A winding, overgrown road snaked through the forest a little ways outside of Falconhurst and ended at what could only be described as a hovel, and inside this hovel, a witch lived. She didn't want to be called it, but the villagers certainly did. She had a warty nose, long stringlike hair, a crooked back from years bent over a cauldron. She plucked a few ears from her shelf- though they were ears of wheat, and tossed them into a mortar. Crushing it into dust, she added it to a mixture, and brushed it ever so lightly across the burns on her face. She'd even take a peek outside her window that rattled with the wind. Sometimes it felt summer may never come at all.
But there was an awful knock at the door, and it rattled even louder than the mightiest of storms to her. Her eye hovered through the peephole, and she saw a tabard emblazoned with the emblem of the Order of Embers. In a flash, she tossed away her herbs, slammed shut her window, emptied her mortar. And she edged open the door with shaky hands.
A Knight stepped into the room, her armour glowing bright- too bright- against the dim aura of the hovel's interior. The Witch saw how she scanned the room. She saw, on her belt, a flask of alchemical fire. Had they finally chosen to come for her, now?
But The Knight only moved towards the countertop. She asked in a commanding voice, and a clear one, a question.
"Greetings. One of my friends has taken ill. He is exhausted beyond measure, and this causes him to lash out with aggression even though that is far from his nature. I hoped you might have some remedy for this?"
"I might make something." The Witch replied. "But I don't have the reagents necessary. It will take near enough a day to climb to where I need to find it. I'm afraid you are out of luck."
The Knight took some time to reply. "Then let me travel with you. Surely the road will be much safer if you were not on your lonesome?"
The Witch shrugged, she shook her head. "It is still a long journey. I need a herb that grows only on the high slopes of Mount Cortis."
"Then I might carry you myself should I need!" The Knight replied. "This is important. I shall conquer any obstacles in our path if it means we might find what we need."
Fearing she might draw The Knight's ire if she rejected her any longer, she readied a small knapsack and gestured to the door.
They walked through the thicket, red oak trees curling themselves around the path almost suffocatingly. The Knight showed no fear, yet her hand gripped the hilt of her sword tightly. The Witch did the same with the strap of her bag. Eventually, they spoke, The Knight first.
"How have you fared these last few years? I fear it has been difficult for us all."
"More difficult for some, I bet." The Witch replied, keeping her eyes on the road, and stepping deftly over an upturned trunk. "Though I try to keep to myself."
The Knight looked a little saddened. "The people of Drustvar have all suffered, and it is not my place to gauge whose sorrow is greater or lesser. It is My Duty to care for My People, regardless of their circumstances."
The Witch's eyebrow curled. "Your People? I neither want nor need to be someone's property. We did well enough on our own without nobles getting involved."
The Knight jogged to meet her side by side. "But I would defend you regardless. My nobility means little to me. Those of Drustvar are My People because this is My Home"
The Witch gazed oncemore at her tabard, and was not convinced.
As they wound up a steep mountain pass, a growl followed by a roar met them, and from the trees a terrible bear leapt at them. The Knight drew her sword and focused only on her foe, and they battled to a standstill. The Witch bade her to stop, and pressed a wrinkled hand against the beast's fur.
"It is unwell." She spoke, almost prophetic. "Allow me a moment to heal it."
The Knight could not help bit feel a twinge of unease as strange magics wormed its way into the bear. She'd seen this too many times. But were those times not over? She held herself back as tightly as she could, and her trust was not misplaced. The bear, aided, left oncemore.
"Are you a member of the Thornspeakers?" The Knight asked.
"Do the Thornspeakers have a monopoly on healing the sick?"
"And might you ever answer one of my questions plainly?" The Knight then added.
A cunning smile licked The Witch's expression. "Perhaps."
Half a day then passed until they found themselves at Cortis' bitter summit- or as close as they could find themselves without scaling slick icy stone. Nestled among the snow and dancing in the wind was what they had come for- a flower, Winter's Kiss, though its petals had taken on a rosy hue.
"I must brew this into a tea before its petals wilt" she added, and struggled in the cold to strike flint on flint and start a fire.
The Knight knelt down with a smile, and in one stroke stoked the embers of a warm pyre. The Witch stared into it with a moment of fear, but its heat welcomed her even so. The Knight tended to the flame so carefully it could never burn The Witch. They sat there as she brewed her remedy, and The Knight oncemore fought against threads of unease as The Witch casted her spells, but conquered them still. How could Her People trust her if she never trusted them?
When all was brewed, they had one final conversation.
"What is your name?" The Knight asked. "Perhaps I might find you again one day should I need help again."
The Witch scoffed. "The villagers call me nothing but a witch. It may as well be my name now."
"But that is not all you are."
Those words pierced her doubt. Her mottled hand stretched forwards, and for once gave a plain answer. "My name is Esma."
The Knight grasped her hand proudly. "And mine is Alaina. I am glad to have met you, Esma. Embers guide your path."
Esma scoffed and left with an honest, if crooked, grin. "Perhaps they will, Alaina. Perhaps they will."