"Asmodeus, then. I am Bryony." My responses were rudimentary at best but I could have sworn we held another conversation, one spoken with the eyes and far more engaging then our courteous back-and-forth. Wolf-blue. His eyes. So light a shade, I fell into the visceral black of his pupils.

Did I know this man? Wasn't it his arrogantly sculpted face I have glimpsed in the shifting tease of crowds? That cannot be right, no. He was a man who might pray to blend into anonymity but find it a piety never to be achieved. His hair alone, a darken shroud which shivers down his back, light fawning helplessly with in the blue-black sheen, would undoubtedly set him apart from the masses. I wanted to finger all that black but not to sample its texture. I wished to know if his hair would be warm or cool to the touch.

"It is a pleasure to have last met you, Bryony.. one which is all mine." He gathered my hand in his gloved fingers and drew it smoothly to his lips. I have seen ladies become recipients to admiring kisses upon the back of their hands. I always thought the tradition looked so awkward and one-sided. You know, pomp and circumstance without any substance.

Yet, the man's mouth was furnace hot, his breath warm enough to rival a wyvern's sigh. I shivered in my skin while my mind took up the banner of temperature, lending me a secret thought. I fancied I could sense a molten tongue behind his lips and teeth, a perfect match to all the heat. And then I quickly snatched my hand away.

"Yes, it was good to meet you.. Asmodeus but I cannot linger. I'm sorry. I have to go." Every minute counted and I could once more hear the merciless ticking on time's clock. My face felt too warm and I know my nod was nervous but I backed from the man in as graceful manner as I could. My ears were buzzing in the silence but I did not fail to hear his soft reply. "Bryony. It does not go unnoticed by me that something vexes you. What is your burden? Tell me. You never know, dear damosell, it may be within my power to help."

I turned, several paces worth of gap between us then but his regard collected my gaze and held it strongly. "No insult meant, but I don't think you can help, Sir.. Asmodeus. My father has taken ill and needs some herbs from these woods. I best get around to hunting them too. Snakeweed is hard to find a good crop of. Please understand."

I back-peddled a few more steps, about ready to nod and make good my farewell but the stranger canted his head to one side and asked, just as quietly. "I do understand there is no one to take care of you... and yours."

He then rose his hand and arm, extending his curled palm towards me. Following this, his fingers flicked outwards in a sharp motion, once and only once. From the soil about my feet, small tender shoots poked through the loam and like crones casting a fountain of youth spell, the stems slowly unbent their crooked backs to stand tall. The stalks grew thicker, reached higher until tiny buds broke open with the fuzzed, light purple florets of snakeweed. I could smell their tickly pollen in the air.

There was more than enough to make a decoction for my father's bloody cough but were these magically summoned plants ...natural? And should I accept this stroke of good luck and compassion?

[0 petals fell]