Spring, Week 8 - Meeting the Mayor

To hear the narration and the explanation of how I put the episode together, check out the video:

*****

 "Good morning. Sleep well?"

I have to admit that I love to linger in bed in the morning, to have daylight move from soft pink glow to bright white that pours in through the window. There's a warmth, a peace, a serenity that exits early in the day, the quality of which is unmatched at any other time. And stretched out in bed, relaxed, with all the cares of the world not knocking on my door or tapping me on the shoulder - it's heaven. So for my eyes to report a very bleary yet very alert familiar sitting on my chest, eyes bright and whiskers twitching away, wasn't welcome. But I wasn't awake enough to complain. Much.

"Whazzy?" I also managed to stretch and yawn in accompaniment to my brilliant question.

MouseEye stayed firmly fixed as I made motions to get up. "Have you checked in on Fen lately?"

I stopped stretching and was insta-awake. "What? Is he ok?"

"Mmm hmm. But you should check on him." There was still this energy, this eagerness, that MouseEye was annoyingly radiating. 

"Ok... so if it's not an emergency, I think I'll take my time, eat some breakfast, then walk over."

"Must you?"

I closed my eyes, took a breath, counted to ten, then tried again. "How about if I skip my pleasant, start-of-the-day activities and instead walk over to check on Fen."

"Great idea! I'll see you there!" And with that, he leapt off of me and landed... not in the cottage. *sigh* I don't know if I'll ever get used to his disappearing trick.

Since I was essentially being rushed out to check in on Fen in a non-emergency situation, I tossed on a nightshirt, slipped on some shoes, and headed for Fen's place.

Fen, the Fentoad who'd come home with me after a bog goblin attack, had settled in nicely next to the little stream where I gather water. A huge tree grows there, creating shade under its huge canopy. I can see myself spending a lot of time there during the heat of summer.

The net result was that I would collect water from there and would sometimes see Fen. I hadn't seen him for a couple of days, so my level of concern was high, despite MouseEye's assurance that nothing was amiss with him.

It's a relaxing short walk to the stream and tree - a couple of minutes most days. Today's trip was shorter because I was walking quickly. As I approached, I started calling Fen's name, hoping he'd hop out and let me know everything was ok.

I called.

Fen hopped out.

I smiled in relief.

Fen looked up into the tree.

I followed his gaze.

My jaw dropped.

MouseEye appeared in the tree with a big grin. Then disappeared again. But far from laughing with him, I was busy picking my jaw up off the ground.

You see... on a large bough, and leaning against the trunk, sat a man. An older man. A quite large older man. A half-naked (in only underthings), quite large, older man. Snoring.

A bewildering array of questions began to demand access to my now quite alert thinking apparatus. Who is he? Why is he here? Why are his shirt and trousers lying on the ground? And how did he get up there? I mean... it'd be hard for me to climb up there, so how...?

I approached. Slowly. Cautiously. "Hello? Sir? Hellooooo!" Then I stepped back a few paces.

I watched as he woke up. He somehow simultaneously nearly lost his balance, cradled his head, and made as if he was going to be sick. "Oooooh, my head.", he groaned. I called up again. "Hello, sir!"

"Please, not so loud. I'm... ooooohhhh..."

"Are you unwell?"

"It's only that I feel like death. And... where am I?"

I told him. He nodded, then leaned his head back against the tree again.

"Did you eat or drink something that didn't agree with you?"

"Eat? No. Drink? I don't think I had that much last night..."

Ok - make that a very hungover, half-naked, quite large, older man. "Sir? Let me see what I have in the cottage for hangovers. I'll be back in a minute."

He just groaned again.

As I made my way to the cottage, MouseEye reappeared on my shoulder, laughing. I don't understand why someone suffering from a hangover can be seen as so funny to some. So I asked him. He shrugged. "It's... well... it's funny."

"How are we going to get him down from there? Because him falling and possibly breaking a bone won't be funny at all."

MouseEye just laughed again. "We? I'm not sure how a mouse is supposed to be of help with this issue."

"I was hoping you'd have an idea for getting him down. I wasn't suggesting you sling him over your shoulder and bodily carry him down."

MouseEye shrugged. "He got up there. I'm sure he can get down. Just like a cat can, you know?"

As we'd been talking, I'd looked up hangovers in the old witch's book. Crow Coal - the first reagent I'd ever picked up, was perfect. I brewed up two cups of tea, added crushed Crow Coal into one, and headed back.

The man was still in the tree.

"Sir", I called up, "I've got a remedy for your hangover here. But you're going to have to get yourself down from there."

"I have no idea how I got up here, but I suppose if I managed it, I can get myself down. Stand clear." I watched as he manoeuvred himself one way, then the other, then stopped. "It might be easier if I had my clothes. The bark is sure to hurt otherwise."

I tossed up his clothes. They were relatively clean but did stink of smoke and drink. As he struggled to put them on, I asked, "Why did you take your clothes off last night?"

"I don't remember taking them off. But I can only guess I worked up a sweat getting up here. I'm glad to have them now - it's quite chilly." 

Whether the chill was from the coolness of the stream or another symptom of the hangover, I wasn't sure. But it was good to see that he managed to dress himself, more or less. That could only help to make him more comfortable and pad against injuries from his disembarking from the branch.

He took a minute to rest, then tried getting down again. It was awkward and probably not the way he got up there, but a bit of effort and a bunch of gravity did the trick. I should add that it was good he was wearing clothes - the scrapes he would've gotten, in rather delicate places, would've hurt something fierce.

After his pseudo-fall, he just lay there, groaning. While I felt for him, it was also difficult to feel too badly for him - he was the one who'd gotten drunk, wandered onto my property, climbed the tree, and spent the night there underdressed. So after waiting for what I thought was an adequate amount of time, I strode over and handed him his "enriched" tea.

He took a sip, made a face, then set it aside. "Gah! What's that taste? Don't you have any wine? Beer? Something that doesn't taste like ashes?"

Now... I knew I had honey at my disposal but I opted not to use it. Instead, I just told him that the only way the potion would work was if he downed it all in one go. He made a face at me, grimaced at the cup, clearly contemplated deliberately spilling it, then held his nose and downed it. I sipped my tea as the medicinal one worked its healing magic.

