Stranger Skies
The Wolf in the Woods
She warned Enendoa about her atrocious cooking capability. The witch ignored her warning, and started teaching Thalaea how to cook on the very first day, as soon as she’d been settled into her new room.
It was a tiny bedroom, located above the kitchen. She had a bed, a desk, a small wardrobe, and a table for her wash bin. Her window looked out onto the herb garden and, beyond that, Steelmint Forest. Thalaea felt the forest call to her instantly, and she wondered how long it would be until she could go out there. Perhaps Enendoa would send her in search of herbs? Her hearts beat faster at the thought.
At first, it seemed Enendoa intended to live up to her promise to make Thalaea dislike the elder witch. At least for the first few days. She insisted on keeping Thalaea running around constantly, bringing in water from the pump, sweeping the kitchen, doing the dishes, and learning the basics of cooking. It was all contrary to her nature, and she resisted it every step of the way, but soon Enendoa’s lessons started to stick. By the end of the first eight days Thalaea could make a loaf of bread that was passing edible, at least, and create a broth that, while not amazing, was not terrible, either.
These were huge victories, as far as both of them were concerned. Soon Enendoa put her onto other things.
“We’ll finish your cooking education later,” the witch said with a gusty sigh.
The next eight days were spent on a task far more tedious, though at least it was one she was good at: copying the old grimmeries in the library into new, blank books.
That was the “witch’s secret” that kept the books from falling apart: centuries of apprentices copying grimmeries by hand. Enendoa had done it, as had the witch before her, and now it was Thalaea’s turn.
She didn’t know why she was so good at penmanship or reading. These were skills she had never cultivated in her previous life. But, along with her ability not only to understand but also to read and speak Minae, she was able to write it, and neatly.
The first book she copied was the first one she’d read, the one that had revealed her True Name. She took her time with it, using extreme care to copy each word exactly. The maps she traced onto new pages, deepening the lines once she’d determined they were correct. This book was uniquely important: it held clues to Minae’s history with the wolves, a topic about which, she knew, she needed to find out as much as possible.
The second book Enendoa had her copy was a manual of herbs, done by an Isedoe, a witch who had lived several generations after the first Thalaea. The herbs in this manual hadn’t been around during the first witch’s time but had been imported by the Minae from their old lands, and by the time Isedoe was alive they’d spread throughout the lands. By the time Thalaea was done copying this book, she knew all the herbs by heart.
At the beginning of the third eightday, Enendoa assigned her to gardening at the back of the house. This thrilled Thalaea. She felt a pull from the greenery. When she started working with the herbs, she could hear them speak to her, telling her secrets. Within a few days, she knew what half the herbs were used for, and their names, without having to consult a book.
She was so excited about this that she gushed to Enendoa about it over their dinner midway through the week. Enendoa simply snorted.
“Told you: you’re a witch.”
Thalaea laughed. “You were right.”
By the end of that week, she knew each plant in the garden intimately, and had coaxed new blooms out of some of them despite its being still deep in winter.
In the fourth week, Enendoa began taking her on gathering trips into the forest. They grabbed their baskets and trekked out in the early day, before dawn. The days were ever so slowly getting longer now, which made gathering easier. They never went more than a mile into the forest, and always returned by sunset. Enendoa taught her how to gather Steelmint, Mourning Thornbush, Woolly Bittercress, Bluethorn, Burning Creeper, and so many more. Once they returned to the cottage, Enendoa taught her how to process the herbs they’d gathered that day. Some they used for healing, others were poisons to be kept on hand. Still others were used in rituals for Saeas.
The rituals happened every night, without fail. Enendoa started small, so as not to overwhelm the student, Thalaea guessed, but by the fourth week the rituals lasted an hour or so and became far more complex. Thalaea’s excellent memory soon knew all the prayers to Saeas, and what herbs to use for Her rituals.
She was doing so well with her studies that Enendoa gave her the last two days of that week off. Thalaea elected to visit her family.
Natai had taken Alaev to market on that day but Scoas and Brinna were home. Scoas was out in the barn, tending to the animals, so Thalaea sat and visited with Brinna for a few hours.
Thalaea spoke animatedly about her lessons at Enendoa’s, and Brinna was very happy for the wise woman’s new apprentice.
