Little Clara Beck's face would light up when she saw the shawl. "Ooo. It matches my hair," she would say as she rubbed the soft garment against a cheek no longer sallow but rosy with good health.Lark smiled at the vision. She'd been treating the child for a fortnight now, both with herbal tincture but also with an ancient method as old as time itself. The healing spells were done in the glen under the waxing moon - the perfect time to work for an increase in strength and vigor. But Lark's grandmother had wisely taught magic could be worked anytime, for what was magic but a the force of will sent out to do it work?Whirr, click, whirr. "The child will heal, the child will heal," the spinning wheel seemed to say, or at least that is what Lark heard as she watched the spindle fill with the yarn that would become Clara's shawl.On the chair beside her, Shade raised his head and looked towards the door.Lark stopped spinning and scratched the cat on top of his head. "Are we getting come company then?" she asked.
