Not Their Land, Not Their Kind
When folks immigrated from the Old World to the New it was only natural that, due to the power of belief and curiosity, some of the Gentry went as well. They found the wilds, untouched and untamed, of this strange new world perfect for their homes and laid claim to whatever they pleased.
They had not counted on the land already belonging to those who saw them as not but invading parasites.
To the west the birds of thunder and the flesh eaters with an eternal hunger ruled.
To the south the creatures of the lakes, water panthers and monsters of the deep, were kings.
To the east the savage spirits of the trees and vengeance held sway.
And in the frozen lands of the north, a giant wolf devoured any, human or Gentry, foolish enough to challenge him.
When a girl came from the eastern shores of that strange land to Elsewhere, she came with the knowledge passed from an Irish grandmother. She came with respect for the crows and the good sense to keep her gaze down and to avoid certain places that hummed with unseen force. She wore no iron. Carried no salt. She bore no trinkets or charms of protection. And yet she walked freely as only a few could.
The Gentry kept their distance from the girl with mismatched shoes and an Irish lilt to her words. This Canadian girl with Old World blood from a land where the Gentry had not been welcome.
For she did not come alone.
One of them, those ancient spirits who had refused to bow, who had refused to give up what was rightly theirs to invaders, had come with her. And, when it looked at the Gentry, it looked hungry.