“I knew it was the right thing for you to do.” She smiled. Her hands worked at a new knitting project and Thalaea noticed Brinna used the needles she’d received as a Shoron gift.
“I’m glad you all urged me to go but I still miss you. I was so used to your presence every day and it’s strange to wake up in a bed that’s not in this house.” You are my packmates. Please see this.
For some reason, what Thalaea said seemed to galvanize something in Brinna. It certainly wasn’t the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to another person but the next thing Thalaea knew Brinna had leaned across the gap between them and was kissing her. It was sweet but short and yet held promise for much more.
Thalaea had never kissed anyone like that. She didn’t think she’d ever kissed anyone, period, as wolf or human, goddess or mortal. Her eyes closed of their own volition, and when the two women broke apart they opened slowly, meeting Brinna’s violet gaze.
“So you’ll just have to visit more often,” Brinna said, her voice breathy, but no less strong.
“I will.” Thalaea’s lips still burned.
She spent the night at her family’s house that night and stayed up late with Brinna, sitting by the fire and talking. They held hands while they chatted, fingers lightly caressing skin. Thalaea hadn’t realized there could be such pleasure in human displays of affection. She wanted the night never to end.
Bedtime heralded another sweet kiss between them. Sleep brought Thalaea many vivid, wholly pleasant dreams.
Breakfast was filled with family chatter and laughter, and several happy glances exchanged between Brinna and herself. Leaving her family this time was much harder than it had been the first time. Thalaea felt salt sting her eyes.
Brinna caressed her love’s face with mittened hands as they stood under the bright sun on the snowy field. “It’s not a sad goodbye. We’ll see each other soon.”
Thalaea sniffed, wiping the tears away. “I know. My emotions are just…all over the place.” She bent her head to Brinna’s, and they shared a third, and final, kiss. Much longer than the first two and somehow bittersweet.
Thalaea was glad for the long walk back to Enendoa’s. It gave her a chance to get rid of all her tears.
By the time she walked into the witch’s kitchen, she was feeling much steadier. This was a good thing, to judge by the look on Enendoa’s face.
“Tonight, I teach you the secrets of copper.”
On the first day of the fifth week with Enendoa, Thalaea was sent into the woods to gather herbs by herself. This was an expression of trust on Enendoa’s part, as the witch was giving Thalaea her treasured copper sickle with which to do the work.
Thalaea would soon get her own copper sickle. She would learn how to make one, and she would forge it herself. The witches had a long-standing agreement with the local forge and whoever was the blacksmith at the time. Enendoa would schedule an appointment for Thalaea to make her sickle sometime after Saeas Night, when they declared her apprenticeship formally to the Goddess of Witches.
For now, she used the one Enendoa had made during her own apprenticeship. It was small, and Thalaea had difficulty at first adjusting it to her hand. Enendoa was a stout woman but she was short; her hands were smaller than Thalaea’s. The apprentice’s own sickle would have to be a bit bigger.
Copper tapped into the life-force of the earth, according to Enendoa. That was why it was sacred to Saeas, and it was why witches wouldn’t use any other metal.
“Aside iron, betimes,” Enendoa added, an almost afterthought. “But iron’s advanced magic. You won’t learn about that for years yet.”
Thalaea hadn’t thought anything she’d been learning had been particularly magical. Amazing and life-altering and moving, yes, but also it was simply in her bones. Her new, mortal bones. They felt the pull of this witchcraft so keenly, she didn’t see what was so strange about it.
To that end, magic seemed the wrong word.
She was learning about copper first. It could hardly be a coincidence that the necklace J’th had left her was copper, nor that it buzzed against her skin. Copper was a conductor. It transmitted energy of all kinds and it could store energy, too. The copper statue of Saeas on Enendoa’s altar had a definite kick to it if one touched it bare-handed — not a great wonder after decades upon decades of use in ritual and worship. Thalaea wouldn’t be surprised if Saeas had come to inhabit the statue at times.
When she cut plants with copper, she always asked permission first. The plants were more likely to say yes to being harvested if she used copper. It was gentler against their spirits, said Enendoa. Not a harsh object used to destroy them, but a soft beam of light, slicing through their stems and inviting their spirits into itself. The plants retained their potency when cut with copper; to this end, the witch was to use nothing else while harvesting herbs.
