Sophia Adamowicz
The stranger’s head is downy with snow. Snow, in this wood jubilating with bluebells and garlic stars? I pull on Astrid’s reins.
The man capped with his own climate keeps his distance.
“Your horse, Miss…” His voice is ice-brittle. “Is it shod?”
I pat the shining side of Astrid’s flank. A show of assurance. “Of course.”
“With iron?”
I coerce a laugh. “What else?”
He staggers towards me, more scarecrow than flesh. The white flakes in his hair are rowan blossoms.
“It’s been so long,” he sobs. “The trees—they walk, sweeping away paths. Winking lights lure me into rivers, over edges. I picked a bluebell, and now I’m cursed. These flowers on my head are but weak protection.”
I offer my hand. “You are safe now. Ride with me.”
He mounts, the plucked blooms withering.
Poor soul. So afraid of the Wee Folk that he forgot Death.
The ground yawns, spluttering dirt, roots groaning and cracking apart, and Astrid takes an eternal leap into the wood beneath the wood.
Sophia Adamowicz is a writer and tutor based in Suffolk, UK. Her work has appeared in several publications including Cunning Folk, Crow & Cross Keys, Haven Speculative and Trash Cat Lit. Her debut novel, The Brink, is released next year.
Substack: @sophiaadamowicz
Connect with Sophia
Read more from Sophia:
Crow & Cross Keys – ‘Homegrown‘
On her Substack – ‘Black, White and Red All Over‘
Here on Trash Cat Lit – ‘Closing Time at Mr Marvell’s Museum of Curiosities‘, ‘Fair Game‘ and ‘Wixton Fen‘
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