Gold Dust

Chapter 3

True enough to Gwen's word, she was up and walking only four days later. Of those four days, she spent sewing up patches in clothes, weaving a straw hat for herself, and teaching Aoife how to properly season things with the spices. The later bringing the boys home sooner than later with their catch. 

A thing that Gwen noticed, as the days had past, was that even though she was secluded in the hut, people talked about her. Rumor had gotten out in the small village, people popping their heads in the doorway, only to get confronted by Aoife. It was considered 'rude' to come unannounced. All of Peter's friends soon learned that lesson, even though Peter himself was still coming to the uptake. Gwen was afraid that if Peter kept on getting knocked on the head, he might have a hand print when he got older. (Of course that would never be able to happen, but still. It seemed like Aoife was always near Peter when he managed to do something she disapproved. Which was often.)

Another thing which Gwen found out was that fish and sheep were the only two main topics that were spoken in this town. Whether or not the fish were biting, or is Alexander Hopkins three doors down caught a fish the 'size of Peter's arm, no really.' It seemed like the entire village boasted freely about their fishing, their wives, or their talent of fishing. On her third night here was when Charles came in from what seemed like a festival complaining loudly that 'Albert Fletcherson stole his idea for his fishing story, who would do that. He just wanted to steal my spotlight, the three finned sea bass.' (That night, Gwen found out that they even swore by using fish related ideas.)

However, it was the sheep topic was one that everybody in the town agreed on. There was only one family on the entire island that had sheep, and they lived far away from everybody else, in a larger house that had more comforts than necessary. Anton Bole and his family were considered of the 'high class' on the island. Well, to them they did. To the rest of the people, they called them the 'high crabs.' Apparently, a few great great grandpas ago to the Bole family, the father of the house of the time had a harebrained scheme to go to the mainland and bring back some sheep to keep. Of course, it worked, and in doing so he threw a festival, and fed everybody some lamb. It was certainly different than fish, and many of the wives liked it. So, then the grandfather got greedy and sold his sheep for a lot of money, and from then on, they always sold their sheep to the neighboring islands or villages nearby for them to live in comfort. Of course, wool was also expensive, and it turns out that most of the village has to pay Anton Bole for wool just to keep warm during the winter.

'Blasted Boles', people would say, 'and their blasted sheep. Can't Anton do anything to keep his two faced grilled son in line? He can't do anything but sit on a blanketed seat and eat lamb everyday.'

Gwen hadn't heard much about the son, and she didn't really want to know. He was probably a stuck up, she knew about those people all too much. And she really didn't want to stick around to find out. When she was all healed and maybe found a boat, she'd get off of this land. There were too many dangers still lurking around.

It was her sixth day on the island, and she was hobbling around the hut, sweeping out loose dirt that had come in within the last fifteen minutes of her doing so, when Peter came rushing in. He looked around wildly, and then asked. "Where is my mother?"

"She went out. I don't know where." Gwen said, "is something wrong?"

"The Boles- they," Peter wheezed, "you gotta come. He's gonna die!"

Gwen leaned the broom up against the table and fisted fabric from an old used dress Aoife let her have. Her wand was pinned up in her hair, a random stick pushed through her bun. "Lead the way."

Peter didn't waste any breath, darting out of the hut with Gwen behind him. She didn't have any shoes on, why would she? The skin was still tender, though the redness now a slight pink and the blisters all faded until there were small thin circles against her legs. Her skin was still flaking off in huge chunks though.

He lead her up a grassy hill, the tall weeds almost making Gwen slip. She had stepped on a few rocks, and her toes were pinched more than once, but still. If life was on the line, then her problems didn't matter. Peter raced through a grove of trees, and they were in a large grassy field with a few distant white dots for sheep on the other side. "Over here."

There was another boy underneath a tree, kneeling over a shape. Peter's friend, no doubt. "Help, he won't stop bleeding!"

Finally, when the shape became recognizable, Gwen looked over a small sheepdog, barely a pup from it's mother, on the ground. There was a sizable gash on the side of his coat, and it was making a whining noise every time it breathed. He breathed.

"Move." Gwen fell to her knees, and Peter's friend scrambled to the side as Gwen poked and looked down at the dying little pup. "This is a knife wound." She said accusingly, "what were you doing playing with a knife?"

"We just found him like this. We didn't do it. We might think Erik Bole might've. He was just bragging about his sheep dog gave birth to three pups!" Peter stumbled over his words in his haste.

"Quick! Go get clean water. You, get a rag." She pointed towards the village. "Now!"

The two boys scampered off, and Gwen looked down at the pup on the ground. "You know," she said, "I was going to save this for me. Magic doesn't come easily, you know."

The pup gave a pathetic whimper, and then it went back to his panting.

"Why do I always have a soft spot of animals?" Gwen muttered to herself, shaking her head, and then pulling her wand out. Her hair fell into her face. "And you're cute. I really want to hurt this Erik now."

The pup opened it's eyes and looked at her. Gwen inhaled softly, then breathed out. One of it's eyes was a soft brown, while the other was a gold. "Oh. You're half wolf. This changes things." She breathed, and then called upon the magic inside of her. "Close your eyes. This will soon get better, little one." She rested her hand over the pup's eyes and then concentrated. It was certainly one thing to heal herself with the magic still inside of her. It was another to physically manifest it, and then manipulate it for what it was.

Gwen didn't need any incantation, or any words to command the magic. Those were just rumors, myths, and only the flashiest witches actually spoke out loud. Or the fake ones who tried to impersonate one. Magic wasn't something you told it to do, you didn't will it to do what you want. No, what you really needed to do was make it yours. Magic is essentially yourself. It's your thoughts, your emotions, your everyday memories. It's what makes the clock go tic, the bread to rise in the oven, the early morning bird to sing out loud. If you have magic, it's woken itself inside of you, becoming you.

All you needed to do, was act. Let your emotions become want. Let them want the magic to curl around her wand, to slip into the bloody wound of the poor pup. Let yourself get past the layers, to the very core of your body, and choose what you want to do.

And then do it.

Cold washed over Gwen as the spell finished, and the dog laid still as if what had happened wasn't real, and if it even breathed it would be back in pain. Her magic was depleted again, but she had saved enough when she had closed the nicked artery. The pup still had a cut, Gwen wasn't so stupid to heal it all the way. Peter and the boy would talk, and she might get thrown back into the ocean due to superstition. And the dog might get killed as well.

"Hey there." Gwen cooed softly, her hand coming down and resting on his uninjured part of his back, and rubbed it. "You're going to be just fine. I'll protect you."

The dog huffed, and looked up at her with his mismatched eyes. He tried to get up, but Gwen pushed him down to the ground, and just in time as Peter and his friend came running back up the hill.

"This is our little secret, okay?" Gwen gave the pup a wink as she whispered, and then gave him a smile. The dog lifted his tail and let it drop, and she took that as a sign that he agreed.

Words: 5147