Going into the forest by herself to harvest herbs soon became Thalaea’s favourite activity. She left at dawn each morning and took her time, enjoying the way the light slowly made the forest warm up until she felt she was wandering through a large, leafy womb.
There were many varieties of birds still awake and active, though it was winter, and their song made the forest less quiet than it would have been. She saw many bugs, too, and spiders, and she greeted each one she noticed. She found they were less likely to bite her if she sent a friendly Good morrow their way.
It was peaceful to traverse over moss-laden logs and stumps, to create her own paths off the beaten ones. She felt the forest welcome her as one of its own, and she wondered if it would have done that had she not found her True Name.
These were not the True Woods, after all. The True Woods were wherever the Lady decided they would be. She was not the Lady of the True Woods anymore. She was Thalaea, the apprentice witch. She was many planets away from the True Woods.
Sometimes this thought evoked a deep melancholy. She would stop in the midst of her toil in the forest, finding a log or a rock to sit down on for a few moments. She allowed herself tears, for she was truly mourning the death of herself — and the deaths of her children.
Perhaps Morrigan will look after them in my absence, she thought with little hope. Or Hecate, or Odin. I wish I could send Them a message.
She could offer up prayers, she supposed. Would they be heard, so far away from the home planets of those deities? It could be worth a shot.
During the remainder of her harvesting journey, she gathered some extra herbs for her own use. With no map or guide as to what herbs on this planet would be good for those three deities she’d once known, she went by instinct.
That night, after her ritual with Enendoa to Saeas, she set up her own personal altar on the desk in her room. Using the copper pendant as a catalyst, she offered three herbs to it in the name of Morrigan, Hecate, and Odin. She did not speak out loud, for saying those names in this air felt false. But she sent her thoughts to the heavens as strongly as she could, tapping into what few powers she had left.
Morrigan, Hecate, Odin — I am trapped, I am lost, I am gone from my world. I am mortal now. You all helped me and my children once before; I ask that you do once again. Protect my wolves in my absence, please. I hope these offerings are sufficient.
Before her almost-disbelieving eyes, the herbs glowed on the pendant — and then disappeared.
That was magic if Thalaea had ever seen it.
The next day was bright and sunny and saw her out in the forest again, gathering more herbs. She was in much brighter spirits now; she felt her prayers had been heard, if not answered. She could do nothing to force an answer but she hoped that those gods’ own fondness for wolves would help.
Thalaea went deeper into the woods this day, looking for more specimens of Eranthis. It still grew near the cottage but she’d been taught to only take a tenth of each copse of herbs each blooming cycle. She didn’t want to deplete the copses again too soon. Each plant had its unique cycle. Eranthis’ blooming cycle was much longer: she would have to go farther to collect it for the next moon cycle.
It was mid-afternoon by the time she found a new source of the herb and she got to work harvesting it as quickly as was prudent. As she bent to grab the last bit she would need, a sound reached her ears.
A whimper, and then a whine.
Instant recognition made instinct take over. Before she knew what she was doing, Thalaea had dropped her basket and started to sprint through the woods.
Over log and stump and tangle of bracken she leapt, skirts gathered in her hand so she wouldn’t trip, three hearts beating faster than they had before. Her breathing was heavy and her scarf had fallen from her head to rest around her shoulders.
She burst through the trees onto one of the many paths beaten through the woods, and saw the source of the cry that had called her.
From the high branch of a conifer hung a net made of thick hemp-like ropes. Within that net struggled a young male wolf.
She smelled his fear as much as she could hear and see it: his eyes were wide and terrified, his front paws were stuck through the holes in the net, and he whined while he flailed in the ropes, trying to get free.
“Shh, shh,” she said, automatically trying to soothe him. He looked at her, a quizzical expression on his face, as if he didn’t understand why she wasn’t try to hurt him. She hadn’t spoken Wolf — had he still understood?
Thalaea searched for a way to get him down without breaking his spine. The net was high up, and while she could theoretically climb the tree and cut the ropes that held him up there, it would not be safe. She didn’t think she was strong enough to catch him before he fell, and he wouldn’t be able to right himself as a cat would.
Before she could come up with a solution, she heard a crashing through the bracken. It was quiet, but her hearing was excellent.
Her sense of smell was even better. She caught the odoriferous whiff of Kaz long before he came through the bushes to stand before her, arrogant arms akimbo.
He had two buddies with him who leered at her. She tried not to vomit.
