The Gift

We came upon a leather sack off the road, and Jacoby eagerly searched it, becoming quite disappointed when all within was herbs and food. He asked who might have dropped it - and when we made mention of the witch, Jacoby's eyes grew wide – he cast the herbs into the muck and became agitated, stomping about, urging us to leave until I finally cuffed him. “Our Hazel's not to be feared,” I told him once his ears stopped ringing. “Been at the isle longer than us, and that good woman's done more to help us than any.” I nodded at the sack. “She leaves those, not as warnings, not as curses, but supplies for those in need of food or healing, as it's easy to get lost in the Fen.” I let that sink in, and when he grumbled that he wouldn't accept ‘any witch's poison', I nodded at the herbs in the muck. “Now, now – put those in your mouth and chew it. Might be poison, as you say. Or it might taste like your pride. Either one might cure that lack of sense of yours.”