12.11.13.

“Good morning.” I said as cheerfully as possible. The huntsman looked at me quizzically, raising his brow.

“Good morning.” He replied.

“Can I help you fix that?”

His carefully trained hands slowed in their motion as he beat the eggs.

“Thank you but no, I’m done. Would you like milk or raspberry cider with your breakfast?” He asked me absently, his eyes still clouded with deep thoughts.

“I’ve never tried raspberry cider. Can you spare some?” I said, my curiosity peaking. It had been weeks since I had had anything decent to eat, aside from the delicious supper the night before, and I had been too worried to enjoy that. The huntsman only nodded, and I began to recognize that he was a man of few words. Was it any wonder, when he spent every day alone with no one but his pack of hungry hunting dogs for company?

Once we were seated with steaming plates of eggs, biscuits and a meat I didn’t recognize before us, the huntsman spoke.

“You came back. I admit I’m surprised. What made you do it?”

The memories of my late night walk making me heart-heavy, I spoke quietly. “How did you know I left?”

“It is a quiet house. On most nights.”

“I tried my best not to wake you up.”

“I know; you almost succeeded. You have a quiet step. Still, something brought you back, when I had imagined that you wouldn’t stay at all. What was it?”

I sipped my cider and wondered how I could possibly answer. “You were right.” I replied. “It isn’t safe out there, even in the dark.”

“Even? I said it wasn’t safe because of the darkness. And you say, in spite of?” He smiled and shook his head. “You are a funny girl, Anna.”

I thanked heaven he was blind for the thousandth time as tears slipped down my cheeks.

“I know.” I said. Biting my lip, I fought desperately against the fear that clamored in my head. I was so utterly wretched, so afraid and so undeserving, and for the first time, sitting there in that small, quiet little house, with a strange, quiet man sitting across from me, I wished fervently for death.