The harvest moon rose full in the sky.  Cytherea’s eyes watched from her door threshold people have come and gone both ashamed but thankful for her efforts.  The wind blew past her and her nerves could sense something coming.  It wasn’t winter yet, but the snow would be here soon enough.<br/><br/>“Aye mother will soon freeze this place once again.”   She knew she must make this journey to town in the morning.  It wasn’t far but those who never understood her or what she stood for often thought her and the devil the same.<br/><br/>The cottage wasn’t remarkably suited for anyone of money.  But it fit her needs and those who entered.  She brought a many little ones in this world.  She has never made a house call.  That was too much.  If they want her, they came to her, other then that she did what was taught to her.  She kept to her self. She tended her wood.  She kept her small garden of tomatoes, lettuce, some corn and pumpkins.  She could not see the future.  She just healed.   Her talents were not out of this world.  Like most thought.  She even hunted her own food.  Not eat little children like most of the stories in town were about the woman who saved and trained her.  And now stories about her were one in the same.  The stories were that the woman cast a spell on her older self to be young again.  This was not so.  She died last fall.  The fever got to her and so Cytherea had her wishes granted and cremated her and her ashes were spread through out Mother Nature’s body.<br/><br/>Those who journeyed her way, kept her as a last resort and her efforts are no longer mentioned once she services their ailments.  But a little recognition wouldn’t be disregarded.  But like the Tara had said over and over, never ask what is not given freely.  Not now, not never.<br/><br/>Cytherea liked the steady method of this madness.  She became a sponge of everyone’s thoughts and opinions of her.  What mattered was how much she gave in the end.  Even, if the little money was left like a man leaving a harlots bed; Then on the table before the only door of this place.  It was one room.  There was a bed in the corner, a table in the middle of the room, a fire place to cook and warm her self.  A cast iron pots and pans lay in another wooden bucket beside the fire place.  There was a stream behind the cottage.  Where she went to bathe and collect water for other activities.   It was nothing glamorous.  But she wasn’t use to glamorous now was she?  She turned from the door and closed it heading to the bed in her bare feet.  She was a light sleeper.  Never know when some one would NEED her.  But they didn’t want her now did they?  Cytherea laid on her back as she covered her self with the wool blankets, she then eyed the only crack in the wood where moon light entered. “Blessed be mother moon.”  Then Cytherea closed her eyes and sleep soon followed.<br/>