As I continued to sip, his groaning stopped and his body uncoiled, no longer trying to hold itself still. I still hadn't finished my cup by the time he was standing upright, looking far less gray, and not in imminent danger of vomiting. In fact, he looked at the stream almost eagerly. "Would you mind if I...?" He gestured towards the water.

I shrugged. "Come to the cottage when you're done. I'll have a warm towel ready so you can dry off."

As I carried the empty cups back home, I heard the telltale splashing of someone bathing. Knowing my latest patient was occupied, I looked for (and found) MouseEye, who jumped from a low-hanging branch onto my shoulder. "Do you know who that is?"

"Mmm hmm."

"Care to share?"

"Mmm... no."

"And may I know why you won't share?"

"Mmm... no."

Sometimes I wonder what life would've been like if our roles were reversed, with me as the familiar and MouseEye as the witch. Would I find as much pleasure in withholding information as a certain rodent finds it? But since something like that happening was about as likely as a tree growing upside down, I don't usually dwell on the thought. But today was an unusual day.

I got a towel heated, as promised, and then puttered about until my mystery patient arrived to warm up. It didn't take long for him to arrive - the stream runs cold. And eventually he was sitting in front of the fire, bundled, and finally in a condition where he was ready to talk.

I decided to start off. "I'm..."

"Mistress Sweetwater, the current witch and occupant of this witch's cottage. Although that wasn't the name you used when first you were enrolled in the Herbology School." He looked at me, watching to see how I'd react to his knowing all that about me. I managed to not react.

"You have the advantage of me. Please tell me who you are."

He sat up straighter, trying to look more impressive. "I'm the Lord Mayor of High Rannoc."

Now things were starting to strike me as funny. The Lord Mayor of High Rannoc was sitting in front of my fire, steam gently rising from his head, wrapped in a towel. I started giggling.

"What is so funny, young lady? I'm a highly respected figure in this community! Whereas you - I've heard a thing or two about you!"

That stopped the giggles and brought out the outrage. "What was funny was seeing you, the Lord Mayor, warming yourself in front of my fire after washing off the last of last night's excess. What is no longer funny is you threatening me in my home, particularly after brewing you a potion. So now, if the Lord Mayor would deign to pay the witch the twenty silver due, he may then leave."

He didn't seem to hear me. "Madam Wintergleam says you lack discipline and decorum, that you lack the character needed to be a witch..."

"How would she know what's needed? All those students are trapped inside the School's walls!"

"... to the degree that you assaulted a current student of the School, nearly piercing his... uhh... tender bit..."

"In self-defence after he assaulted me!"

"... and, from what I've seen, you lack the requisite requirements to inhabit this cottage..."

"So who's trying to toss me out?"

"... I think I'll grant the doctor his request to take over here and turn it into a health-retreat centre."

"The doctor. Of course."

Things got awfully quiet at that point. I was ready to do something... something... I had no idea what I was ready to do, but the one thing I wasn't going to do was back down. For his part, he... he wasn't angry. Or even emotional. He was just watching for me to do or say something stupid. Like cry. Or beg. Neither was going to happen,

"Ahem." We both turned towards the mantlepiece. MouseEye was standing on his hind feet. "I do believe, Oliver Chutney..."

"Lord Mayor of High Rannoc.", said the Lord Mayor of High Rannoc.

"... that you are currently sitting, cured of your hangover, inside a cottage that was deeded to itself. Meaning you have no authority to do anything to my Mistress, this residence, or these grounds. Further, while you can cherry pick opinions that aren't favourable to my Mistress, I think you'll find that the only opinion here concerning you is currently quite negative. And if it were revealed just how inebriated you were last night, how hungover you were this morning, and that you spat upon the current witch's hospitality, care, and cure, I think you'll lose what little respect people have for you. And trust me when I say I'll make sure that becomes the talk of the town."

It got quiet again. I tried my best to not tear up as MouseEye defended me. Instead, I just stood upright, haughty even, with a small grin on my face.

"I take it this is Mortimer? I believe there's more to the elaborate name that Madam Hightower's domestic..."

"Francie", I supplied.

"... couldn't quite remember."

MouseEye bowed.

Oliver looked back and forth at MouseEye and I. "You're quite the formidable pair. And yes, I've heard good things too. So how about this - we don't talk about my whereabouts or condition over the last twenty-four hours and I'll leave you in peace and allow you to do your work as you see fit."

I translated his offer in my head. He'll give me what I already have in exchange for maintaining patient confidentiality, which he already has? I shot a questioning look at MouseEye with a small shrug of acceptance. He did the same back.

"Accepted. But you will pay for that hangover cure before you leave."

He raised his hands in surrender, then one sought out his money pouch. As the coins were placed on the table, the Mayor said, "I'm glad High Rannoc has a strong and knowledgable witch. And, frankly, quite scary when riled. I trust you'll remember our agreement?"

I simply nodded.

He nodded back. "Good day to you. Mistress. Mortimer." And he left.

I waited impatiently for ten minutes to pass before the primal scream that'd been brewing was allowed out. While there were words of rage and frustration in there, mostly it was just white-hot pure emotion that poured forth. That felt good to just let it release! And after a wash in the cold stream and then a thaw in front of the fire, I felt... renewed. Still angry, but fresh and capable and strong. And then I found MouseEye, got him into the palm of my hand, and kissed his head.

He blushed, I think!

"So... ummm... what else shall we do today?", he asked.

I needed to work out my frustrations with more than just one good lungful of vocal release. I needed a walk - no - more than that. I needed full body exertion. I needed some time out in nature. And if it meant I could gather a reagent or two, I'd take that as part of the package deal.

I needed to spend some time with Miss Bogfire in Blastfire Bog. At the very least I could replenish my Crow Coal. 

Crow Coal. The first reagent I'd ever gathered had just been used. Gosh - that was a trigger to some self-reflection! The me of eight weeks ago had gathered something, having no clue that the me of today would use it as a hangover remedy. Funny how that worked out.

I rushed through the remaining bits of my morning routine so that I could be gone for as long as I could manage. Or at least for as long as I wanted. Who knows - the me of an hour from now might be very ready to come back to the cottage!

