Pandora's Box, part 14

Pulling a blood-red cape around her head and shoulders, Pandora slid through the woods, silent as a snake after its prey, her heart set on one thing only; the destruction of Aurora. Though the day was grey and dimly lit, a faint light guided her onwards, and she moved straight as an arrow, towards her unwitting target.

A rustle of leaves at her side startled Pandora, yet there appeared to be nothing there. She travelled on for another fifty steps, ears alert and then heard it again; a faint disturbance in the bushes. She whipped round to face whatever it was, her heart striking loudly within her, and cowered briefly as an enormous grey shadow burst from the shrubs, teeth bared, claws extended.

Pandora screamed, swiping desperately at the creature’s head. “Dare you attack me?” she bellowed, anger and outrage emanating from her in fire-lit sparks. “I am your queen, fiend!”

Her sharp nails struck rough fur and the creature yelped and cowered, a trail of bright red blood trickling from its forehead. Pandora’s eyes swept over the long muzzle, the thick fur, the golden eyes and the pointed ears now low in submission. The creature trembled under her intense gaze and turned to slink away into the undergrowth.

“Wait, wolf,” she ordered, a sly smile spreading across her embittered features. “I believe you may be of some use to me.”

The wolf paused, its tail tucked under its crouched body. It turned back to face Pandora; its head bowed in submission, listened to her instructions and raced off into the woods.

***

“Mother! Stay with me,” Aurora urged. “You mustn’t die!”

Sylph’s eyes fluttered, blue veins pulsing across her ashen forehead.

The door banged open and the seven waifs and strays burst in, soaking wet and noisy in relief.

“Help us!” Aurora cried, her agonised appeal cutting through their chatter.

The tallest and eldest boy took in the scene fast. “What happened?” he asked, crouching down by Aurora’s side.

“I don’t know, Robert,” she said, rubbing Sylph’s freezing cold hands in her own, small warm ones. “The darkness came, and the rain, and then this…”

The smallest waif and stray knelt beside them, putting his elfin face to Sylph’s forehead, feeling for her pulse in her neck. “She is weak, but her heartbeat is still there. Take heart yourself, Aurora. Your mother is still alive,” he said. “We must get her to bed, and we must gather herbs to help her.”

Aurora stared at him. “You know how to heal her?”

“I know a little.”

Robert shook his head. “Tom, you’re too humble. You are truly gifted in healing, believe it.”

“Then save her,” Aurora pleaded.

Tom looked at her, straightened up a little, and nodded. “I will,” he vowed. “Ok, brothers, I need sage, comfrey, radish and lavender, honey, eggs and wild garlic. Now go!”

The waifs and strays donned cloaks immediately, clattering out of the cottage.

Above them, the skies spat lightning sparks and the clouds thudded together angrily.

Inside the cottage, Tom lifted Sylph and was astonished to note that she appeared no heavier than a flower petal. He carried her to the bed in the other room and lay her down with reverence. Aurora followed him, anxiously peering at her mother’s still features.

“Have I forgotten anything?” Tom questioned, then hit his head with the heel of his palm. “Of course; woodbine to bind it all together. I’ll fetch that myself. I know a good patch in the woods. In the meantime, keep her feet warm, but douse her forehead with cold water.” He hesitated. “You’ll be alright here, alone, Aurora?”

Aurora nodded, mustering bravery. “Yes, you go. I’ll be fine. But please, Tom, do hurry.”

A shadow passed over the small window above the bed as the grey wolf crept away, silent as a grave. In the garden, the pigs squealed and clustered together in their straw lined pen, recognising danger. The wolf eyed them greedily, then leapt away to report all to his mistress.