She stood between the wolf in the net and the three hunters, and her arms spread to her sides automatically in a gesture of protection.
“Little Cait,” Kaz said in what he must have thought was a seductive tone. “You’re between me and my kill.”
The wolf in the net whimpered more and thrashed for freedom.
Calm yourself, she thought at him sternly in Wolf. Instantly he quieted. It was good to know she could still do that.
“I won’t let you hurt this wolf,” she said calmly to Kaz, though in reality she felt anything but. Her hearts beat out a terrified tempo in her chest. There were three hunters, all intent on killing this wolf. Standing between them and their kill, she could smell how little honour they had.
She was as good as dead.
Kaz laughed and his cronies joined in. “Oh, that’s cute, little Cait. How are you going to stop me?”
“With my life, if it comes to that. Turn around. Go back to Heartpin. You kill nothing today.” She held her chin up proudly, to reinforce her brave words. Her flight instinct screamed at her to run.
Kaz stopped laughing, and his expression turned hard. “No woman tells me what to do. Especially no wolf-lover.”
The man to his left tapped him on the shoulder and spoke, sounding worried. “What if she’s a Thaenite spy, Kaz?”
The men’s expressions changed then, and Thalaea knew they now saw her as a real threat. She held her ground as the hunters advanced.
“I’m not a Thaenite spy.” She knew it was futile to say but she did so anyway.
“That’s just what Thaenite spies would say, wouldn’t they?” said the third man.
“Bunch of wolf-lovers over there,” muttered the man on Kaz’s left.
Thalaea felt more frightened by the second. She would not back down. She knew what Kaz would do to the wolf. She couldn’t let him skin the pup alive.
Kaz and his buddies might kill her and then do that anyway. She had no weapons, save her boot knife, which was hardly a match against the strength and skill of these men.
Saeas, protect me! “Back off,” she said out loud, making her voice as Alpha as possible.
Then men stopped, and she saw fear flicker across the faces of Kaz’s minions. Kaz looked perplexed.
Thalaea suddenly realized she’d spoken in Wolf. She had growled at the men and it was working.
She growled again; then spoke in Minae: “Run away, before something bad happens to you.”
The two men behind Kaz looked ready to run, backing up several steps with fear on their faces, but the lead hunter was not so easily cowed.
“I will put you down, bitch,” he said, growling as well. “Move.”
He reached out to push her aside.
That’s when it happened.
It started as a tingling in the base of her feet and quickly ran up her legs and torso, culminating in a thick buzzing on her scalp. She felt her features shift, change; her mouth grew long and her teeth became sharp; her ears moved to the top of her head; fur sprouted from her skin; her tongue stretched, became almost prehensile. Her face turned into a wolf’s, and as Kaz hit her, she lashed out, snarling, and bit him on the face.
The taste of blood in her mouth was instant. He fell back onto his arse, yelling in pain. The two men behind him had seen too much; they screamed in fear — “Witch! Wolf witch bitch!” — before running away. Kaz looked up at her from his position on the forest floor, terror in his eyes, blood dripping from the huge bite in his cheek.
She tried to change her whole body into a wolf’s but the power was fading. Her face shrank, the fur disappeared, the ears moved — she was Minae again, with blood running down her chin.
She growled at Kaz again. “Run away. Next time I aim for your throat.”
He stumbled up to his feet and sprinted away, crashing through the forest.
She wiped the blood from her face and turned around. The wolf in the net was looking at her calmly, though she saw query in those intelligent green eyes.
She smiled up at the young lupine. “Hey, puppy. Let’s get you out of there.”
Cutting the wolf down from the net turned into a fairly large operation. She discovered the net’s rope went around the branch and came down, far on the other side, tied to a stump. She decided the best way to let the wolf down would be to cut the rope at the stump, and then lower him down to the ground by feeding the rope over the branch.
But perhaps she wasn’t strong enough. In the event the rope slipped out of her hands, she wanted something soft for him to land on. She spent well over half an hour gathering up coniferous branches from around that tree and several others, placing them below the net to form a soft bed for the wolf to land on. By the time she was done she was fairly sure she’d cleaned out most of the underbrush in the surrounding area.
