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Moira stood and gazed at the broken remnants of the magic mirror. She looked around her glass forest, the prison in which she would most likely live out the rest of her days, when something curious caught her eye. Moira had glimpsed something on the large glass leaf of an oak tree. She approached the tree and studied the leaf. The image flashed once more. It was a vague shape, gone before she could make it out. Moira pulled a silver thread of magic and wound it about the leaf, focusing on Eirwyn. Her niece’s face appeared before her. Moira called out to her, but Eirwyn could not hear her cry. Moira gathered a few threads and attached them to one already hanging from the girl, weaving a spell of protection, hoping that the old magic in the silver thread would keep her safe. Satisfied for the moment that she had provided all the help she could, Moira leaned against the tree and closed her eyes, drifting into a dream. 

An old woman walked through the forest, carrying a basket of apples with a noisy raven following her. She was wrinkled and stooped, with a hunched back and more teeth missing than left in her mouth. The crone approached a hovel with a thatched roof. The windows were shuttered closed and no smoke came from the chimney. The only indication that the house was inhabited was a soft song that floated from the hovel. The crone made her way to the door, pausing to catch her breath and pull her hood more tightly around her. Rain fell as thunder rumbled in the distance. The woman rapped at the doorframe with her cane.

“Is there anyone here? I require shelter until the storm passes.”

Eirwyn cautiously opened the shutter and studied the old woman with pity, ignoring her protectors warning to hide from strangers.
“I was told to let no one in…” Eirwyn said softly.

“But I am just an old grandmother. I have been out selling my apples and I was caught in the storm. I just need a place to sit and dry off.” said the old woman.

Eirwyn chewed her lip in hesitation. “Alright,” she said, “You may rest here until the storm passes, then you must be on your way.”

The End

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