Treats and Trickery

Hekate’s cabin in the middle of the Redwick Forest wasn’t, exactly, a popular spot for pouflons. Every once in a while a brave, lost, or simply foolish pouflon, vespire, or ursuki, would end up at her door. Sometimes it was due to a dare, sometimes they had been lost in the forest and the crows had guided them there, and sometimes it was simply curiosity or desperation that drove them there. The rumours about the pouflon that was the Witch of the Woods were exaggerated, certainly, but many folk seemed eager to believe them. They would tell little blooms to beware, lest she come for them… lest they wander too far into the forest. The rumours that spread between the adults, though, tended to be much darker. Much more sinister.

But she wasn’t everything that they said she was. There had been… incidents in the past, but they had been twisted out of proportion. Some days, though, it was very easy for Hekate to believe that, perhaps, they were right.

Those who ended up at her door always made it back home, though, no matter what they said about her. Hekate was always eager to help, eager to be a good host - though the eagerness didn’t quite show on her face or in her intonation. It was often drowned out by her own cynicism. That didn’t change things, however. The moment a visitor stepped across the threshold and into her cabin she would put on a pot of tea for them, invite them to sit, ask about what troubled them. She would always send them off with salves and potions (sometimes that was what they had come to her cabin for in the first place), and often a few sachets of herbs for tea. She would heal the wounded, guide the lost, ease the souls of the troubled.

And still the rumours about her conniving nature, her wicked plots would spread.

It was always the season of Lamentation, though, that brought them to her door. Something about the season brought out the stupid bravery in many blooms, and even in the older ones. It was the perfect time of year to dare your friends to find the witch’s cabin, to touch her door, to steal some of her herbs that she grew for her dark magic.

It was the season for tricks and treats, and it was the season for magic.

Tricks were only ever saved for the worst of the worst, as far as Hekate was concerned. Magic was much better used for other things, after all. You could practically feel the magic in the air during this time of year, during this season… and it would have been such a pity to waste it, really.

That evening the moon had risen bright and strong above Redwick Forest, bathing the thick, tawny trees in a pale, eerie sort of light. It wasn’t quite a full moon, but it was close enough for most. These days, Hekate didn’t sleep overly much. Then again, she never really had. She would awaken early, often before dawn, and stay awake deep into the night. There was so very much to do in a day, she couldn’t bear to lose time. Early mornings were good for certain things, and late nights better for others - there was no time to be wasted.

She was deep, deep into her own work when the sound of footsteps pulled her back into the moment. She had been preparing herbs, waiting for her cast iron cauldron to come to a boil, so that she might replenish her store of potions. It had been a popular month for visitors looking for a bit of healing - some were repeat customers, who knew her well enough to be comfortable in her cabin, and some had been new visitors who hadn’t been able to stop shaking in her presence.

The footsteps were light and quick. Perhaps not a bloom, per se, but a young pouflon most certainly. There was no fear in those footsteps, either. It didn’t seem like a young pouflon visiting her on a dare.

Just as she was considering the possibilities, there was a knocking on the door.

“Trick or treat!”

Oh. How interesting.

Stifling a warm smile, the pouflon crossed the small space between her kitchen and the door to her cabin. She opened it slowly, drawing out the movement. She was met with a gust of cold wind, at complete odds with the warmth of the interior of her cozy little cabin, reminding her of the shift in seasons that was on its way.

Before her stood a young pouflon - but not a bloom, just as she had surmised - with a basket of apples at their feet, braid neatly tied with a bright red ribbon. They wore no costume, which was a little odd to Hekate, but they seemed so very genuine…

“Is it not the tradition to dress up for such an occasion?” Hekate asked, one orange brow raised at the young pouflon before her.

“Well… yes, but I’m not really looking for candy!” they said, beaming at her. They leaned down, nudging the basket of apples forward towards her. “This is for you!”

For once, Hekate was speechless. She was certain the surprise was written across her face. “For… me?”

Had anyone ever sought her out just to present her with a gift like this? Scouring her memories, she could not pinpoint a time it had occurred before. This was… this was very odd.

“You are the Witch of the Woods, aren’t you?” They asked, tilting their head to the side.

“Well… yes, I suppose I am. That is what they call me.” How odd, to hear that name spoken in such a friendly tone. Normally it was an epithet that was spat at her, or whispered in hushed and frightened tones, so as not to catch her attention. But when this young pouflon spoke the title, it was genuine and… almost awed? No. That couldn’t be right at all.

