Free The Woodcutter by Kate Danley; © Lolloj / Fotolia

wink.
     
    As he turned the handle, instead of coffee grounds, a fire fell from the mill. Then a grill. Then a steaming coffee pot and two full cups, two armchairs and a table.
     
    Then the Peddler stopped grinding.
     
    “That should do it,” he said.
     
    The Peddler hopped off the cart and walked over to the coffee. He picked up one of the cups and handed it to the Woodcutter, “Dust free, just as promised.”
     
    The Woodcutter took the coffee cup and smelled it cautiously before raising it to his lips.
     
    The Peddler laid his finger on the side of his nose, “You have no idea how glad I am, too. Far too many people looking for dust, if you ask me.”
     
    He sat in the armchair, “Come, rest your feet. I promise you there is no place to sit for the next fifty miles.”
     
    The Woodcutter accepted his invitation.
     
    “So do you have a name there, sir?”
     
    “I am called Woodcutter.”
     
    The Peddler blew the steam from the coffee and took a tentative sip. He smacked his lips in appreciation, “Fair enough. So what brings you out these parts?”
     
    “I am looking for the Crone.”
     
    “Never heard of her. Where’s she live?”
     
    “I am not sure.”
     
    The Peddler laughed, “Well, that does make things a bit more difficult. How are the roads ahead?”
     
    The Woodcutter looked back where he had come from, “You would do best not to enter the Woods. Strange things are afoot.”
     
    The Peddler’s eyes were at once sharp, “There are strange things all over.”
     
    “Not like this.”
     
    The Peddler leapt to his feet, his eyes upon the Woodcutter’s Ax.
     
    “While you finish your drink, perhaps I can interest you in some wares for your coming journey.”
     
    He went to the back of the wagon and pulled out a beautiful ax that glistened in the gray light. Its handle was stout and curved for the perfect grip.
     
    “With a name like Woodcutter, you perhaps might be in the market for this beauty.”
     
    As the Peddler brought the ax closer the Woodcutter winced.
     
    He could hear their cries, the cry of the innocent wood whose sap had been unwillingly spilled.
     
    A thousand voices screamed.
     
    “I have no use for such a thing,” said the Woodcutter.
     
    The Peddler stopped, shrewdly, “But, such a fine ax. Why, a gentleman like yourself sure could use a backup instrument for your trade.”
     
    The Woodcutter swallowed down the bile rising in his throat, “Put it away, Peddler. Otherwise, our time together is done.”
     
    The Peddler tucked the ax back into the back of his cart, “I thought so.”
     
    He came back to the Woodcutter, holding a small object wrapped in a handkerchief, “I believe this is for you.”
     
    The Peddler pulled back the corner of the cloth. Gasping in his palm was a small pixie, whose eyes opened and shut, unable to focus.
     
    The Woodcutter’s hand was immediately upon his Ax.
     
    The Peddler did not notice. His eyes were trained upon the tiny creature, “I scooped it up as it fell from the air. It was so close to touching the ground.”
     
    He looked at the Woodcutter. Shadows played upon his face. He was a man haunted, a man who knew what it meant when a pixie touched the earth.
     
    He gently transferred the bundle into the Woodcutter’s hands, “You winced at that ax… I figure maybe so close to the trees, some of those stories my mother once told me might be true. Figure maybe you might know someone who could help.”
     
    The pixie smiled at the Woodcutter, feeble and weak.
     
    And the Woodcutter knew. He knew that the pixie would not last the journey to the Wood, would not last long enough to reach a tree whose heart was pure enough to heal the life force that had been drained.
     
    He reached down and willingly nicked his thumb upon his father’s ax.
     
    But instead of blood, something else flowed.
     
    Clear.
     
    Sticky.
     
    He held his finger, gashed willingly to allow the sap to flow to the mouth of the fae.
     
    The