Page 4 of The Wild Hunt

I thank her again, my heart full of gratitude. As she heads for the door, she turns back as though remembering something. "Just be careful if the weather turns; we might have some storms this week, so stay away from the cliffs during those."

With that, she bids me farewell and steps out into the cool afternoon air. I stand for a moment, letting the quiet wash over me. The scenery is surreal, somehow bringing peace to my very being.

Dragging my suitcase toward the bedroom, I appreciate the simple charm of the space. The room feels lived-in yet welcoming, as if it’s been waiting for someone to fill it. Unpacking my clothes, I carefully place them in the drawers and hang a few garments in the small cupboard. The act of settlingin grounds me, making this place feel more like my own, even if only for a week.

With everything neatly put away, I return to the main room and set my art supplies on the little table near the window. I take out my sketchbook, cameras, and pencils, arranging them beside the art supplies.

Before settling down, I wander into the kitchen. The thought of the fresh bread Bridget mentioned makes me smile, but I’ll save it for the morning. I fill the kettle, set it to boil, and prepare some coffee. As the kettle hums, I find a plain, slightly chipped mug, adding to the cottage’s rustic charm.

The first sip of the dark brew warms me from the inside out. I carry the mug to the little table, easing into the chair, and gaze out at the view. The light dances across the waves, casting silver reflections like stars in daylight.

As I sip my drink, my mind drifts to the colors I might capture on paper during my stay—the blues and greens of the ocean, the warm golden hues of the setting sun, and the deep, dramatic shadows cast by the cliffs.

Itching to create something, I set my empty mug to the side as I think about the forest behind the cottage and the village of Ennisvarra beyond. The ocean view is breathtaking, but the dense greenery sparks my curiosity. Just like home, some of the leaves were turning, going through the cycles from greens to red and orange for fall.

What inspiration might the trees and flowers offer? I grab my jacket and slip it on, stepping out of the cottage and into another kind of fairytale. I nearly expect a bird to land on my shoulder because that’s exactly what this feels like.

The soft sounds of nature—birds singing, leaves rustling, and the distant murmur of the ocean—greet me. I follow the narrow path from the back of the cottage into the forest, the groundtransitioning from sandy soil to a carpet of pine needles and fallen leaves.

The trees stand tall and proud, their branches forming a canopy overhead that filters the sunlight into dappled patches on the ground. The air is cooler, tinged with the scent of pine and earth, as if I’ve stepped into another world—older and wilder.

As I walk, I let my senses take in everything—the way the light changes the colors around me, the texture of the bark beneath my fingertips, the sounds of unseen creatures moving through the underbrush.

My thoughts drift to the art supplies waiting back at the cottage, imagining the scenes I might create from this walk. Perhaps a series of sketches capturing the forest’s moods, or a painting that blends the forest with the cliffs and sea. I’ll need to bring my camera tomorrow to capture some details for accuracy.

The path eventually opens up, revealing a glimpse of Ennisvarra through the trees. It’s small and quaint, with stone cottages and narrow streets that curve naturally with the landscape. I make my way down to the village, thinking about visiting the little store to stock up on a few essentials—fresh produce, maybe some cheese, and perhaps a bottle of wine.

The cobblestone streets and stone cottages exude an old-world charm, and it feels like I've stepped back in time. The village is quiet, with only a few people out and about, but there's a warm, inviting energy that puts me at ease.

I spot the small building with a wooden sign that reads "Briar's General Store." The windows are lined with jars of preserves and woven baskets filled with fruits and vegetables. I push open the door, and a little bell jingles overhead.

The interior of the store is homey, with shelves packed with all sorts of goods—everything from fresh produce to handmade crafts. The air is scented with the earthy aroma of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling. A woman, likely in her late forties,stands behind the counter, her dark hair streaked with gray and pulled back into a neat bun. She looks up as I enter, her eyes warm and welcoming.

"Hello there," she greets me with a friendly smile. "You must be the new visitor staying up at Bridget's cottage. Word travels fast around here."

I nod, returning her smile. "Yes, that's me. I'm Mac."

"Welcome to Briar's General Store, Mac. I'm Maeve, and this here is my son, Liam," she says, gesturing to a young man stocking shelves nearby. He looks up and waves, his smile just as welcoming as his mother's.

He looks like he is in his early twenties, with tousled brown hair and a lanky build. There's a lightness in his expression that suggests he's always ready with a joke or a kind word.

They look like nice friendly people, and there is nothing inside me that feels like they aren’t.

"Nice to meet you," Liam says, stepping forward. "If you need help finding anything, just let us know."

"Thank you, I will," I reply. Liam smiles at me before getting back to the shelves, and I take in everything new. Visiting another country always seemed so intimidating to me, but at least here we speak the same language. I can read all the labels, and even though some things are different, a lot is the same.

I take my time browsing, selecting a few items that catch my eye—plump, juicy apples, a jar of local honey that I know will be heaven on the fresh bread, and a small wheel of cheese wrapped in wax paper. As I move toward the back of the store, I find a selection of wines, most of them from nearby vineyards. I choose a bottle with a label that boasts a picturesque vineyard and promises notes of berry and oak.

Maeve watches as I place my items on the counter. "You've picked some of our finest," she says with a nod of approval. "Thatwine comes from a family-owned vineyard just a few miles from here. Perfect for a cozy evening in."

As she rings up my purchases, she continues, "If you're planning on staying for a while, be sure to stop by our little market on Saturday mornings. We have fresh produce, baked goods, and sometimes even handmade crafts from the locals."

"I'll definitely check it out," I say, handing over the money. "I’m looking forward to exploring the area."

"We're glad to have you here," Liam chimes in, as he helps bag my items. "This village is small, but it has its charms. If you need any recommendations, just ask. We all know the best spots around here."

"Thank you, Liam. I’ll keep that in mind," I say, feeling more at home with each passing moment.

---