“All right. Are you ready?” she asked the pup in the net. He looked at her steadily, no fear in his eyes. She took that as a yes; then tromped around to where the stump was and got her boot knife out. She wrapped the top part of the rope around her hand so that it wouldn’t go flying when it was cut, and started to saw at the rope. Cutting through the rope took a while, for it was thick and strong. Eventually she managed it. The top part tugged sharply on her arm, the weight of the wolf dragging it down heavily. She pulled back with all her strength, and the net bounced a bit.
Standing, she began walking forward, towards the tree that held the wolf, letting the rope feed over the branch as slow as possible. The net inched down, stuttering a bit as the rope caught on knots and rough patches in the bark of the tree.
Soon she stood right by the tree and the net was only half a foot above the conifer branch bed. She unwrapped the rope as slowly as she could but it slipped out of her grasp. The wolf in the net fell the last six inches.
The rope landed on top of him and he panicked, thrashing in it and getting himself tangled further.
“Calm yourself,” she growled in Wolf, running to his side. He stopped thrashing, now severely tangled in the net, tongue lolling out of his mouth as he panted.
“Dammit, pup. You’ve got yourself even more tangled. I have to cut you out.” Thalaea grabbed her knife and the wolf flinched away from her, whimpering.
“Hey.” She spoke in Wolf again, and put her free hand out to where the pup could smell it. “I’m not going to hurt you. Smell me. I smell like wolf, don’t I?”
He gave her hand a cursory sniff before his eyes flicked up to make contact with hers. She saw the fear drain out of his gaze, and he stopped shaking.
“Ok. Hold still.” Slowly she moved the knife forward to the first bit of rope and started to cut through.
Cutting away all the bits of the net to get him free took her an hour. The wolf sat still, watching her hands with his eyes. He was in that awkward, gangly, just-had-a-growth-spurt stage of puppyhood — true adolescence. All long, skinny limbs; baby fat stretched away into a lean lupine form. His fur was thick, for it was winter, but she could tell he wasn’t fattened up. It made her wonder how long wolves on this planet lived, or how long the years were. He would have been whelped in spring; so for him to still be an adolescent meant short years or long wolf lives. Or both.
Or perhaps the wolves here whelp at a different season. It was possible.
She guessed he had been given scout duty today, and had been trapped by the net. Wolves his age would be given small jobs in the pack, learning their place until they were old enough to take more control.
She smelled alpha on him, too. He’d be given more responsibility than beta or omega pups, for someday he would be a leader of the pack.
But he was still young, and foolish, and he needed guidance. That much was obvious.
With difficulty she cut through the last rope and sat back on her heels, panting with exhaustion. It was late in the afternoon now, closer to evening. The sun was setting, and twilight encroached on the land. She’d be late getting back to the cottage.
The pup stood and stretched, then moved to stand right in front of her kneeling form. He looked her in the eyes and sniffed her face, before leaning closer and giving her cheek a lick with his tongue. It was a clear thank you.
Hello, pup. I’m Thalaea, she sent, figuring introductions were in order.
His reaction was unexpected. The wolf’s eyes widened and he bolted off through the forest.
“Wait!” she called, getting up and running after him. She tripped over herself, her legs a bit asleep from her extended kneeling on the ground. Stumbling, she put her arms out to brace her fall and pushed off from a nearby conifer. By the time she righted herself, the wolf was gone from her sight.
She sniffed, trying to find his scent, but it was lost within the smells of mint, conifers, and other animals in the forest. She had no idea where he’d gone.
Thalaea sighed, feeling sadder than she had since landing in this country. She’d finally met a living Minae wolf, saved his life from hunters, and then he’d run off as soon as she introduced herself. Now who knew if she’d ever meet one again?
She turned back the way she’d come, trudging through the underbrush in search of where she’d dropped her herb basket. Enendoa would be angry with her tardiness, so she better have something to show for it.
Her scent was almost gone from the trail, but she eventually found it again and was able to follow it back to the last copse of herbs she’d been at.
The basket was still there. It was nearly empty. Confused, she smelled it, and caught the scents of various rodents and birds. Apparently the forest denizens had stolen her hard work while she was off saving the wolf.
Wondering if the day could get any worse, she gathered basket and sickle and started on her way home in the gathering cold and dark.
By the time Thalaea reached the cottage, it was late at night and she was half-frozen.
