Page 34 of Cabin Fever
I hesitate, then sit. The chair creaks but holds.
The man sets aside his knife and stick, then grabs the kettle and pours boiling water into a battered tin mug. “Tea?” he offers, shoving the mug toward me.
“Sure,” I say, because what else can you say when a hobbit offers you hospitality?
The tea is black and bitter, leaves floating in the top like drowned insects. I sip, and it burns all the way down.
“Name’s Erasmus,” he says. “You belong to the fancy house up the ridge?”
I nod, throat still scalded. “Yes, I’m Kat. Uh, Katherine. I’m staying there for now.”
He eyes my basket, then my hands. “You’re city,” he says.
I almost laugh. “Yes. Is it that obvious?”
He shrugs. “You keep your nails too clean for a woods girl. That’s all.”
I look at my nails, and he’s right. Even after the root-pulling, my pink polish is still intact.
Erasmus leans back, the chair squealing. “So how long will you be staying around these parts?”
I smile. “Not too long. Just here for the season.”
He grunts. “Figured. Not many stay longer than that.”
There’s a long silence, filled only by the pop and crackle of the fire. I wonder if I should ask more because who’s stayed here before? Whom is he referring to? Am I in danger? But something about the hobbit is comforting, like he’s been stitched into the land and can’t be dislodged.
He picks up his knife again, resumes whittling. “You met Talon’s dogs yet?”
I blink. “No, I didn’t know he had any. You know Mr. McKnight?”
He grins, showing a row of surprisingly white teeth. “His dogs aren’t the barking kind.”
I don’t know how to respond, so I say, “I’m just his assistant, helping with his book. That’s all. He’s a very famous author.”
Erasmus shrugs again, then pauses, knife hovering over wood. “Fame or no fame, doesn’t matter to me. But you know why he comes here, every year?”
I shake my head. “No, I have no idea.”
Erasmus looks at me for a long time, then sets the stick down. He reaches into a pocket and pulls out a little wooden figure—a fox, smooth and perfect, the size of my thumb. He rolls it between his fingers, then hands it to me.
“He comes to disappear. Some people come to the woods to find themselves. Others come to lose what’s chasing them. Others have their own purposes which we will never know.”
I turn the fox over in my palm, feeling its contours. It’s beautiful.
“Okay,” I say in a slow voice. “I think Mr. McKnight’s the latter. He definitely keeps his own counsel, and I wouldn’t presume to know his motivations.”
Erasmus merely shrugs. “Mr. McKnight has been coming to these parts for years, and is known about town. But the wolf wears many disguises in these woods, Kat. Just be careful what you let follow you home.”
My hand tightens around the fox. “You mean Mr. McKnight? Is he the fox? Or the wolf?”
Erasmus shrugs. “Or yourself.”
Okay, this is getting really confusing, and I stare at the fire, my expression befuddled. Meanwhile, Erasmus stands, dusts off his pants, and stirs the fire with his boot. “You want another tea?”
I shake my head, picking up my basket before handing him the fox figurine. “Thanks for your hospitality, but no, I should get back.”
The old man nods, but doesn’t say goodbye. Just goes back to his whittling, as if I’m already gone.