As we walked to Cunk's Landing - my name for the dock next to the industrious bog goblin who made, not just Miss Bogfire, but all of her watercraft siblings - I wondered how MouseEye had known so much about the legal status of the cottage and the current political climate for the mayor. I knew if I asked I'd be told that he watches. I guess what I really wanted to know is not so much what he watches but how he does. How can he know about things that he, presumably, wasn't here for.

What else has he watched? Or... correction to that last question... what else does he know? Does he know about my life prior to being a witch? Does he know about the old witch? Does he know Pip?

I suppose as time and tide dictate, I'll find out. Or not!

The walk to the Bog did me good. My head was clearer, my body warmed up and ready to go for a paddle, and my sense of adventure was prepped to head out and explore.

Cunk too was in a good mood when I arrived at the dock. "Ha! You here! Good day! Sun here! Fish jump! Good day!" Together we put my coracle in the water. As I paddled down a channel, Cunk waved before setting to work again.

Trusting that MouseEye could direct me home, I just went where my mood sent me - through wide open channels one minute, then down nearly choked off passages the next. It was maybe a couple of hours before I decided that I needed a bit of a break and headed for a piece of dry land dominated by a tall tree. The shade was super inviting! 

Pulling my boat up and securing it to the huge trunk ensured my boat - and my only way back home (absent a very mucky and long swim) was secure. I laid back, watched the clouds, and enjoyed the peace and quiet.

I breathed in the sun and breathed out anger. I breathed in serenity and breathed out disquiet. I breathed in light and breathed out grey smoke. Not literally, of course! In all of this, I may have dozed off. Probably dozed off. I... dozed off. MouseEye says I snored loud enough to prevent anyone else from catching a few zzz's. 

What finally brought me out of my revery was the cawing of crows who'd just flown onto a branch of the tree. When I looked up at them, I spotted the nest I'd missed seeing before now. This might be a chance to get some coal!

Unlike the last time when I'd been lucky enough to spy some on the ground, this time I was going to have to negotiate with these birds. The thing to know about crows is that they are some of the most obnoxious and rude birds around. The only reason harpies have the rotten reputation that they do is that they speak human. Crows don't bother speaking in any other language but their own and can still leave you feeling massively insulted.

I managed to climb up to a level where I could converse with the birds and did my best to ask for some of their crow coal. I offered to do a trade. I said I could recite poetry or sing a song. I...

They started cawing viciously. There was no physical threat, but did they let me have it verbally. I'd guarded against exactly this, but still, some words, some feelings, got through. Whoever it was that said that sticks and stones can break bones but words can't hurt you never met crows.

I did eventually get the coal because a crow, in frustration at my not leaving, flung it at me. Correction - towards me. If it'd been at me, it might've been ok. I could've caught it or somehow trapped it with my body. But the throw was only roughly in my direction. In my excitement of trying to catch it (which I did - yay me), I over-leaned and fell off the branch.

Luck was with me in that I fell onto a soft landing spot - a rotting soft log that kept me from landing heavily on the ground. The giant puff of mushroom spores that erupted out of the log was like a fog. And I breathed in a giant lungful.

Of a sudden, I was both myself and yet something more. I suppose I became a part of the mushroom network, seeing and feeling and knowing things about the Bog that I had no other way of knowing. I sensed individual plants growing, troops of ants bringing home food from distant lands along well-worn tracks, roots seeking water and nutrients and the pumping of vital fluids along stalks, branches, and trunks. I was a part of the Bog and it was a part of me. Harmonized being. Oneness. Totality. 

Somewhere in all that, I felt a gentle yet insistent tapping on my right cheek. "Sweet? We need to get moving. It's getting late."

I opened my eyes and met the concerned look of MouseEye. "Are you ok?"

I took a deep breath, then remembered what happened on my last deep breath. MouseEye seemed to know my concern. "It's safe. I think you've made sure that there won't be any new mushrooms anywhere near here. A kilometre or two away? Yes. But not here." He smiled as he said it. I believe it was a smile of relief.

Broken pictures of the vision I'd had kept forcing their way into my consciousness. I started to get up, perhaps too quickly. "Take your time. You're awake and that's good. But take a minute before we do anything else."

I forced myself to take that needed minute, but I wasn't happy doing it. I felt the need to move. I had to move. There were things I wanted to do, needed to do, before I lost all memory of what I'd seen.

Going to Miss Bogfire, I untied her, jumped in, and started to get ready to paddle. "I'd offer to get us home, but, you know..." MouseEye held up his little mouse arms and flexed his paws.

"It's ok. I know where I'm going." And we set off. Deeper into the bog.

"Ummm... home's that way." MouseEye pointed to a channel I wasn't going to go down.

"Yup. I know. But we're going this way." I paddled with what felt like the strength of ten strong men.

"Okay?" MouseEye started to nervously flit around on the boat, looking this way and that, clearly unsure of what I was up to. To be honest, I wasn't sure of what I was doing either. I just felt the need to paddle. The coracle seemed to know the way.

We headed deeper and deeper into the bog until we nearly reached a place where Bog and Glimmerwood Grove met. I hopped out, almost forgot to tie off the line, then sprinted towards a grove of oak trees.

MouseEye got there first. "Here's some Shieldcap. Although why we needed to come all the way here I'm sure I don't know." I ignored him and swept passed. I wouldn't talk. I knew what I was looking for was close. It took a few minutes of digging through undergrowth to pull out my prize: Amethyst Antlers. It was a huge rack. The ancient deer that dropped these must have been magnificent. 

MouseEye just gasped. "How did...? I mean... whaa...?"

I heard him stammer his questions but I couldn't answer. The feeling of another reagent somewhere else in the bog was calling to me; answering MouseEye's questions would've broken the spell. I just hauled the antlers into the coracle and made ready to paddle. What vision of the here and now I had showed me MouseEye still standing by the Shieldcaps, arms crossed, muttering to himself. I couldn't wait but didn't want to leave him behind so I jumped out, grabbed semi-blindly at both my confused familiar and the mushrooms (I somehow grabbed both), raced back to the boat, and we headed off again.

