Page 64 of The Knucker King

I am coming with you, Bramble piped up. I do not want you going to the village alone after what happened last time.

“Agreed,” she replied, roughing his ears. “I have no desire to go alone either.”

She dashed over to Trewoofe and confirmed he looked as healthy, if not better, than the night before. His colour had improved; he took steady breaths and was warm to touch. She gave a satisfied nod and dashed over to her coffer to dress.

“Ashling?” she called. The Wisp drifted out of the fire. “Will you keep Trewoofe company again? I must attend to a patient.”

The Faerie bobbed in the air, and floated down to land on his shoulder, cooling his flames so he could nestle into his hair.

“Thank you.”

In a whirlwind, Avice prepared. She dressed for the cold, shoved on her boots, gathered her medical bag, and stuffed everything in she imagined she might need to treat a Morgowr bite.

She shoved an ash cake into her mouth and downed it with a slurp of bone broth. Finally, she threw open the door with Bramble striding out behind her. She drew out her key and locked her cottage up with a loud clunk.

John turned from examining Trewoofe’s flowers and scratched the Grim’s head. “You are coming too, then?”

She narrowed her eyes at the horse tied to a tree in her garden, chewing on some of the magical blooms, but a painful squeeze of her bladder distracted her from the question that formed on lips.

“Yes, I will not be going to the village alone anymore,” Avice replied. She gestured to the woods outside the boundary of her stone circle. “A moment, boys, I must relieve myself.”

“Jonathan Fisher,” she hissed. “I have never been on a horse before.”

The mare in question stood patiently in front of her.

“Epona is a good girl, Avice.” John patted her neck.

The midwife considered the creature. If she could sum her up in a word, sturdy came to mind. The mare’s shoulder lined up with John’s, her chestnut pelt gleamed under the grey clouds, and a long white mane and tail tumbled from her neck and rump.

“I will take you to and from the village,” he offered. “It will save you the walk.”

“Epona.” The mare’s name sounded familiar to Avice, and the recollection struck her. “George Courier named her after the Goddess of Horses?”

Only the three wealthiest men in the village owned a horse: Father Peter, Simon the blacksmith, and George Courier – he was the official messenger of Lamorna, delivering letters all over Cornwall, and to wider Wessex.

John’s brow furrowed. “There is only one God, Avice.”

Avice stuck her chin out. “If that is what you want to think.”

Bramble ambled over to the mare and stretched to snuff at her. She lowered her head slightly, and their noses met.

She is friendly, Avice, her familiar reported. She said she will make sure she goes carefully.

She smiled at the Grim, before turning her attention back to John. “Why would Mister George be alright with you borrowing Epona? And using her to carry me around?”

“George and Benjamin are cousins,” he explained. “He was going to fetch you himself, but I suggested that you would prefer I come for you.”

Avice appreciated that John had offered. She did not want any more men than necessary tromping through her garden and disturbing her peace.

“What are we waiting for then?” she asked, offering her hand to the mare who lipped at her glove.

John scoffed. “Come around to this side, on the left. I will give you a lift.”

The midwife did as she was asked and shuffled over to the flank. She eyed the thick rug that was spread on the mare’s back. John kneeled and offered his palms for her to step on. She did so, and he launched her up, helping her land correctly with a shifted hand to her waist.

Epona let out a huff as she fell roughly on her back. “Sorry, girl,” Avice apologised, giving her a pat. “I am not skilled at this.”

The horse let out a grunt in response.