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“Why is she sending you to the Darklands?” the huntsman asked. He had gone preternaturally still, as if he were a predator who didn’t wish to startle his prey. “Witches and demons don’t exactly get along, Red. The Demon King won’t welcome you.”

“Tell me your name, and I’ll maybe tell you my story,” I said, folding my arms defiantly across my chest, which was awkward to do while holding a bundle of bread. The man smirked.

“You can call me Hunt,” he said, turning and resuming his trek eastward.

“There’s no way you’re a huntsman named ‘Hunt’,” I said, jogging a little to catch him. “That would be too cruel.”

He laughed. “No,” he agreed. “But it’s what you can call me,Red.”

Fair enough, I supposed.

“And your price?” I asked, looking up to try and meet his eyes. It made my hood fall back again, and my reddish gold braid tumbled over my shoulder. I flicked it back as Hunt raised a brow, looking down at me contemplatively.

“For now, your story,” he said. “And then I’ll judge what payment will be enough.”

“Why should I trust you with my story?” I asked. I momentarily contemplated grabbing the knife from Mama’s basket to defend myself, but I would have no idea how to use it. The demon magic could probably be weaponized, but since I’d only used it twice and had no real handle on it, I didn’t want to rely on it.

“Because if you don’t,” he said, starting down a rather steep slope that seemed to lead to a gorge below us, “you won’t make it out of here alive.”

Hunt held out his hand again, and I gave him my pack, grateful to have an extra hand free to steady myself. He laughed.

“That time I wanted your hand,” he said, shifting the pack to his other hand and grasping my wrist right as I stumbled over a tree root. He steadied me, looking up expectantly until I had my feet under me again.

“Thanks,” I said, blushing slightly at my clumsiness. “Lead on.”

I followed Hunt unsteadily down the hill for what felt like at least an hour. We stopped talking, as I needed all of my concentration to make it down the hill, and he seemed to sense my focus. By the time we reached the bottom, my feet, lungs, and thighs were aching. I was in no shape for this.

I paused at the bottom, Hunt still holding my wrist, as my now pronounced limp made me stumble a bit. Akela whined in sympathy.

“You're hurt,” Hunt said, looking down pointedly at my feet. “Do your boots not fit?”

“They fit fine,” I grumbled, using Hunt’s grip as leverage while I removed the boots. “But this little jaunt through the forest wasn’t exactly planned.”

The demon magic that had been healing me must have worn off, or decided to sleep, because my heels were torn bloody, and I had blisters that would rub something fierce if I had to walk any distance.

Hunt frowned. “You can’t traipse through the Bloodwood barefoot,” he said, frowning at me like I was a simpleton. “The blood could attract something, or you could injure yourself more. We’re stopping.”

“What?” I asked, wobbling slightly as Hunt released my wrist and dropped my basket alongside his pack. He crouched, rummaging through the pack as if looking for something.

“You wouldn’t happen to be able to cast a fire, would you?” he asked, glancing up at me hopefully as he produced a flint from his bag. He cleared a space on the ground of leaves and brush, then built up what looked to be a small campfire.

“Won’t a fire alert predators?” I asked warily, crouching on the ground in front of him. He looked up momentarily, then back down as he began to strike the flint.

“Yes,” he said, “which is why we will have to put it out before nightfall.”

He cursed, the flint not cooperating in his large hands. I took it from him and sketched the shape of a pentagram in the dirt, placing the flint in the center as I whispered the incantation for flame. The flint sparked, and the fire lit up with a small whoosh. Being a core element, the cost of basic fire magic was minimal, just the wood that ended up being burned.

“The spell is cast,” I murmured, sitting back as Hunt looked at me, a little impressed.

“Neat trick,” he said, unslinging his bow from his back. “If a little cumbersome. Stay here,” he added, snapping his fingers at Akela and pointing to the ground next to me. The wolf padded over to me, curling up in a ball next to me and resting his shaggy head on his forepaws. “I’m going to look for something to eat. You should tend to your feet.”

“I have bread,” I said, pulling my pack toward me. “And cheese.”

“Those won’t help your feet,” he called back, smirking at me as he walked away into the forest.

I rolled my eyes and removed my cloak, the leafy, twiggy ground making it difficult to sit comfortably. Situating myself against a nearby tree, I did my best to brush off the dirt from my injured feet and hissed.

Since I wasn’t willing to call up the demon magic with Hunt nearby, and since I wasn’t sure I should be playing with dangerous magic anyway, I’d have to take care of my feet with witch magic. Witch healing wasn’t immediate like whatever demon magic had possessed me, but our magic still sped the process. All of the healing spells I knew required poultices or herbs, and I rummaged through Mama’s basket to see if she had packed the right supplies. Of course she had.