"Where are we headed now...?" Looking back, I've never heard MouseEye sound so uncertain. It would've been hysterical if I hadn't been so focused on the next destination. All I could manage was a quick shake of the head, asking that questions be held until the appropriate Q&A period. Which wasn't now.

I paddled, the coracle steered, the sun set.

I paddled, the coracle steered, the night deepened. 

I paddled, the coracle landed on a bit of land, the shadows cast by the rising moon shaped the darkness into fuzzy blobs of midnight outlined by silvery glints of dew covered foliage.

I stumbled out and pretty much beelined towards a large tree. I sloshed and splashed, heedless of what was in my way, whether plant, animal, or water channel (thankfully nothing too deep - although I did go waist-high on one step). While I didn't know what they were called then, I now know they were Gronblut Limpets. And within their thick shells (which were open to allow the moonlight in) sat Midnight Morsels. I scooped some out, stored them in my kit, and then felt the raging fire of need and motivation drain out of me. I was exhausted, trembling, absolutely knackered. 

MouseEye appeared on my shoulder and to his credit talked me back to Miss Bogfire (even leading me down a much better path that involved a lot less immersion!)

At the boat, I was a mess. I wanted to go home but didn't have the strength to even attempt it. MouseEye talked me though getting into the coracle and pushing off. I more or less collapsed into the bottom of the boat. "You sleep. We'll be fine. I'll keep watch.", I remember hearing him say. 

And then... I think I was dreaming. Or maybe it was more than a dream. It started with me in my cottage (it's still a bit strange to claim ownership of it), sitting in front of the fire with the spirit house sitting on the mantlepiece. And as I watched, the spirit house got closer and closer, bigger and bigger, until I was in it, through it... and looking out the other side. At the inside of a cottage that looked a bit like mine, but wasn't. And a girl, my age, maybe, but not me, talking to three ducks (named Mabel, Judy, and Julie). As I looked closer, I saw a familiar mousey-face peer our from a pocket in her clothes, holding a chocolate chip cookie. I gasped, which drew the attention of a small owl who, with a flick of her wing, I felt rather than heard a SNAP. My vision swam for a minute but then I saw yet another similar cottage and yet another witch and yet another setting. And then another. And then another. And another. They began to blur and speed past me, cottages and witches and familiars, all both somewhat familiar but also rather strange.

I awoke with a whimper. My body ached, my head felt woozy, and my nose began informing me that we were still deep in the bog.

"Welcome back." MouseEye's look of concern helped warm my heart. "I'm guessing those mushroom spores did a number on you."

I nodded, stretched, yawned. 

"Are you feeling ok?"

I nodded again, then mumbled, "Yeah", then, "I think I'm ready to get us home, if you're up to navigating."

"Ready, willing, and able, Captain."

And thus began the slow and careful trip home in the dark. As I paddled, I figured a bit of conversation would help the time pass. So I told MouseEye about what I'd felt and seen since being dosed with mushroom spores. MouseEye listened politely, asked questions here and there.

When I asked him about his eating what I presumed was one of Pip's chocolate chip cookies, he got a bit quiet. And when I asked him to share with his favourite witch the next time he went there (and certainly not expecting any sort of answer because it had been just a dream, right?) he actually blushed in embarrassment before giving me an abashed, "Must I?"

Also Spring, Week 7 - MouseEye's Adventure

To listen to the narration and hear how I put the episode together, click the video link below:

*****

 I have to admit, I'm not quite sure how to talk about what I just found out. I'm not quite sure who I can tell! I want to tell someone, but it's... have you ever had something that you wanted to say and that it makes perfect sense when you tell someone face-to-face but it just loses its punch when it's written down? Well, I have. I want to tell someone but there's no one here to tell (because I have, apparently, a very discriminating social presence. Meaning I'm pretty much left alone/avoided unless, of course, there's a potion involved).

Which is why I'm sitting here, at my small desk in the cottage, chewing on the end of my pencil, thinking about what to write in a letter to Pip. Of all the people I know, I think she's the only one who'll appreciate the story. But that brings me back to wanting to tell the story face-to-face, maybe in a bit of a gossip session. Not that anyone gossips anymore! Oh no. It's all Speaking Truth and Airing Things Out and Spilling Tea. But it's not gossip!

Ok - I think what I'll do is relate the story on some paper here and if I feel like it comes across ok there, I'll send it to Pip so she can be just as amazed as I am.

Now to compose my letter.

Dear Pip,

Hi! How are you? How's everything in your neck of the Here Yet Not Here?

You won't believe what happened! (Oh, sorry - I'm supposed to wait for you to answer the questions and I'm supposed to listen and nod and pretend I'm not about to burst to tell you what I want to tell you. So pretend I did!) But I think in order to really appreciate the story, you need a clearer picture of life here than what I've provided before.

I live in a small cottage with Pop (she's lightfull, by the way. And I do mean "light-full". She's like my own private floating light source, like a very small sun, but with an automatic dimmer. And no heat aside from her gentle warmth when she lands on me. Thank you for sending Pop O' Lock here - we're all happy) and MouseEye.

MouseEye... how to describe him? He's a mouse, for one. He's my familiar. And while he can often cop an attitude when asked to do something, he can also be helpful - and oftentimes in unexpected ways. For instance, so far I know he can speak to humans, bees, toads, and I'm pretty sure to Pop as well. 

One thing that he has a habit of doing is disappearing. Often at very inconvenient times, like when I'm in danger of being eaten by a sphinx. (Thankfully it was vegetarian, so the danger wasn't as grave as it could've been, but you get the idea). When he shows up after disappearing, I'll ask where he's been. And he'll usually say "Must I?". (I know I asked to call him MouseEye but I had no idea it'd be so close to what has become his trademark remark!)

Today he reappeared in his usual space in and amongst my spirit house (which is also where mail from you tends to arrive. Weird, yeah?). Despite the fact that I've stopped asking about his solo travels far and wide to who knows where, I decided to show an interest on where he'd been this time. And he told me!

That alone made my jaw drop. And maybe it's that fact alone that makes the story so amazing - the he actually shared what happened!

