Most mornings, I set out as soon as the sky is light enough to pick my way through the trees. Close to the village the woods are sparse; my eyes are keen and I know the paths well, so by dawn I am well beyond the hedge, where the forest earns its name. The villagers do not truly understand the size of the forest – some lack the imagination to consider it might be much larger than what they can see, and some lack the imagination to consider that there might be anything beyond it at all. A day’s walk along the hard-packed dirt road to the west there is a neighbouring village. A day’s walk to the east, there is another. That is as far as most of them have been in their entire lives. Old Kerrick came from a long way away, a long time ago, but even I don’t believe half of his stories. I know of six other villages bordering the forest, which is to say I know their witches by name. I have heard of others, second and third hand. How many there are in total, I could not say. I have met three of the witches personally, but our people need us and so we cannot stray too far. That is why I am so deep in the forest so early in the morning – I forage far and wide so that nature has time to replenish its bounty, and I am back in my hut by mid-morning in case I am needed.

This morning I find the shell of a wren’s egg tucked behind some mossy rocks, pluck a perfect tiny bloom from an island where two streams meet, and scale a tree to collect some mushrooms from where they are growing in soil collected in the crook of a wide branch. I pick my way southwards, following the slow rise of the terrain, coming at last to a bare outcropping of rock where the land drops away sharply. Before me lies the Cradle, spreading nearly to the horizon. The valley is cool and dark; I can feel the chill lapping at my ankles though the sun is beginning to creep above the trees, casting light and warmth across my face. The forest down there is deep and old and all but untouched. I have been a little ways in, but the going is tough and I suspect it would take days to reach the centre. I cannot spare that time, and even knowing the forest as I do I am sure it would be dangerous. I scan the trees intently – my vantage point is different than it was yesterday, different again than it was the day before when I first spotted it, but my eyes are keen and it does not take me long. There, far off in the distance, deep in the valley, rising up from the trees: a thin curl of woodsmoke.