Welcome, you’ve stumbled into The Tori Story Series. If this is your first visit to this realm you might want to catch up.

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The Tornado ripped through the the village, destroying everything in its path. It cut through Town Hall knocking down three of its four walls and ripping up its thatched roof. For fun, the Wind tossed the roof about like a rag doll before sending it on its way.

As it raced through the village it twisted and turned haphazardly, carving out ditches, cutting new roads, and leveling houses. Don’t get me wrong, there were those lucky villagers who managed to walk away from the storm with their homes completely intact. Untouched. But those were few and far between.

Most weren’t so lucky.

Did mousy Mary ever live between the Smiths and the Longhorns? Who could have known? After the storm, there wasn’t one trace of Mary’s home. Not the rocker her grandfather gave her, not the hand made table passed down for countless generations, not the clothes meticulously sewn– there was absolutely nothing left. For her, it was as if her entire life had been erased.

With others there was that bare hint.

Take the Butcher, for instance, his shop was cut right down the middle. No irony lost there. Many said it was simply karma, or Nature’s way of letting Butcher know it didn’t take too kindly to all his heartless hackings, especially since the untouched half was where he kept the cured meat hanging.

So eerie it was for the Butcher to walk the open halls of the once enclosed room. There the slabs of meat hung still, unharmed, as if not a thing had occurred.

The other half? The half that housed his chopping blocks, knives and cleavers? Well, that half was gone. It had completely dissapeared without a trace. Only, I must tell you that isn’t entirely true. Some time later he found several of his cleavers lodged in an old tree not too far from the Witch’s place.

And what of the Witch? Whatever happened to her?

Not a soul could say.

For starters they simply didn’t care, at least not at first. The devastation was so near complete that all who made it out alive were left hopeless and lost. Those lucky ones spent the next couple of years rebuilding the small community.

But once things settled down and life resumed a normal ebb and flow, rumors circulated (as rumors will) about whether or not the Witch survived. All anyone could truthfully say is that she had yet to be seen, but who tells the truth? And so the stories! Stories about the Witch swirled like… well, very much like the tornado. So much so that Tori remained a fixture in the community. Tales of the Witch who lived in the abandoned cabin three miles outside of town were forever on the tongues and ears of anyone speaking or listening.

From that day forward only the bravest dared to go and explore the haunted abandoned cabin full of spiders, potions, vile things, powerful things, and untouchable things. And if I’m honest, Andor had yet to produce anyone who was very brave. Not yet at least. Therefore, Tori’s place was pretty much left untouched.

~

The Peddler stumbled through the village with a young boy by his side.

“Mother, Mother.” Rowan called. He looked up at the Peddler, grabbed his hand and held tight. “You said she was here.” He half accused, his voice full of fear, uncertainty and concern.

Peddler squeezed back and offered Rowan a half hearted smile, then offered him a silent shrug. Himself uncertain.

“Tori.” Peddler called as the two continued to wander through the debris.

“Mother” Rowan called again.

Off in the distance they heard a faint echo.

“Mother, Mother.” A familiar voice called.

“Hunter?” Peddler asked pulling Rowan in the direction of the voice.

“Hunter!” Peddler cried out. “You’re safe. How? Where? What happened?” He was so relieved he couldn’t string together a complete coherent question. It was a great sign. If Hunter made it out alive then surely Tori too was safe. “How did you escape?”

Hunter stared blankly at the Peddler, no sign of recognition on his face.

“Have you seen my mother?” He asked a lonely tear streaming down his grimy face. When the Peddler shook his head no, Hunter choked back a sob and dropped his gaze to his blistered feet.

Rowan tugged at Peddler’s arm. “I can fix that.” He said matter-of-factly pointing to Hunter’s feet.

“Not now, Rowan.” Peddler dismissed the young boy like any seasoned adult would.

“But Peddler–” Rowan began.

“Rowan, be still” Peddler ordered cutting him off again. Then he lowered himself to the ground and looked up at Hunter “This will take a minute and might hurt a bit” He assured “but in a few days your feet will be right as rain.” Peddler began to sing.

“That song won’t work anymore.” This time Rowan interrupted dropped to his knees beside the Peddler. He ever so gently nudged the Peddler out of the way. It wasn’t at all forceful, just a humble yet confident gesture. “Here let me.”

“What do you mean ‘won’t work’?” Peddler sighed staring crossly at the boy. “It’s been working since the beginning of time.” He puffed, shaking his head.

Rowan ignored him. Instead, he took both Hunter’s feet in his hands. At first touch, the nasty blisters slid off. When Rowan began to hum softly, the blaring red sores immediately turned a faded shade of pink.

Soon, no trace of the previous hurt and pain existed.

“There” Rowan said looking up at Hunter. “All better.”

And it was.

Then Rowan turned to face the Peddler.

The Peddler simply stared at Rowan. His face held an expression of utter disbelief. “How—?”

Rowan smiled. “Maybe it’s time for a new beginning.”

~

Dearest,

This concludes the first portion of The Tori Story. I know you are curious about Tori. Truly, I am pleased to say that yes, indeed she is alive and well. I just don’t know where she is at this very moment.

I hold out hope that she and Rowan will soon be united, but we will have to wait and see.

In the meantime, I will pause the telling of the tale for time as I travel (at Rowan’s request) through a few dimensions in search of Tori.

Until I return, many happy trails ahead.