At least I hope it's a true account. It'd be a shame if he just made it all up. I mean... would he make up a story? No - I don't think so. If he didn't want to share, he wouldn't. He'd change the subject or ignore me or say "Must I?". I don't think he's interested in telling tall tales - it's too much work. So I'm going to believe this is true and if it's not... well, I'll just deal with it then.

Oh, look at me - I just looked and realized I've been babbling on without actually saying anything of note yet. It's like I think paper just grows on trees! (And yes, I know, it kinda sorta does!)

Ok. Enough jabbering! To what happened.

I'm going to assume you have a forest in your Here Yet Not Here (I think I'll just write that as HYNH for now. I hope you don't mind!). In my version it's called Glimmerwood Grove. It's a lovely forest, although I must admit I have an affinity for forests. My father's a woodcutter. He lives days away but it's a forest not unlike the one here. Here meaning near my cottage, not here like my side of HYNH. 

Anyway - I went camping in there once. And found a sleeping giant. With the most fungus-covered feet I've ever seen! It was... blech! I mean, I know we witches have to deal with the yucky and nasty parts of life, along with the life-fulfilling and satisfying ones, but still!

Ok - I was supposed to start telling you the story and I got distracted again. This time for sure!

Like I said, MouseEye got back from another one of his solo adventures. It turns out he was exploring Glimmerwood Grove. While he was in there, he found a kind of open-air throne room. He said he just happened upon it - that one second he was stepping, or I suppose padding, through some heavy brambles and ended up stepping into this space. It was all light blue, apparently - sort of like if the sky had been molded into bricks. But it's also apparently old enough to be covered in hanging vines and moss. He said the weird thing was that it all looked so well tended.

Sitting at the other end of the... I suppose it could be called a chamber, although I think chambers are supposed to have some sort of ceiling or roof over them. Anyway, at the opposite end was a throne. And apparently there was no doubting it was a throne because it was big, golden, and elaborate with carvings and ornate decorations. And sitting on the throne was an elf. Now... have I mentioned that MouseEye prides himself on watching and remembering things? This time, however, the self-described watcher was watched by this elf as he looked around and took it all in. And, I guess, the elf was quite amused by MouseEye's wondrous reactions to it all. 

"Welcome to my court.", the elf said in greeting.

"Hello.", MouseEye replied. And continued looking around.

"I am High Lord Aeronil. And you are?"

"MouseEye. You can call me MouseEye."

"And what brings you, MouseEye, to my court and my presence?"

"Hmm...? Oh... nothing. I just stepped through some foliage and ended up here."

"Ah.", was all the elf said.

"Were you hoping for someone in particular?"

The elf's smile dimmed a bit. "I'd hoped that... ah... well, never mind."

MouseEye insists that he turned his magnificent, soulful eyes towards the elf and that that was the reason he became more forthcoming.

"You see... I'd hoped someone would come and replace me here. And you seemed a likely candidate."

"But I thought you said this is your court."

"Ah... technically, it is. Presently. When my replacement takes over, it'll be their court."

"And you thought I was your replacement?"

The elf shrugged. "Stranger things have happened. You could've been a carefully disguised elf."

"How long have you been waiting?"

The elf sat up straighter. "Well... I don't know exactly. Mind you, when you're a member of a long-lived race, such as those of us from Elvendom, long stretches of time can pass by seemingly in an instant."

MouseEye nodded. Then he said, "So how long was that?"

"A long time."

"And you're the only one here?"

"Ah... yes. Yes, I am. The rearguard, I suppose. Of our migration to a new land."

"And so you're waiting on a replacement from the new land where your people are now?"

"That. Or for help in moving the throne. It's quite heavy."

MouseEye nodded in sympathy. "Ok. Well, I should go."

The elf stopped him. "Wait! Would you tarry longer? I'll trade you a tale for a tale."

That stopped MouseEye. "Would you say that your tale is a part of a much larger tale? The Tale of History, I think you could say?"

The elf pondered it. "Yes... I see your point. So - a portion of a tale for a portion of a tale."

"And would you also say that any portion of a tale, in terms of the Tale of History, would be quite a small portion of that tale?"

The elf looked confused, but said, "I don't know where you're going with this, but yes. My tale is but a very small piece of the great Tale of History."

So MouseEye said, "Agreed. You give me a small piece of a tale and I'll do the same and give you a small piece of a tale in return."

Now, I hope you recognize that I've filled in the gaps a bit here and there because, as I mentioned earlier, MouseEye isn't always great with telling me things and can omit some details. So this conversation and agreement may have a bit made up, but in the end MouseEye and the elf agreed to trade bits of a large tale. 

The elf told MouseEye about the history of Count von Rannoc, the necromatic vampire who lives in a dungeon close to the cottage. It's called Hero's Hollow. And I can attest to just how hollow it is! I fell into a jail cell while on my way to the Hollow for the first time! And that was in my first week of being the new witch here! Oh - yeah - I've now been here about two months, so I'm relatively new still, but I've been learning so much and visiting new places and treating all sorts of conditions! It's been fun learning and doing and all that!

And... oh, right! The Count! So it turns out a few hundred years ago, there was this pig farmer. He'd raise pigs, take them to market, or sometimes stay home - you know, all that. Nothing extraordinary. Some days he'd have plenty to eat and could even afford roast beef while other days were lean and there was no food at all. But this one day, when he went to the market, the slaughterhouse took his pigs but refused to pay him! He threatened to go to the police, which is when the mage, who'd been hired by the slaughterhouse for just this sort of thing, said he'd make sure that no one would ever trust him again and that he'd forever after be a creature of the night. He ran all the way home (making some sort of strange "wee wee" noise) but the transformation took hold - he was a vampire from that day forth.

He knew he could never live as a pig farmer again. Or, really, as a farmer at all. So he just ran. And wandered. Eventually he found the dungeon and took up residence there. He became a necromancer to try to find a way to reverse the vampirism. 

This, by the way, is the same vampire who tried to force the spirit of the land under my cottage to bend to his will. For his efforts, the land quite ably defended itself and defeated him, so he only ended up with bruises. 

Anyway, after the elf told his tale, MouseEye said, "That was quite a piece of tale you gave me. I hope you'll find the piece of tale I give you is satisfactory." And then he plucked a few hairs from his tail. "Here's a small piece of tail in return."