Enendoa was furious, though half of that anger came out of worry so rank Thalaea could smell it before she entered the back yard. The elder witch blistered Thalaea’s ears for a good half hour while Thalaea sat by the fire, warming up and looking at the ground. She didn’t try to make excuses, or explain what she’d been doing out in the woods. Witches didn’t make excuses. They accepted the consequences of their actions.
The consequences of her tardiness were to work all night in the garden. Enendoa was going to do it herself that night, but she decided that it could be Thalaea’s punishment to work on the herbs in the cold and the dark.
“They need to be replanted tonight, or they’ll die by morning. Do it, do it well, and don’t freeze to death.”
Thalaea took that to mean she was allowed to come in and warm up after successfully replanting every few herbs.
Before Enendoa went to bed, she made a pot of tea for Thalaea, which she placed over the hearth fire to keep warm. She also lit a lantern and placed it on the counter.
“Put on some better clothes. What you’re wearing is far too thin.” She patted Thalaea’s shoulder kindly and headed up the stairs.
“Thank you,” Thalaea said, and Enendoa gave her a small smile before continuing up to her bed.
Thalaea did not begrudge her mentor the things that had been said to her tonight. She knew Enendoa was simply reacting out of fear, and truth be told she deserved to have a strip ripped off her for worrying Enendoa like that. It was no less than she would have done as an alpha to a misbehaving pup, so Thalaea accepted her punishment with grace.
After warming up sufficiently, Thalaea changed into warmer clothes: her long underwear, thick pants, a few warm shirts, and the sweater that Brinna had made. She still didn’t have a coat of her own but Enendoa had spares lying around the house that she was free to use. She was quite bundled; stepping outside, she barely felt the cold, except on her exposed skin.
Truth be told, the only parts of this that were truly a punishment were the night and the cold. Thalaea enjoyed working with the plants, and she enjoyed having a chance to use her own shovel that Scoas had given her. She brought the lantern outside, set it on a stump, and got to work replanting the Morea from their copper pots into the ground.
It was easier than it should have been. There was some sort of magic at Enendoa’s place that kept the ground softer than winter would have made it, that kept the herbs alive through the cold, that kept the snow from falling on them and burying them. Thalaea didn’t understand how Enendoa did it, and until she did, it would be seen as true magic.
Humming while she worked, she grabbed the second pot and brought it to the next empty spot in the row. Setting the pot down, she began to dig a hole in the row deep enough for the plant. Carefully she tipped the pot upside down, using her hand to guide the plant’s dirt out. The roots weren’t grown into themselves, so she didn’t have to break them up. She set the plant directly into the hole and then covered it up with dirt.
This process she repeated for several hours, until her back hurt, her face and hands were frozen, and the rest of her was too warm.
So perhaps it was a punishment after all.
There were two plants left, but Thalaea needed to have feeling back in her hands first. She went inside to warm up and have a mug of tea.
The fire had burned down a bit but it still kept the tea warm. She could hear Enendoa’s snores float down the stairs. The elder witch was a heavy sleeper. Thalaea could have used her shovel to break everything in the house and it probably wouldn’t wake the other woman. She didn’t worry too much about being quiet while having her tea, nor while planting outside.
A yawn took her by surprise, stretching her jaw until it hurt. She was so tired. She wasn’t used to this much activity in a day and her flight through the woods and saving of the young wolf had used every muscle she didn’t want to use. I am more than ready to sleep.
With a groan, she got up and made herself go outside again, determined to finish the last two pots, even if it killed her. She would not disappoint Enendoa again.
Somehow it was even harder, this second round of planting, to get her fingers to do anything. After being warmed they refused to work under such cold conditions and went on strike. She fumbled for a few minutes until finally her grip on the shovel was better, and she was able to dig the last two holes. This time it seemed to go a bit faster to dig the holes and then bring the pots over.
She was at the end of the garden now, close to the woods. Thalaea knelt beside the row to move the first plant and its dirt into the hole. She was about to cover up the plant with dirt when she stopped — what was that sound?
Crashing, in the woods. She got up and looked over the fence. The moon was waning and provided little light to see by, and her eyesight was wretched anyway; all she could see was some vague movement.
Probably some animal, she thought, brushing it off, but her stomach tightened in fear.
She knelt down again and shovelled dirt over the first plant. She had the second plant in the hole and was almost done shovelling dirt over it when her nose warned her, too late, of her approaching attacker.