Matthew saw a twitching in the strangely angled corner of the hut, and realized that the entrance had been hidden by a curtain of mottled burlap sacking. Gulping, he ducked under the low lintel.
Mother Shadow’s hut was filled with strange things: more herbs and charms, and strings of glass shards that glinted sinisterly in the shadows, and curiously woven rugs on the dirt floor.
“Come now; tell me all.” Mother Shadow was strange herself: a thin ragbag of a woman, with a sharp nose and sharper black eyes, and almost no hair. She was as gnarled as an ancient tree root.
“My dearest wish is to have a daughter. We cannot, my wife and I, for all we have tried. If you will help me, you will be paid richly; you shall have a king’s ransom; if only you will help.”
She looked into his face with those black, black eyes. “No, I will not price your child in gold. A child is a very dear thing, and you are foolish to ask to pay for one. For your longing, you shall have a child, but you will have her but sixteen years.”