The Riverwoman’s Dragon

Mother Swan perched to one side of the great nest, a wing draped over the cygnets. She watched Magda for a moment, then tucked her head into her feathers. Father Swan was away, fishing, Magda guessed. Rustlings in the underbrush and in the limbs overhead, the occasional caw or cry, the steady rush of the river lulled Magda to a deep quiet. She was fighting sleep when a louder rustling in the undergrowth on the far bank caused Mother Swan to look behind her, alert to danger. Magda was now wide awake.

A woman peered out from behind a bush, then stepped out onto the bank. Magda lifted a hand in greeting, her heart gladdening to see she had been right in sensing it was Lettice Brown. She need not have bothered putting a finger to her mouth and looking round, for why else would Lettice be creeping about in the underbrush. Magda motioned for her to walk along upriver to a place from which Magda would row her over.

It seemed she might be sheltering many in the forest.

The small coracle, hidden deep within the tangled roots and limbs of an old willow, had served many a friend. Putting the wineskin in the vessel, Magda placed her basket in the hiding place, then carried the lightweight boat and the rough oar to the bank. The river widened and slowed here as it curved, not a challenge at this hour. Within a few strokes she fell into an easy rhythm. At the far bank she held out her hand to steady Lettice as she stepped into the coracle. The woman shivered, the chill deep in her bones. Her damp clothing and exhaustion suggested she had not found shelter for the night. Magda handed her the wineskin with the whispered assurance that it would warm her with but a sip, then set off toward the willow. At the bank, Magda stepped out first, then assisted Lettice, guiding her to lean against the willow while she retrieved her basket and hid the coracle.

‘Dame Magda, I must warn you …’ Lettice whispered as she fell against her.

‘Later. Come now, before thou art seen.’ Magda held the wineskin up to the woman’s mouth. ‘A sip.’ Lettice took more than a sip. Never mind. It was not far now.

Magda grasped Lettice’s arm to steady her after several stumbles. At the tall holly hedge she stopped, lightly touching the glossy leaves, then awaiting a sign of welcome. In the archway a moth hovered, gazing her way for a moment, then turning and leading them in. She led Lettice through the hedge and out beneath ancient oaks.

‘Where are we?’ Lettice whispered, gazing up into the thick canopy.

‘A safe place,’ said Magda, assisting her to a mossy hillock in a clearing. Brushing back thick vines that covered a heavy oak door, she pushed it wide and reached in for a lantern hanging inside, opening a shutter to illuminate a large room beyond. ‘Step within.’ Heavy oak beams supported the sod exterior, vertical beams making possible a dividing wall completed by heavy cloth. It would be snug and warm once the fire dried it out. Lettice moved into the room, touching the table, benches, the few pots, ladle, wooden bowls, cups, and spoons, the cupboard shelves with jars of grains, dried mushrooms, and beans.