"Let it lie, Jack," your father's voice says behind your shoulder.
You almost jump out of your skin, unaware as you'd been that there had been anybody else in the field with you. He limps over the broken sods of earth, grunting as he strains his tired old back to pick up the discarded tool. "You ought to be more careful with the tools, Jack. If it were to break..."
He lets it hang, his tone gentle but the meaning clear and grim. If the hoe broke, we would not have the money to buy another. The field would go unworked, less you were able to break open the hard ground with your bare hands, and both of you would starve. You hang your head in shame. "Sorry, father."
"Leave the rest of the tilling for me," he says kindly, as you know how worn and twisted his back his become from a life of toil. "I've an errand I need you to run..."
"Bring me the herb that grows in the garden of the old hag. The one who lives by the river," your father's voice comes out raspy yet you can feel kindness in it. It seems that the years that have gone by have not relented their assault on your poor man, as his crooked back could barely support him while walking.
"Herb...?"
"Yes, specifically the Cecillia herb to---" Your old man keels over suddenly, falling on the bare, cold ground, coughing violently, with short spasms in between.
"FATHER!!" You rush over to him, helping him up to his knees while he coughs up blood and bile onto your old rags. It seems that the plague that went around the outskirts of the Empire was still affecting your father greatly, no doubt due to his weakening constitution.
"Go now... my boy... it's nothing a bit of Cecillia will fix... I will tend to... the fields," your father says as he slowly picks the hoe back up, limping away from you. He had never wanted to rely on your help, and you're not sure why. It pains you to see him like this. Could this be the pride of a father...?
"Father, no!" You scream back as you are shaken out of your thoughts by a large clunk, indicating that your father has started to till the fields. "Please get some rest."
"Rest will not put food on the table, young one," he kindly, yet firmly replies. You understand that it's his steadfast character acting up again. Not even a gnarling troll rushing at him would cause him to budge. You shake your head. Why can't he just get some rest? He won't even be able to do much work during your half-day trip!
"...Fine," you reply briefly. If anything, you will ease his pain by making the journey even quicker, lest he breaks his old bones by ruffling the the hard ground. The last thing you want to do is to grieve in front of a hastily buried body tomorrow.
The trip takes a while but is quite uneventful. You have traveled this path many times with your father, encountering squirrels, sparrows, frogs, and even pixies at time. You smile as you reminisce about a time when you have went here as a kid and pointed out a pixie to your father, calling it a fairy.
Oh the foolish young boy you were back then, not knowing that fairies live exclusively near elves, while pixies near humans. It took your father all of his willpower to not smack you when you were almost sprayed from head to toe in pixie dust, just barely dodging a tragic fate thanks to your father's quick arm. He was quite springy back in the day, not the ragged old man he is right now. And now it is your turn to take care of him.
As you approach the river, you can feel a knot forming in your stomach. The old hag was never to your liking, always constantly gazing at you with her gray, dull eyes, as she gave a nearly toothless grin, save for one or two left. Something about that gaze has always perturbed you, but fortunately your father was a skilled negotiator, and would always finish his bargains quickly. You have wondered before what life would be like if your father had become a merchant. But he respected his father too much to go for a different trade than his.
As you enter the garden, the beads of sweat rolling down your forehead instantly alert you to the old crone's presence. At first, you don't spot her, but then you notice her sitting on the doorstep of her hut, with stern eyes glistening in the sunlight. Eyes that you have never seen before. You wince as you approach her, not sure how to initiate the conversation.
"Why hello there... boy! Heh heh heh...!!!" She cackles as she looks directly at you, her piercing voice seemingly shaking your entire soul. "Now why did you come here I wonder...? And all alone too! Where is your father, Sir Pretty Face?"
This is not the first time your face is brought up in a conversation and will certainly not be the last. For some reason, it seems as if your transition to adulthood is a little bit... delayed. Your eyelashes are just a bit long, your cheeks are a bit rosy, and your chin is devoid of any hair. Certainly, you have no resemblance to people of the fairer sex, but to say that you are a real man is a little bit... far fetched.
"Honored elder," you bow as you decide to at least show her some respect. After all, you have come here for a favor and it is up to her whether she would grant it. You notice, from the corner of your eye, that her crooked fingers have begun to twirl in front of her face, pleased with something. You decide that your efforts must not have been in vain.
"I have come to collect a herb called Cecillia for my honored father. As you know, it can only be collected here and after the plague..." Your voice wonders off as you think of your father.
"You needn't speak more, boy. Indeed, the herb can heal the deadly disease that has swept through this region a year ago. Yet you should know that the herb is rare and it is exceedingly hard to grow. Nobles from all around the nation visit this humble garden, offering lavish gifts and royal services for this prized possession. What use is there giving it to a boy like you...?"
"I... The... I will... give you a part of--" You begin, but your voice cuts off as if though it is a puppet that had its strings cut. If you had actually worked on the fields, toiling day in and day out, instead of wandering in your dreams and tossing various tools onto the ground, perhaps you could have actually offered a part of your harvest. But as it stands, your father and you -- your mother has already been deceased for several years -- would barely have enough to scrape by through the winter.
"How could I be such a fool...? Because of me... I... my father..."
Your legs crumple to the ground as if though made entirely out of flax. Tears stream down your face, wetting your lips as they pass by.
"Please...!!! Is there anything I could do?! I would be willing to do anything!!!" Your voice chokes as you beg the elderly lady. Your mind wanders to your father. To your kind, loving, and caring father. How could all of this happen...?
"Boy..." You hear the old woman's voice resound nearby, as if though it is a soft melody. Perplexed by this sudden change of tone, you look upwards, gazing at her face. Her eyes and expression now look incredibly gentle, to the point where you almost think that a completely separate person has wandered in by accident.
"Boy, are you sure you have come alone?" She inquires softly, as her eyes wander around the area, seemingly looking for intruders. You don't say anything, simply nodding in response.
"I suppose then..." She begins, and a sudden flash occurs, blinding your eyes for a few moments until your eyelids cover them completely. When they open, you check the ground to make sure that your jaw hasn't touched it yet. Standing in front of you is a beauty of unimaginable proportions. Her plump lips, her deep blue eyes, her fair skin , her long red hair, her narrow waist, her wide and child-bearing hips, her long legs, and her sizeable breasts all screamed 'You would die for sex with her' to you. Yet she does not look like a typical wanton slut that you can easily find wandering around at the market, this woman simply radiated beauty, and it would not be a far call to call her the 'fairest of the land'.
"Ho ho! I suppose you have never seen a witch before, boy?"
"Huh... What.. But..." You try to utter something meaningful, but only a gurgle of unintelligible words come out of your mouth.
"Lost for words, I see. Do not worry, I will wait for you to collect the shattered pieces of your semblance."
"Are... are you going to eat me? Boil me in stew? Imprison me in a dungeon and and torture me? Drain me of all my life force through sex?" You spout, terrified of her, though your last idea does give you a little warmth. If you have to die, you might as well die in the burning flames of passion. The witch seems to see through you, however.
"Bah! What are you saying? I do not even like men. Though with such a pretty face like yourself..." She trails off as she begins to mumble something to herself. All you could catch is 'potential', 'can be fixed', 'rearrange a little', and 'as a girl', which seems like nonsense to you.
"Alright! If you want the Cecillia herb, I suppose..."
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