Ashes spoke but rarely, but she dipped her snout in what was, for her, a smile.
Snow slid one of the great iron frying pans into the fire to warm up and went outside to gather some sticks.
She had half an armload and was straightening up when she saw the old woman.
Snow jumped, dropping the sticks. The old woman stared at her, leaning on her staff.
A person, here! Someone’s found us!
The old woman passed a hand slowly over her eyes. Her hands were gnarled like tree roots, and her eyes were gray and dim.
She had appeared practically in front of Snow. Snow’s instincts said to run away, to bolt into the den—and what good would that do?
Are you going to hide in the house from an old woman? She’s—lord, a thousand years old, at least. A strong wind will break her in half. You’re as bad as Arrin, thinking every person you meet is a danger.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” asked Snow.
The old woman licked her lips to moisten them. Her gaze stayed fixed on Snow’s face.
“Apples,” she said.
Snow was grateful for the excuse to glance away, toward the den. “Are you looking for some? We’re running low, but we could spare a few, if you’re hungry.”
The old woman shook her head. “No,” she said. “I am selling apples.” He voice gained strength as she used it. “Yes. I came to sell apples.”
“All right,” said Snow. She doesn’t have a pack. Well, maybe she’s left it somewhere—or maybe she’s mad. I wonder. Her eyes don’t look right. “I could buy some apples.”
The old woman nodded and reached into her pocket to pull one out.
It was green. The familiarity of it struck Snow immediately—the shape, the color, something. She knew that apple, or at least the tree those apples came from.
The word home had not stirred her memory, but the sight of the apple did.
My tree. My friend. With the gnarled bark and the one branch you could sit in like a chair and watch people go by in the courtyard. It smelled like blossoms in spring and like thaw in winter.
“Where is that from?” asked Snow, hearing her voice shake a little.
The old woman took a step forward, looking down at the apple in her hand. Snow, half involuntarily, took a step back. She was almost on the doorstep of the den now. The walls rose low and solid behind her.
“From the tree in the courtyard,” said the old woman. She took another step forward, extending her hand. “Take it. It’s for you.”
Snow reached out her hand and took the apple.
It fit perfectly into her hand. The skin was crisp green silk. If she bit into it, it would be tart and sweet and the juice would run down her chin.
It was beautiful. It was the essence of autumn. And there was a green haze on the trees, because the world was in springtime now, and autumn was a long way off.
Snow looked up. There was a strange shine under the dimness of the woman’s eyes, like clouded mirrors.
“How do you have ripe apples in spring?” said Snow.
Rage flashed over the old woman’s face, so stark and sudden that Snow recoiled. The apple fell from her hand and struck the stone doorstep. The ripe skin split open.
“How dare you!” hissed the old woman.
“I’m sorry—” Snow began, but the old woman did not stop.
“How dare you stand there? When I made you?”
The smell of the apple’s flesh rose up around them, rotten-sweet. Snow had time to think What? What did I do to make her angry? and then the old woman’s hands closed around her throat.
They fell backward together into the den. Snow clawed at the old woman’s hands, feeling her throat slam shut, unable to get a breath in or out. Her pulse pounded in her head like drums.
“Who?” cried the old woman. “Who?”
Who is she talking to? Snow thought. She’s mad, she’s gone mad, if I can get her hands off I can tell her I’m not who she’s looking for I can’t breathe—
She got her fingers underneath one of the woman’s swollen-knuckled hands and wrenched it loose. The other was digging deep trenches in her flesh, but she got half a ragged breath into her lungs before the old woman got another grip.
There was no breaking this one. Her fingers were strong, frighteningly strong, strong as tree roots grinding stones.
And then the old woman screamed, a high cracked note, and the hands fell away. Snow stumbled back, away, hands going to her neck.
Ashes, shy timid Ashes, had sunk her teeth into the old woman’s thigh.
Snow had fallen into the habit of thinking of Ashes as small, compared to the horse-sized boars, but Ashes weighed three hundred pounds and had canine teeth like daggers. She jerked her head and the old woman fell across the sow’s back, shrieking.