The Hare and the Huntsman - A Short Story
The Hare and the Huntsmen A gatha hummed under her breath as she rolled gently back and forth in her creaky old rocking chair. The open fire in the oversized grate roared and popped, warming her weary bones and casting a comforting orange glow over the cobblestone floor. The spindly figure of Agatha’s faithful grizzled lurcher lay curled up by her feet, snoring quietly and twitching as he dreamt. Wind howled in the narrow lane outside the tiny cottage, but inside, it was calm and warm, and ever so snug. Agatha squinted through milky, clouded eyes at the needle and thread in her mottled hands, the light from the fire doing little to ease her sightlessness. Her socks needed darning – again – but the once simple and straightforward task had become just that little bit further out of Agatha’s reach with each passing season or phase of the moon. She glanced up at the window and squinted. Barren branches twisted and groaned outside, the heavy glass panes...
