Sarah Williams stared out at the misty, rolling hills outside the small cabin. She never got tired of the view from her maternal grandmother's home in Ireland, where she was right then. Just to look out the window was like to look across an ancient and magical place.

The cabin itself was quaint, a single story made of rough stones pulled from the earth generations ago. There was a small loft over the living spaces, which her grandmother had made into a reading nook when she was a child. There were a few "modern updates", a wind catcher, to help power the place, a pump in the well, so there was running water. Modern appliances, because her grandmother had been too old to worry about washing dishes or laundry for about 20 years - and those were her grandmother's words, not her own.

The woman, herself, looked small, frail, in ways she hadn't 20 years ago, when Sarah had last been able to visit. But grandmammy Rhiannon still had sharp eyes, sharp ears and a sharper tongue.

The doctor that visited every day said her grandmother was 'ailing'. The reality was that the almost 100 year old woman was dying, and both she and Rhiannon knew it.

It was, after all, why she was there. The old woman had first tried to call her children home. When none of them responded, she called to her grandchildren. When she'd gotten the call, her father had paid for her tickets, updated her passport, and got her on the next available plane.

Sarah was the only one to answer.

The others were too busy with their own lives, couldn't afford the trip, or a million other reasons. Even her own mother couldn't - she'd been in an accident only a month before, and was still hospitalized. Sarah wasn't making excuses for them. She'd been in a position where she could drop what she was doing, where she had someone who could afford to buy the tickets for her. If she'd been on her own, hadn't had her father to lean on, she wouldn't have been able to come here, either.

It wasn't anything dramatic like cancer or organ failure. It was just old age catching up.

It was hard, seeing the once vital and energetic woman fading away. When she'd been a child, her grandmother would take her on long, rambling walks over the countryside. The summer visits she'd made with her mother before her father and mother divorced were glorious.

She was given free reign to roam the Irish countryside as she wished, as long as she didn't cross that stream that wound through the property. There were summers of games, of laughter, of joy and fun.

This time, she didn't get to wander as she had as a child. She wouldn't leave her grandmother alone often. She'd set a limit to herself, she wouldn't leave the older woman's side for more than fifteen minutes. She got their groceries delivered, doctors and nurses came almost daily to check on her, to make sure that she was properly caring for her grandmother.

Still, she longed for that damp grass under her feet, that mist around her. It made her feel like she was in another world. A world she hadn't gotten a chance to see since she was a teenager. Her grandmother knew that. It was probably why the stubborn old woman was looking so cross.

"Child," Rhiannon said, her voice short. "Whenever I end up going, it will be exactly when I'm intended to go, whether you're here or not." She adjusted the knitted lace shawl that rested around her shoulders. "Go. Be with the land. Death hasn't gotten so close that you need to sit around waiting for him."

Sarah blinked, looking at her grandmother. "Grandmammy Rhi?"

The old woman gave her a soft smile, one filled with understanding. "You love the old country, Sarah. That's always been true. I suspected, out of all my children and grandchildren, you'd be the one to return. Take some time out there. I know you've missed it."

Guilt, and some shame, filled Sarah. She got to her feet, taking her grandmother's hands, giving her a kiss on her wrinkled cheek. "You always did see through me."

"Just remember to stay on this side of the river, child."

She smiled, and nodded her head. "I always have. I'll be back, soon."

She got up to leave, making sure that her grandmother had a snack, a drink, and a book before she headed to the door. She took a light jacket, pulled the hood up over her head as she headed outside. The air was cool from the mist, her pant hem immediately growing damp from the drops of water that clung to the grass.

The front of the house had a modest garden walled with gorse hedge. An arch was created by the weaving of the branches of two ash trees that grew between the two hedges. Her grandmother told her it had taken some time bending young branches each year into a suitable arch. The stones that led to her cabin from that archway were black tourmaline, and shone even when it was dry and dusty outside. On the sides of the tourmaline path were beds of red verbena and daisies that her grandmother tended to this day. There was a rowan tree growing at one of the corners, with a small water feature beneath it. The pond was lined with beautiful blue stones. Lapis lazuli, her grandmother had told her. Around the outside edge was a bed of clovers, three and four leaf, that scented the air lightly.

Her grandmother had explained to her, years ago, that the house and the land it sat on was old, had been in the family for generations, and only passed to the women. It had been built to protect their family from the dangers of this world and the world beyond the veil. Because of how old the place was, the protections had always been strong.

Beyond those protections, there were typical garden flowers. Morning glories and moonflowers, roses and peonies. Hyacinths and lavender. Above the door to the house was a symbol that she'd helped her grandmother weave as a child. A "Brigid's Cross", four pointed and woven from reeds. She knew on the other side of the door was a hag stone, something that prevented faeries from passing beneath.

She had a sneaking suspicion that the women on that side of her family were hiding something from the men and the children. There was no other reason for that much protection on a cabin out in the middle of nowhere. Even if the house was almost three hundred years old. Still, as Sarah left, she respected the rules of the house. She hung the key to the house on an iron peg that stuck out of the arch way, letting the hag stone that served as a key ring dangle down.

She walked from the garden, looking out over the moore, at the rolling hills that led down to the riverside. She took the ash branch that stood against the hedge, using it as a walking stick and to test her footing.

Rhiannon was right. She'd loved being here since she was a child. The only place that could even come close back home was the park near her father's home. The air here seemed to tremble with promise, and she always felt that if she looked out the corner of her eyes, she'd see faeries or some ancient creature standing and looking at her.

She smiled a bit at the silly childishness of the thought.

Dreams of a more innocent time for her, she supposed.

Memories from when she'd faced against a king and won.

She stooped, picking up a stone she found on the ground, with a little hole worn through from erosion and she smiled, slipping the stone into her pocket. It was about the right size as a worry stone, she decided, and kept her hand around it, thumb brushing the hollow in the middle of it, even as she continued her walk.

It felt like no time at all, before she was standing on the bank of that stream, looking across. The other side was wild and untamed, trees springing up half way down the hill. She'd always been curious about what was on the other side, but she always took her grandmother's warnings to heart. Even as an adult.

Particularly since today it felt like the other side was just a little too wild to be a place intended for humans to tread. She took the small hag stone she'd found from her pocket, looking across into that wild wood, her fingers stroking the smooth, worn surface of it.

She wasn't certain how long she'd been staring, but she snapped out of it when there was a splash in the stream near enough to her that her pants got wet. She stepped back, taking a sharp breath, and realized she'd stepped into the stream.

She shook herself, turning and hurrying back to her grandmother's cabin. The strange feeling that she was being watched didn't ease until after she passed under the ashwood archway leading into her grandmother's garden. She paused there, looking back, and for a moment, she got that feeling of something in the corner of her eyes. Like something was right there.

She had a strange feeling, almost like a memory from when she was standing down by the water. Like a hand on her elbow, stopping her as she stepped into the water.

Taking a shaking breath, she set the ash stick inside the garden, grabbing the key from over the archway and heading into the house with haste that had more to do with fear than with worry.

When she pushed the door closed behind herself, her grandmother was standing there, her expression tense and serious. When she spoke, Sarah's blood ran cold.

"It's getting closer, now." The old woman's sharp green eyes focused on her. "I can't hide forever, I suppose."