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“Rhubarb?”
“The oxalic acid in the leaves is poisonous to humans, but the trace
amounts in the stalks are what gives that tangy, tart flavor. Cooking
hotdogs on the grill gives them traces of iron. Cennetig likes the tang.”
The Fae’s excitement the first time he had one had been infectious. “I
don’t question.”
While Giancarlo finished with the camera, Eva hiked to the creek to cut
some willow branches. The warm, woodsy scent filled her nose with
earth and the underlying green of the trees. The air still had a faint nip
from the past winter but was otherwise warm with the promise of
spring.
Eva had set aside two dozen pliable branches, whip-thin with slick,
brown bark. Her knife was on the branch to cut another, when she
heard an aborted yelp from the camp. Giancarlo.
Her knife slipped and bit into her thumb. Shaking, she shoved the knife
into the sheath at her belt and ran toward the camp. The distance up
the hill seemed to lengthen, but not through any Fae magic.
She slid on dry leaves and nearly fell, barely catching herself on a
sapling with the hand she’d cut. A smear of blood coated the thin grey
bark. Damn. She’d have to clean that off before they called the Fae. No
time now. Eva pushed herself to her feet and up the hill. She cleared
the last of the trees, running into their campsite.
Giancarlo stood on the side of the picnic table opposite the chalk circle.
On the other side, standing on its hind legs, was a black bear.
LE PORTRAIT MAGAZINE
Page 18