Scrambling up, I shake out my dripping petticoat, glare down the hill to the farm and village. To the places I shall never belong. I was chosen by another, for a fate I do not yet know, but I am ready to accept it. Exhausted now with resisting it.

Clamber up the hill. Hands and knees where I must. I need to be among those that know me.

I throw myself at the door and stagger into the house. At the sight of Mam bending over the fire my anger thins and spreads to nothing. I’m worn down. Like a child Annie’s age I walk to her, resting my head against her shoulder.

She folds her arms around me, sits me on a stool and fetches the cloth. Wipes my face with slow strokes. When I’m clean she turns away. I reach for her arm.

‘I want you to teach me.’

We start with healing and protective charms.

‘Let’s begin sweet,’ she says. ‘Much of our trade satisfies a want for revenge or a wish to cause suffering, of necessity for that’s the nature we serve, but there’s purity to this side that suits you well. ’Tis good you embrace it. You’ve not the choices of other lasses.’

Her voice falters as she speaks, and I know she means I’ve not the chance of a husband. I think briefly of the fear in the farm lad’s eyes, then draw myself up strong. What use would a husband be to me, anyway? No. I shall stay with Mam and John and Annie. I shall learn the skills of our kind.

I’ve often wished I was born to that other life of food on the table and warm clothes. A husband, a family. A life of laundry in the stream with other women and church on Sundays. Mam tried to give us that life, but he that we serve conjured the storm that ripped it from us, took our father and all else besides.

We are not made for that life. I must turn my mind to cunning ways now. This part of our gift has always called to me, the easing of suffering and healing of hurts. It’s a kindly skill. As I work I imagine a time, not far from now, when the village sees us as only benevolent. When we’re welcomed and our lives may mingle. In this time, if one morning I wake and discover a mark on Annie’s skin, it won’t carry such dread. She will remain safe. Soon I’ll have the power to show them the good in what we do, to take away their fear. For though she’s wrought of magic, it’s of a different, gentler kind than that we serve.