A Grudging Agreement

Honestly, I’m not usually the type to make pacts. Or, well, I *wasn’t* usually the type. The whole “desperate deal made in a panic” thing was a one-off, a spectacularly bad decision that’s been sticking to me like particularly stubborn burrs ever since. And here I was, about to make another one, all thanks to a ridiculously optimistic sprout of an herbalist.

Lily stood there, practically radiating sunshine, even in the gloom of my increasingly sad-looking Blackwood. Her eyes, the colour of fresh spring leaves, were fixed on me with an intensity that usually only the most determined moss had. “Please, Mistress Amy,” she’d chirped, her voice a little breathy from her trek through the thorny undergrowth that, frankly, wasn’t even trying anymore. “My village… the blight… it’s like nothing we’ve ever seen. The oldest oaks are weeping, and the crops… they’re just turning to dust before our eyes.”

I’d been leaning against a particularly dejected-looking bramble bush, contemplating the existential crisis of a wilting thorn. My own magic felt like a damp squib, sputtering and fizzing with about as much power as a slightly damp firefly. The forest was a mess. The grand, spooky atmosphere that used to send shivers down the spines of even the bravest (or most foolish) trespassers was replaced by a general air of melancholy, like a forgotten toy in an attic.