Sybil tended her garden and watched it begin to grow. Mint had grown wild under her window, but this spring it seemed to grow in leaps and bounds. She had harvested it already and it’s pungent leaves filled her cottage with their scent. The horehound near the wall had done the same thing. Sybil didn’t understand what she’d done different, but she gathered the herbs and thanked the gods for the bounty.
“Sybil! You home?” came a call from the gate.
Sybil looked up to see Vivien standing at her gate. “Come in!” She stood up and put her knife in the basket.
“I came to see how you were. My your garden goes a treat.”
“Aye. Must be the horse droppin’s I got last autumn. Never had plants go like this.”
Vivien nodded. “You want come with me an me boy to pick mushrooms?”
Sybil thought for a second and nodded. She pulled the cottage door closed and went with Vivien into the forest.
He smelled her before he saw her. His hand caressed the spoon in his pocket. She was with another woman and a boy. He watched as they gathered mushrooms. It had been a quarter of a moon since he’d last watched her at the cottage. His balls ached as he watched her walk, hips swaying, breasts backlit by the sun. He smiled.
Sybil once again felt like she was being watched, but figured it was just Vivien’s son. He’d been bouncing all over the forest. “Viven, I have a full basket. I think I’ll head home.”
“Want me to come with ye?”
“No need. I ken the way.” Sybil waved and headed for her cottage. When she got there, she found a posy of spring flowers in a cone of sweet grass on her doorstep. She smiled, picked them up and went inside. She placed the flowers in a pitcher and sorted through the mushrooms. Once she had them set to dry, she ate a supper of mushrooms, fresh greens, bread and cheese. Then she washed and crawled into bed.
He’d watched once more as she bathed. His cock was hard, dripping with pearls of seed. He began to sing softly like a soft breeze in the trees. She moaned in her sleep, and he sang a little louder. He watched as her hands slid between her thighs in her sleep, and as he sang, he stroked his cock. She gasped and moaned then shuddered in concert with his song and the seed that spilled on her garden.
Sybil woke with a gasp. She’d had such a dream. Her hand was between her thighs and she was wet. The dream had been of a man, and sex the likes that she hadn’t since she was first married. Laying back, she sighed. “Must have been the mushrooms.” She got up and busied herself around the cottage with chores, gardening and making a stew for dinner.
“Ifin’ yer havin’ dreams like that, you need a man,” said Mary. She’d come to get some bergamot from Sybil for the salve she was making.
“Oh Aye. James been gone two years. No one wants an old widder.”
“Ain’t that old Sybil. You be what? Three years younger than me?”
“Aye. Still. Widders of any age be unwanted.”
“Nay! I’m surprised no one snatched you up at Maypole.” Mary snorted, took her herbs and headed down the path. Dusk would soon darken into night.
Sybil headed out to check on her chickens. She found three more eggs. Checking the fence, she saw a faint shadow fall across the hen coop, but didn’t hear anyone. Standing up, she saw a tall man in silhouette. “Oh! You gave me a fright.”
“Didn’t mean to frighten you. Wanted to give thanks for the spoon.”
“Oh! You’re welcome. Have you eaten?”
“Nay, but I’ll not bother you.”
“No, come in. There be plenty, mushrooms and veggies. Bread and cheese as well.”
“Please, I’d be grateful for the company.
It was dark by the time they settled down to eat. Sybil lit a small candle and set it on the table. She filled two bowls with stew and served him first. She sat down after grabbing the bread and cheese.
“I be Sybil. You?”
“I feel like I’ve seen you, but can’t place where.”
He smiled. “Good stew.”
It was Sybil’s turn to smile. Cern was the first company other than a few friends she’d had since James had passed. They chatted a little while they ate. When the food was finished, he stood to leave.
“My pleasure. You’re welcome to come again.”
He stood and ducked to avoid hitting his head on the doorway as he left the cottage. He headed out into the forest and stood under the branches. He began to sing again, and the soft sounds carried across the fields to the cottage where Sybil lay sleeping.