My mother was labeled a witch from her earliest days, because she loved nature and everything in it. She was what you would call a daughter of Mother Nature. She often spoke to animals, although I often thought she was making up whatever they said to her. Sometimes, when I was very small, she would take her hand, and rest it on the trunk of an ancient tree and just listen to it whispering to her as the wind blew through its leaves.

At the time, when I was so small that I could only just barely walk without aid, my mother would tie my black hair into two pigtails, and she would dress me in the colors of the seasons. Usually, it was red and gold, because she always said I was a Fall Child. I never understood that when I was small.

Because I was an illegitimate child, and because my mother was called a witch by the villagers, their children were forbidden to play with me. Not like they would have if they had been allowed to. The village children were bred to fear three things: God, nature, and witches. My mother fell under the last two categories, and because I was her daughter, I was there with her every step of the way.

My mother would often take me with her when she went into the forest to gather the herbs she used in her potions and concoctions. My mother may have been a witch, and the villagers feared her almost as much as they feared God, but they also believed in her powers so much so that when they were sick with fever, or with love, they went to her for medicine or her charms. But only strangers ever asked to have their fortune told, and very often they were sorry they asked because most of the time it was not good news.

On one such afternoon, when the crisp fall air hung over the heads of all who passed through the mountain village where we dwelt, my mother brought me along just as she often did. She left me alone in the care of Mother Nature as she searched for the right herbs. Meadowsweet, wild thyme, rosemary; she didn't just use these for cooking our meals.

On this particular afternoon, I was only about six years old. I played with flowers and chased butterflies, always remembering my mother's warnings: "Mother Nature protects you so long as you listen to her advice." From my earliest days, my mother had been trying to teach me to hear Mother Nature's advice, but I had always told her I couldn't. I didn't want to be labeled a witch as well. I could, however, understand a lot of what Mother Nature said, though I often denied it to my mother and myself.

That afternoon, as I sat there, listening to the birds chirping and my mother singing a lullaby not far off, a small purple-winged butterfly settled on my bare toes. I giggled and laughed and wiggled my toes, causing the butterfly to flutter up into the air, and then settle down again as soon as my toes had stopped moving.

It was at that moment that I heard a growling sound coming from the trees to my left. I turned my head, and looked just past one of the trees. I was more curious than frightened, because I believed that Mother Nature would protect me. The air beyond those few trees was dark, and dismal, and reflected none of the beauty and light that penetrated the rest of the forest. And among that darkness and fog, I saw two red gleaming eyes framed by black hair. They were not the eyes of a monster - but they were not the eyes of a man.

And then, my mother was behind me. She picked my up and held me close. "Hello, Cassius," she said, looking straight into the red eyes that seemed so sad. She kissed my cheek and I wrapped my arms around her neck, burying my face in her shoulder. "Say hello, Lyra," my mother told me.

"Hello," I mumbled hiding half my face in the crook of her neck. Her black hair covered my shoulder, tickling my bare skin in a comforting way. I felt safe in her arms, no matter what. And her calmness calmed me, making me feel even more safe.

Cassius stepped forward, and I finally caught a glimpse of his pale, pockmarked face. It was pale and was covered in craters, resembling the childish idea of what the moon might look like at close range. His bony hand reached out to me, and his cold fingers gently caressed my cheek for a brief second before the hand disappeared among the fog.

A memory stirred in my mind, one I couldn't quite grasp hold of. It was faint, the edges blurry, and I closed my eyes to try and remember. Slowly the memory took shape and form, until I recalled every detail. I was two, and a strange man was holding my hand. He let go, and my mother was in front of me, smiling down at me. She took my hand, and said in a small voice I had never heard her use, "I'll take care of her, Cassius. Just promise me you'll come back."

"I promise," the scratchy, tired voice replied. I looked up at the man, and his sad red eyes gleamed in the dark. "But promise me that you'll keep her healthy and warm and safe," he added.

"I promise," she replied, and picked me up.

"Goodbye, my little songbird," the man said, and slowly faded into the darkness while I waved sadly to him.

I opened my eyes to see that same man speaking to my mother. I listened carefully, trying to put to memory every single word.

"You can see that she is well, and healthy, Cassius" my mother was saying. "Just as I promised I would keep her."

He seemed to nod, but I couldn't quite tell because my mother's hair was in my face.

"There is still time, Cassius," she whispered softly.

"No," the hoarse voice replied, sounding as though it hadn't been used in centuries. It was the same one from my memory. "The decision has been made. There is no more time to go back."

I felt my mother nod, and closed my eyes. Her skin was so warm. I lay my head against her breast and listened to the thumping of her heart. Its melody sung a lullaby to me, one that was both haunting and beautiful.

Though I was only six at the time, I understood more than I let on. And what I understood then was a distant memory of a time and place not far away, where I was loved and cherished, but also feared. I fell asleep to the melody of my mother's heartbeat, feeling for the first time, the cold fingers of fear slip around my neck like a noose.