and Autumn’s time was running out.

Yet all was not lost, as it seemed the wards slowed the hunter’s progress. Each arduous step towards the hut had to be fought for with a grand outpouring of magic. And it also appeared that the flow of the dead river had somewhat hampered the Wild Hunt. The thousands of riders that shook the world with their endless stampede hadn’t arrived yet.

Autumn knew she had to leave, but when? 

For a moment, she watched from beside the frame. The charms snapped and iron crumbled as she watched and counted. From the speed and progress made, she estimated she had at least a day, maybe less, till they reached the doorway. She hoped that the rusty iron horseshoe above it would buy her more time.

“Shit, shit, shit.” 

Autumn tried not to panic, but that was a hard thing to ask when she did not know what she was doing or where she might run to. The only thing she knew was it needed to be away from here.

“Alright chill, first things, first grab some of this stuff.” 

Autumn lugged an ancient canvas bag with frayed leather straps about the room. Into it went her supplies for the harrowing journey before her. Spare clothes, underwear, and woolen socks. There was little food remaining as she had eaten what dried scraps had remained. If she rationed properly, she had at least three days of nuts and berries. Water, however, was a major concern. All she had left was a mouthful of very stale wine.

During her search, she found several interesting items, some not so helpful now, but if she survived, they might be rather handy. For example, while on her hands and knees, she peeked under the bed and found a pouch that clinked with coins. The handful inside bore a symbol of a crooked tree on either side. 

There was a single lonely gold, twelve silver pieces, and thirty-two tiny bronze coins. 

How much that was truly worth, Autumn did not know. It could be a basic wage for all she knew, but she secreted it away into her robes, hidden within one of the smuggling pockets. 

What was more handy in the immediate terms was a thick leather belt that held a long iron knife within a sheath. The heavy belt strapped about Autumn’s waist and the knife rested upon her hip and thigh. The weapon brought a sense of reassurance she was rather thin on. Glancing over at the shelves, Autumn debated whether to snag a few for later. On one hand, they’d weigh her down while on the other they might be useful, or at the very least, she could sell them.

“Fuck it.” 

Autumn decided and gathered up as many of the more interesting jars and containers into her bag till it was nearly full. 

The last time on her list of preparations was the boots. 

She had been dreading putting them on. She could wait till she left, but she did not know when that would be. Better to suffer now than lose out on the opportunity later. It took a fair few minutes of wincing and struggling to slip her feet into the softened leather before she laced them up tight. They didn’t fit perfectly, being made for someone with smaller feet than her, but they didn’t pinch too much. 

They’d still suck to run in, but it beat thorns in her feet again. Now she felt prepared to travel through the haunting forest.

She slumped down upon the rickety bed that howled at her action. Autumn wondered how long she had been awake. It could have been only a minute or it could have spanned hours. 

It felt like it, at least. Her limbs shook and ached and her body shivered with the fever still wracking her body. 

She wanted to sleep. Yet she couldn’t. There was still more to do. 

Slowly and with as much focused intent as she could desperately muster, she began harvesting her emotions. Fear fell away from her in streams as they surrendered themselves to her witch’s hat. All the power she could gain now would make her flight on the morrow all that more possible. It was only when her hat felt as heavy as a mountain and threatening to burst she stopped. She had drawn out as much as she could, yet she still felt afraid, even if it was just a little. 

With an aching body and mind, she fell into an exhausted slumber as the haunting metronome of breaking charms sounded off in the distance. 

Murky and broken dreams slipped past her mind’s eye like a water’s vapour. It distressed her slumber with its wake. In one moment, she spied a matronly figure dressed familiarly. It tingled her recollection, but Autumn couldn’t make out her face as it was a blur of distorted flesh. No matter how hard she fought to approach the matron, the dream doomed Autumn to fall further and further away. Each step cracked the ground like glass till it shattered and she fell into the depthless deep.

Fell into the inky abyss. 

Falling faster and faster. 

Down. 

Down.

Down she went.