Now... I've wondered a time or two during my own adventures if perhaps I was pushing my luck in dealing with those I encounter. But this! This was... oh my! I can't even bring myself to imagine being that bold. And yet there he was, in all his mouse-y glory, holding a bit of fur out in trade for the story.

The elf, for his part, took the proffered hair. "You have played a trick on me. Were I not so bored, I might've taken offence. But this was the only entertainment I've had in ages."

I don't know if MouseEye went anywhere else after that, but as I said, he eventually came home and told me the tale and the tale of the tail.

Whew!

I see I'm getting close to the end of my paper, so I'll close this for now and hope to hear from you soon.

Your Bestie,

Sweet

After a moment's consideration, I folded up the packet of paper, addressed it to Pip, stretched my cramped writing hand, and wondered what she'd thing about this all.

And I'd have a thing or three to ponder over the next few days!

Spring, Week 7 - That Which Giveth, That Which Taketh Away

To hear the narration and learn how I put the episode together, check out the video:

*****

 The days are getting longer, the nights shorter. Nature is drinking up the sunshine, bringing life and activity to the land. Not to say that the land's been dead! Far from it! But there's a noticeable difference in tonight's sunset than there was when I first arrived seven weeks ago.

Seven weeks! I can't believe time has gone so fast! And I'm certainly not the same person I was, bumbling into a role that, if I'm being completely honest, would have seemed an insurmountable challenge. And yet here I am.

I feel like I'm at peace with things. I know there's more to be discovered, more territory I've yet to visit, more ailments that will need treatment, but I'm at peace with where I am, and even who I am.

Watching the last of the twilight dim, I felt like I'd been part of a daily ceremony, the changing of the guard from day to night. Oddly satisfying, in its way, almost as if the desire to do morphs into the desire to rest. And that, after any day at the cottage, is a feeling I willingly embrace!

I'd banked the fire, letting it sleep. It too would be called upon with the new day. Pop's gentle glow as it moved about the cottage, floating where it will or settled on the spirit house, was comforting. MouseEye's usual spot was empty, but that in itself wasn't unusual - he would just as often disappear as reappear... ok - that's obvious, I guess! What I'm trying to say is that MouseEye isn't tied to my side. Wherever he is, I know he's safe. And I hope he's not intrusive or indiscreet!

Which brings my thoughts to Roger. Bathing. That was... I just don't need to see that much of anyone ever again! Chuckling to myself (and probably I'll be chuckling about it for a very long time), I sat in front of the spirit house, relaxed and breathed, and let the day's memories and labours release.

I did wonder, as I sat, if when I sleep I somehow connect with the Here Yet Not Here. Is it somewhere you can go? Much like up beyond the clouds in Madcap's balloon, could a voyager find themselves Here Yet Not Here? What would that be like? How would it work?

Could I package myself up, set myself on the mantlepiece, and end up... at Pip's house? Could I go elsewhere? What would that be like!?!

When I start to let my mind wander at night (like I "let" it - it just flies off in a direction and I feel like I'm running after it - again like Madcap's balloon), I know my sleep will be more active, less restful. I'll have cobwebs aplenty come morning but maybe overnight I'll garner insights, or inspirations, or epiphanies. But none of that will come until I let me mind drift off with head on pillow.

I close my eyes and doze off. Sleep envelopes. 

And a knock awakens. "Mithtrith?"

Igor? Pop's glow increased, allowing me to find my clothes and throw them on.

Opening the door, I saw Igor's worried face, brows knitted, hands (all three) clenching and squeezing, always in motion. "Please, come in. Take a seat and tell me what brings you here."

He did as I invited. And then told me about Richard, Count von Rannoc, vampire, necromancer. "He doethn't theem himthelf. And now he'th thaying he wantth to watch the thunrithe."

"It... I mean... he won't die, will he?", I asked.

"No. But it thertainly won't be good for him."

"Do you want me to tend to him?"

"I'm embarrathed to athk, but yeth. Pleathe. Thith ith beyond me."

I spent some more time asking about his condition, when it'd started, noticeable symptoms. And Igor, being not just an assistant but one versed in science and observation, was a wealth of information.

As I consulted the old witch's book, MouseEye sat down on the open page. I asked with a glance if he'd heard everything. With a small nod he indicated he had. With a small shrug I said I wasn't sure what it was but tentatively pointed at an ailment description. With a small shrug back he said my guess was as good as his so let's run with that diagnosis for now. 

Or maybe he thought we were talking about something completely unrelated to the visit. 

Anyway, I thought about a plan of action for the case. I had Princess Toad mucous already (and what is it with so many reagents being slimy and gross!?!). Mixed with Coldrust (and luckily I knew where to get some in Hero's Hollow), it'd make a cure for the ailment known as Loss of Experience. I had no idea how someone so old and knowledgeable as the Count could catch something like this, but it made sense in all other respects.

I grabbed the slime... sorry... the mucous reagent... and a few other things and made ready to go to the dungeon. I wasn't sure if I was more or less comforted that Igor would be joining me but I figured at the very least he'd make for interesting conversation on the way.

Such was not the case. Igor, despite appearances, could walk faster than was comfortable for me. I half-trotted to keep up, not leaving me with much breath for talking. I did manage to ask if the Count knew we were coming.

"No. But the Marthter will apprethiate your expertithe when we arrive."

From what I'd gathered about the necromancer's temperament when confronted with the unexpected, this wasn't a great idea. I tried to trust Igor's judgement. I'd almost succeeded by the time we entered the Hollow.

I opted to detour us to the armoury, the site of my last Coldrust harvest, to gather some before making our way to the Count's rooms. The rusting magical weapons and armour may be of no use to warriors but it's a treasure trove of Coldrust for me!

Igor then led us to his "Marthter'th chamberth". It was a quick walk - again mostly because Igor was moving at a speed that would be a near-certain ankle twister for anyone else. Maybe he found a way to distill some of the faires' rat spit so that he could go faster?

I felt my mind begin to wander. And... I stopped it. This was no place to not pay attention to where you're stepping!

Soon enough, we arrived. Igor bade me stay back a couple of paces - to announce me, I guess. I heard:

"Marthter? Mithtrith Thweetwater ith here to thee you."

