He crept around the foot of the hill, his senses alert to movement, to sound, and to smell. Several times, a squirrel or a bird startled him, but the adrenalin pulsing through his veins only made him more alert, more sensitive to his surroundings.
Eventually, he came across a ramshackle cottage of grey, weathered wood streaked with green. Most of it was off the ground, on wooden stilts. The roof was covered in moss and leaf litter, and ivy grew all over one side. It had a single door and a chimney, but no windows, which would make it easier for him to sneak closer to the building. There was no porch or veranda, and the steps were no more than a series of rocks graded from large to small. He had no way of knowing whether the hag was inside or not, and couldn’t risk alerting her to his presence. What to do, he wondered, and almost immediately hit upon a solution. Whether she was inside or wandering about outside, there was only one path to and from the door.