“Then these are for you!” they said. “I’m Macchiato, and you healed my grandfather a few months ago. My mother came for healing herbs and poultices… and they worked so wonderfully! You know, she always told me not to believe what they said about you… she’s always told me how kind and giving you are, and I thought… you probably get a lot of mean folk around here during Lamentation… and you did such a kind thing for us, I wanted to do something for you!”

Speechless, Hekate simply studied Macchiato before her. Yes… yes, she saw it now. He looked much like his mother - that shade of green, the red eyes that seemed to match the shiny apples in his basket. She remembered how distraught the pouflon had been about her father, how desperate… She was glad to know that the herbs had helped.

“I… thank you, Macchiato,” she said. “Would you… do you think you could bring them inside for me? Give me just a moment.”

The young pouflon followed her into the warmth of her cabin unquestioningly, his basket of apples secured in his mouth. Hekate, shaking off the sudden urge to give into tears, gestured towards one of the seats at her table, then diverted her path towards the kitchen. She didn’t get many blooms or other pouflons looking for treats, but she was always prepared during Lamentation. Just in case.

“Please, take some,” she said, offering him the woven basket full of homemade sweets. Candy making wasn’t, exactly, what she was known for, but it wasn’t so far off from making potions and the like, really. Cooking, baking, candy making… it all fell into the same sort of category, and it was something Hekate had a bit of a gift for. “You came all the way here on Lamentation… it only seems right.”

Macchiato smiled, settling the basket of red apples on her table. “Thank you!” he said, taking a piece of the handmade candy. “You really aren’t as scary as they say at all,” he pointed out before chewing on the candy. “Oh! This is really good!” He said, eyes lighting up. “Do you mind if I take another?”

“Of course not,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t get many trick or treaters this time of year.”

“I tried to tell them you aren’t scary,” he said with a slight sigh. “Though I suppose your cabin is a little out of the way for visitors this time of year…”

“That it is,” she said with a light laugh. “There are always those that come out on a dare, though. Typically they’re too spooked to do much but run up and touch my cabin door. Some of them steal the herbs, though… I wish they wouldn’t do that. They tend to rip them up incorrectly, and it’s a bit of a setback for me…”

Hekate let her voice trail off in thought, holding back something of a sigh. It was unfortunate that they were so afraid. She wouldn’t have argued with a little bit of company now and then, even just a hello from the little costumed blooms might have been nice…

But she had picked this life for herself, hadn’t she? She enjoyed her solitude. But more than that… It was for the best that she lived on her own out here, away from the general population. It was for the best, indeed.

“That’s not very considerate,” Macchiato pointed out. “We get some like that at our apple orchard. I don’t like seeing what they do to the trees…”

Hekate smiled softly. Perhaps this young pouflon was more like her than she had thought at first glance. The talkativeness had thrown her off. But it was clear that he possessed a good heart, simply from the fact that he had come to thank her with a gift when none had done so before.

“Seeing as I don’t get many visitors here…” she started, head tilted to the side, “do you think you could take my basket of candy and give it out to the blooms in costume?” She didn’t want it to go to waste like it did every year. Not this year. Perhaps it was time to do something different.

Macchiato, still chewing on his piece of candy, looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. “I could do that…” he said, pausing. There was a ‘but’ coming, she knew that. But for what? “But wouldn’t it be better if you gave it out? I know! You should come back with me to Citremary and give it out yourself!”

She frowned at that. Was that… really such a good idea? “Oh… Oh, Macchiato, I don’t think so… I…” She what? What was her real argument for that? That she was nervous about the idea? That the last time she had gone into town she had been greeted with frightened whispers and distrustful looks? That despite her outward confidence, she hated enduring that?

“But you could show people that you’re nice!” he said. “How else will we get them to stop spreading those silly rumours about you?”

He was far too trusting. To simply not believe any of them, to just accept her because she had helped his family… Macchiato had much growing up to do, she could see that much. But was his idea so terrible? In spite of herself, she was thinking about it.

“If you’re uncomfortable, we could always dress you up! Everyone’s in costume, so they’ll never even know! It would be a start, no matter what… and you’d get to give out your own candy!”

Perhaps… perhaps he was right.

“Alright, Macchiato,” she said at last. “I will go to Citremary with you. But only because it is Lamentation.”

She had always wanted to see the celebrations within Citremary, to see the costumes, to be part of the merriment… Even if they didn’t know it was her… Even if they did discover it was her they might drive her out… the faith of this one pouflon was enough for her at the moment.