"Why? For what purpose? And have you seen my book on theories of the beyond?"

"Yeth, Marthter. It'th on your dethk, Marthter. And no, I don't know why the witch ith here, Marthter."

"Hmm? Ah, yes. The book is here. Very good. And now if only I had my codex handy..."

"It'th altho on your dethk, Marthter. Next to the book."

"Ah. Yes. So it is. Good. Umm... I feel like I'm missing something..."

"Yeth, Marthter. Mithtrith Thweetwater ith here to thee you."

"Is she? I'm... very busy... have her... uh..."

As they were talking, Igor reached for my arm, then gently guided me forward. Then another arm reached behind me and gave me a hefty shove forward on my back. I looked up into the eyes of a startled necromantic vampire.

I did mention, didn't I, that his behaviour when startled isn't exactly... carefully considered? Today, however, was different.

"Oh! Mistress Sweetwater, right? How unexpected."

I turned to look for Igor. He was gone.

"I... ah... yes. I thought I'd check in on you. I..."

"Check in on me? Hmmm... Why? Has Igor been gossiping again?"

"Ah... no! No. But he did say you were contemplating watching the sunrise and I thought it'd be lovely to do together."

"Did he now? And... was I really planning to do that? Well... sorry you came all this way, but I'm far too busy to be galavanting off. I've... have you seen my book on theories of the beyond?"

As I was about to point it out, I spotted MouseEye standing on it (but out of sight of the Count, of course) making "danger" motions: thumb drawn across the neck, glassy eyes with tongue lolling, arms crossed in front of his chest making a big X. I walked up to the table, took the book (somehow MouseEye disappeared. Maybe as I blinked?), pretended to read it, then said, "I think you meant to get it from the library but you grabbed the wrong one. Let me get the right one for you."

As I stepped out of the room, I heard Richard start talking to himself about finding another something or other. Igor was waiting.

"Do you thee what I mean? He'th not right in the head."

"Can I use your lab? I'm sure it's Loss of Experience, but I don't know how he would've contracted it. Unless... where did this book come from?"

"That? Oh... I'm not thure. Which ith odd. An adventurer did vithit a couple of dayth ago. I wath buthy in the lab, and I don't pry into the Marthter'th buthineth, but I do catalogue all the bookth. Thith one I've never theen. I wonder if the Marthter bought it. It theemth odd that he would, but then again..."

"I wonder if it's a trapped book. Like maybe you start to read it and instead of giving you information, it takes it. Does that sound plausible?"

"That'th... you know, people think of necromantherth ath evil becauthe they work with the dead and death. But thith... to turn a book from a giver to a taker... that'th real evil."

Igor took the book. "I'll examine it while you brew."

I just looked at him. "You can be so certain, and safe, while doing it so fast?"

He looked back at me. "You can brew a pothun tho fatht and be thertain you and he will be thafe?"

"Point taken."

He laughed. "Anyway, forewarned ith forearmed."

A few minutes later we reconvened. We both said, "Is it...?", then stopped. I let Igor go first.

"Trapped, as you thuthpected. The book itthelf ith inert. You had to thtart reading the text for the trap to thpring." He then looked at me more sharply. "How did you know?"

I was about to answer when I heard a mouse-y voice behind me. "I told her."

Igor shot me an appraising look. "That familiar ith a keeper if ever there wath one. Now - the pothun?"

I held up the cup holding it.

"Will thith... rethtore him?"

I didn't know. So that's what I answered.

"Here'th to hoping." He took the cup and entered the Count's study. "Reading ith thirthty work. Here'th a refrethment."

The Count, for his part, was standing in front of a tapestry. But he wasn't actively looking - the body was too slumped, the head not quite square. It was like no one was home. He clearly wasn't reading. He clearly wasn't doing much of anything. But he did take the drink without a word and downed it. And then we waited.

The changes were subtle but added up to awareness being reawakened. Then, slowly, he looked at us. Sometimes vampires are depicted with red flames in their eyes. Other times they're shown with wolfish grins and protruding canines. I'd never seen the Count like that. Until this moment.

"What?" The demand was directed at Igor.

"The new book, Marthter."

"Where?"

"Ditharmed. In the Library."

The vampire then turned to me.

"You?"

I was speechless. Frozen. The intensity of that gaze... it grabbed everything I was and blasted it aside. I just stood there, mute.

"Her. Yeth, Marthter."

Richard, Count von Rannoc, slowly approached me, never breaking eye contact. All I could see was his eyes, and beyond them, the Void. He reached down, took my hand, and kissed it. "You, witch, are worthy of the name. I'm indebted to you."

My brain slowly dragged its way back. "I... ah... just brewed a potion."

He continued to stare through me. "No. You returned me. Aside from your usual rate for the mundane task of brewing a potion, I am in your debt. The silver is a pittance. And you shall not refuse."

The more laggard pieces of my mind started to recover. "No."

The Count's eyes blazed again. Before he could speak, I continued. "I will accept that I've done you a greater service than simply treat a condition. And I accept that you feel indebted to me. But it's something I never intend to call. For me, there is no debt."

The stare, that terrible stare, continued. But now I was back, aware, fully myself. And I was able to absorb the stare and withstand it, hold it, and even calmly return it. And he laughed. "Never let it be said that witches are simply crazy women living in little cottages who mutter over steaming cauldrons." Then he held up a hand. "I, for one, have never said such a thing. Others? Yes. But not me."

Of a sudden, he looked drained. "Would you care to sit with me a moment? Apparently I need time to recover. Igor? Some tea please."

"Yeth, Marthter. With pleathure."

The Count and I sat. He more reclined. "Your predecessor. She warned me once about this, or something similar. 'They only have to get lucky once. You must remain perpetually vigilant.' Oh, the tongue lashing she'd've given me, were she here."

He looked deep in thought, formulating what to say next. "She was something, you know. A force of nature. She, a witch, working with all things from birth to death. And me, a necromancer, working with death as birth." He paused. Then, "They say opposites attract. But there was no way it would ever work. And then she went to the Imperial City."

That stopped me. I didn't think he knew about that, that Igor had intercepted her letter to him. He saw my facial expression and laughed. "Igor's protective. But that doesn't mean I'm ignorant."

