The Witches Redemption

The days blurred into one another as Vivian wandered beyond the edges of the forest, her strange companion never straying far from her side. At first, she had thought of it only as an odd creature that had chosen to follow her, but the longer it stayed, the more it felt like a guardian sent by some forgotten magic. Its paws were silent on the earth, its eyes sharp as if they saw what she could not, and when she grew weary, it pressed close as though lending her its strength.

Together they pressed onward, searching for whispers of others like her. The king’s decree had scattered witches to the winds, some captured, some hiding, some perhaps already dead. Vivian carried the heavy silence of not knowing. Yet with every step, the beast matched her stride, and in its quiet loyalty she found a strange comfort she had not felt since the days before betrayal.

The road bent toward a low valley where smoke curled above rooftops, a small town alive with merchants’ cries and the jingling of wares. The scent of baked bread and ironwork drifted to her, but under it all lurked the metallic tang of danger. A place like this would be full of ears eager for coin, mouths eager to speak of strangers, and eyes sharp enough to notice a woman who walked with a creature not seen in ordinary company.

The animal’s fur bristled, and Vivian’s fingers brushed over its neck to calm it. “Easy,” she whispered, though she wasn’t certain whether she spoke to soothe it or herself.

As Vivian and the wolf padded slowly into the bustle of the small town, the sharp scent of smoke and fresh loaves drifted toward her. The narrow streets echoed with the cries of merchants calling out their wares,spices, fabrics, iron tools, but it was the booming voice of a baker that caught her attention. His words rolled over the crowd like thunder, promising warm bread straight from the oven, golden-crusted and soft within.

Her stomach tightened with hunger, a reminder that she had not eaten properly in days. The wolf brushed against her leg as though sensing her need, its amber eyes fixed on the stall ahead. Vivian hesitated, every instinct warning her of the danger in lingering too long among strangers. Yet the smell was too rich, too tempting, and she forced her steps forward until she stood before the baker’s stall, the heat of his ovens spilling into the cool morning air.

The baker’s broad face was red from the oven’s heat, his sleeves rolled high as he pulled a tray of steaming loaves from the fire. He caught sight of Vivian and paused, his gaze flicking warily from her pale face to the great wolf at her side. The chatter of customers faltered for a moment; a few villagers drew back, whispering.

“What’ll it be, miss?” the baker asked at last, his tone careful, almost testing. His booming voice was softer now, though it still carried above the clatter of the market. “Bread’s fresh, still warm. Best in town.”

Vivian pressed her trembling fingers together, forcing her voice steady. “One loaf, please.”

The wolf’s ears twitched, its body lowering into a subtle crouch as if ready to strike at any sudden movement. Children peeked from behind their mothers’ skirts, wide eyed at the sight of the beast. A man muttered something about witches under his breath, and the hairs on Vivian’s arms rose.

The baker weighed the loaf in his hand before passing it across the counter. For a heartbeat he held onto it, his eyes narrowing as though trying to read her soul. “Strange company you keep,” he said quietly. “Not every creature takes to people like that.”

Vivian managed the faintest smile, resting her hand against the wolf’s thick fur. “We understand each other,” she replied, though inside she wondered if that was true or if the bond between them ran deeper than she dared to believe.