Winter roses
Touched by snow
White drops on red
Dead cold to touch
Vines curl around
Spread hungrily
Weave through holes
Hidden by leaves
Thorn stings to touch
Red drops on white
Beauty's cost.

I stood outside, picking at the trim of my dress, while inside mother tended to a child-birth. She'd let me carry her basket of herbs, not even minding the fact I ended up dragging it in the dirt most of the way, but had taken it from me when we reached the village. She'd shut the door, leaving me alone in this place so different from our own isolated cabin.

The villagers, for the most part, went about their business without a glance or word of notice to me. But it was a studied ignorance, not natural, and I burned under it. Warmth rushed over me, and my skin felt tight and prickly. I probably would have spent the entire time simply staring at the dirt in front of me and practicing quiet, if someone hadn't shucked a rock at me.

It thwacked into the clay wall behind me, and my head jerked up at the noise. A group of 5 children stood a slight distance away, and by the way two were giggling, and a third trying to hide behind the others, it was fairly easy to guess who had done it. As I started walking towards them, only two held their ground, the rest scattered.

"My Pa says that you're part demon," Shelly said, sounding curious. "He says your mother lay with the devil and that's how she got you."

Tom elbowed her, and dragged his eyes away from me for a quick glare to accompany it. "The fair folk ain't demons. They's just different from us."

As my mother had never taught me about the devil, demons, or the fey, I was a bit confused, but latched on to the bit I did understand. "My Momma told me I was a gift."

Tom gasped. "Like a changeling? Were you left by faeries?" Tom's parents always left saucers of milk out at night, and had raised him with all the superstitious lore of generations.

I frowned. "I don't think so."

Later that night I asked my mother about it. "No, darling, your father didn't leave you. We left him." We were sitting in front of the fire, my hair slowly drying in the heat, wet from a dip in the lake. The hearth was the main source of heat for the whole house, and thus the focal point of the main room.

The house was small, with only a few other rooms in it. The main room is where we ate, and where the villagers sat anytime they came up the hill to talk to mother. I would watch her carving air runes over them from the opening leading into our bedroom.
I didn't like how they looked at her, how they'd never meet her eyes.

"Do you know what I think?" Shelly asked from where she was stretched out, head rested on folded arms, gazing up at the sky.

"Yes."

Tom threw an acorn at me for the statement, and I retaliated by sticking my tongue out at him briefly. "You were thinking that that cloud looks like a horse."

I could see her brow wrinkle. "Which cloud?"

"That one." I gestured up at the sky. "The one shaped like a running horse."

"I don't see it." Her tone held that mix of skepticism and stubbornness she always used whenever I mentioned anything impractical. At least she'd stopped worrying that her soul would be damned just for listening to me.

Tom squinted into the sun. "I think I see what you mean. There's the leg, and the tail streaming out behind."

"Tail? You don't think it's a head?" I raised my hand to shield out the sun, and considered. "Hmm. You may be right. What do you think, Shell?"

"I think," she announced, "that what would make this perfect is some hot mulled cider."

We thought that over for a bit. "It is getting cold," Tom offered.

"S'nice for this late in October," I protested.

Shelly rolled her eyes, and flopped onto her side to look at us. "Are you sure you're not a changeling?"

"I like autumn, everything looks pretty, and the colors are everywhere you look." Shelly made a soft sound that may or may not have been assent. After a second, I said "mulled cider" consideringly.

"Yes."

"I don't really feel like moving."

Tom chuckled. "That's why your mother is so great." He sat up and nodded towards my house. "Listen."

I cocked my head, closed my eyes, and went quiet for a moment. Whistling, faint and mixed with bird song, drifted through the trees. Smiling, I pursed my lips, raised thumb and index finger to my lips, and blew a short burst of air out. It didn't work. It never worked. But I kept trying. One day. I would succeed in whistling. Not that my mother really needed it, not to find me. She could get lost in the forest though, despite all the time she spent here. In fact, getting lost probably accounted for a lot of that time. People were Momma's talent, charms and beguiles and hexes came easy to her.

She fairly skipped into the clearing, eyes bright, a picnic basket looped over her arm. There was spiced cider for Elly and me, blackberry tea for Tom and herself, and hot pastries for all of us to munch.

*to be continued*