Down for what felt like forever until the ground rushed up to meet her in a blur of fright and motion. Just as she was about to impact the black bedrock below, she awoke with a gasp. Autumn tumbled off her bed and the cold, hard slap of a stone floor greeted her face. Groaning in pain, Autumn rose, clutching at her face, still tangled by the twisting bed cloth. 

Outside, the crooked moon still hung in place and shed a foggy moonlight into Autumn’s abode. No matter what happened today, it would be the last time she would awake in this place.

And hopefully this endless night within the Feywild.

Autumn dug about in her pack for a mouthful of dried nuts and berries to satisfy her moaning stomach. 

Like a mountain, the weathered hat sat upon her brow packed full of magic. Upon her back went her canvas pack and around her waist went the knife and wand. Autumn was as ready as she’d ever be to run or fight. Deep within her chest, the hollow ache of overdrawn emotion had soothed with rest, but she still felt strange, lighter than ever before.

Above the entranceway sat that rusted iron horseshoe. Autumn clasped it and wrenched it free of its morning. Down it came in a shower of dust and rust, sprinkling Autumn in its debris. After coughing away the dustiness in her lungs, Autumn peeked outside through the shattered window. 

Either the fae didn’t need or want sleep. Through the endless night while Autumn had slept, they had continued their assault. Gradually, they had crept closer to their prey in its burrow. Now they stood a bare few meters from the front of the crumbling cottage. 

Eager to kill and consume.

It was time to leave.

The bar that locked the door was heavy with rust, just like the rest of the abode. As Autumn attempted to wrench it up, it resisted for a moment until, with a last heave of effort, it tore free with a wail of tormented iron.

Autumn leaped through the open door, ignoring the hisses of the fae so close to the doorstep. 

To the left she slid, feet skipping on the stones and dirt. Away, she fled into the dense overgrown garden that pushed hard up against the old cabin. Flares of wild magic tore through the air after her, leaving trails of green in their wake. A bolt splashed into the hut beside her, sending an explosion of splinters into the air. Autumn ducked low and slipped further into the maze of foliage that the garden was. Further bolts ripped into those leafy roots, but could not reach her for now.

Strange vegetables and wild fruits ran with the vibrant colors of the rainbow. They shimmered and glowed in fascinating patterns, but Autumn had no time to admire them. Trees and vines spiraled and twisted around each other into a cornucopian maze; the manicured rows had long since broken down. She weaved her way through, having to cut past hanging vines with her iron knife. 

On either side of the clearing, the fae were in pursuit, seeking to cut off her escape, yet the twisting forest delayed them.

Hands stained by sticky sap, Autumn pushed her way past a bed of chromatic flowers which disgorged a cloud of pollen at her passing. Autumn could have sworn that she heard them growling as well.

The edge of the clearing came into view, all towering trees of titanic impossibility. No bridges, paths, or tunnels were there to guide her path onward. So she simply ran and followed the twists and turns of the roots.

All the while, she hoped she’d make it through.

A lonesome animal trial fanned that hope within her breast. She followed it with clinging desperation as it wound its way ever deeper between roots and rocks. 

The eerie woods seemed to travel on for an eternity. And for an age and a half, Autumn loped along its dim trails. Time here felt unstable and unorganized. She felt tiny, oh so tiny, as she ran beneath the behemoths above. 

Her sense of scale began to warp and twist.

As she pushed past a cluster of brightly glowing fireflies, her mind snapped back to attention. Standing in the way of her flight was a fae.

A thin bird-like creature stood tall and menacing upon curved talons sharper than any knife. From the thick bird thighs sprouted a woman’s torso covered in downy dull-brown feathers. Where arms would be instead grew long feathered wings tipped with sharp claws. 

To Autumn, it reminded her of a harpy, or at least the stories of them.

Its head followed her movements. A sharp hooked beak sat below beady, humanoid eyes that glinted with violence in the moonlight. A plume of reddish feathers flared upwards in a display of aggression. 

It did not speak, only raised its wings to the sides threateningly and hissed.