"Your tea, Marthter. Mithtreth."

"Thank you, Igor.", said the Count.

"Should I track down the culprit, Marthter?"

"No. No doubt the poor fool was duped or geased. The real perpetrator will have clean hands. So we'll have to be more circumspect in our search."

"Yeth, Marthter."

Igor left and the Count and I talked for a while longer. At some point, I yawned. The Count reacted. "Dear me! I just realized what time it is! You must be exhausted! Shall I have Igor prepare a guest room for you?"

It was tempting, but really all I wanted was the peace of my own cottage and the safety of the land surrounding me. So I declined. And soon after, headed out.

On the way out, two things happened.

One was that I passed by the Silverleaf outcropping and gathered some. And then, remembering this unlucky fellow who'd bled to death trying to harvest it. I gathered some Old Blood from near him. Show me a witch who doesn't harvest reagents when they have the chance and I'll show you, not a witch, but a crazy woman living in a cottage muttering over a steaming cauldron. Ha! I still can't believe he said that!

The other thing that happened is that while I was walking passed the jail cells and paying them no mind, I heard a poorly stifled sneeze. It... no... it couldn't be...

I stopped and looked. And then I saw. A figure huddled in a cell, trying to hide. "Show yourself.", I said. I was calm. I was cool. I was collected. And I had a very interested vampire relatively close at hand if things went really badly.

"Um... hello?", it said. He, I amended. He said.

"Let me guess. You gave a necromancer a book, probably not willingly, and you are now stuck here, scared, and not knowing the way out."

"I did what?" The panic in his voice spoke volumes. He didn't know what he'd done. "Please, miss, I woke up here. I don't know where here is, but it isn't where I want to be!"

"I won't hurt you. You're safe. Come on out and I'll show you how to get out." It took more convincing than that, but he did eventually join me. I knew the way pretty well by this point, so it was a quick and easy journey to the exit. The feel of the nighttime air felt so much better than the dungeon's stagnancy. 

"Oh thank the heavens! I'm out! Here, miss, this is yours!", he shouted as he dropped a pouch at my feet, and ran off. I picked it up, felt the weight, and heard the clink of coins. I'd count it later. My main thought in that moment was the hope that he'd find his home ok.

As for me, I went home. But instead of going to bed, I sat outside and waited. It didn't feel like a long time but it gave me time to decompress, to process, to wonder, and to eventually watch the sunrise.

Also Spring, Week 6 - Helping vs Rescuing

To hear the narration and learn how I put this episode together, watch the video!

*****

 Early morning. The time when the transition from night to day hasn't started just yet. There's a stillness as night gets ready to recede, day is busy making its coffee, stretching, getting ready, but it hasn't left the house yet so as to be known to the sleeping world. It's the hushed breath before activity begins.

At least in most houses. Not this one. Not this morning at least. In this one... this witch wishes she were allowed to sleep longer, to enjoy the warmth of bed covers until dawn. I mean... dawn!... it's not too much to ask for, is it?

Apparently the answer is "Yes. Yes it is."

I know why I'm up. I'm not happy with myself this morning and I know I should do something about it. I know this because that is the theme of so many thoughts pounding around in my skull. At least if I get up and start to do something, I can get my mind off of my guilt. Perhaps even convince it to go away. Which I know full well it won't, but a witch can at least try! And besides it's too early to do anything about it anyway! So... I'll do something else and maybe, just maybe, I'll work it all out. It didn't help that a presumed sleeping MouseEye just said, "Mmm hmm" right after my last thought on the subject. 

As I got up and stretched, I saw the gentle glow from behind the note on the mantlepiece. That, I think, is worthy of exploration. It'll take my mind off of other things. And besides, if it's from Pip I don't want to leave her waiting on a reply. 

My usual morning routine can wait. I really want to see what the note says and see what's glowing.

Note to self - when trying to read a note, get the fire going first. It's amazing how much light there isn't in the early morning. 

Next note to self - in the dark, writing may not be visible, but it gives a much better perspective on anything that happens to be gently glowing.

I set the note aside and saw what lay behind it. It's... a small orb, tiny really, sitting on the mantlepiece. But not just sitting. More like gently pulsating. Along with the colour changing intensity, the colour itself seemed to shift - whites, blues, turquoises, and more. And the sphere itself gently... bounced? The harder I looked at it, the more movement I saw. It was mesmerizing. 

It was around that point that my lack of even visiting the privy started to catch up with me. I pulled myself away and got my daily routine done.

Feeling much more comfortable and with the fire stoked, I was able to read the note. It was indeed from Pip! Yay! And it identified my new little glowing friend as a Pop O' Lock. That it emits bursts of coloured magic, needs feeding twice daily, and won't tolerate sun nor bugs.

Ummm... feed twice daily? And I've had it for how long? It looks alive, at least. And with all the movement I assume it's happy? And the note says something about trying to save this Pop O' Lock? Save it from what? Simply dying? Or something more predatory? Or sinister?

I'm going to have to write back and get some clearer instructions on the little thing. In the meantime, what do I do with it? I hoped MouseEye could shed a light on the situation.

"MouseEye?"

A little suspiciously, the sound of snoring began to come from his spot in the spirit house.

"MouseEye", I said, a little louder. 

"Must I?", came the response, and then the suspicious snoring continued. 

"Is that where we are now? Preemptive 'Must I?'-ing?"

"Mmm hmm"

Well, for now anyway, everything seems ok.

What happens if I touch it?

It's warm. Not hot. Pleasant. There's a vibration. Subtle. The colour changed slightly - perhaps a bit pastelly. And when I went to lift my finger off, it stuck to it. Interesting! 

I brought it closer to my face. "Hello there. I'm Sweet. I hope you're happy here in my cottage." I didn't expect what happened next - it floated off my finger and landed on the spirit house. Ok - I guess it can take care of itself better than I'd originally assumed. 

And that's where I was as the sun rose - happy, warm, enjoying a steaming tea, secure in my ability to help people... which brought back an uncomfortable thought. Why had I felt the need to add sweet to the potion I gave to Roger Rogerson? Twelve silver worth of sweet. The sweet alone was more than Roger would've made from his guarding of the doctor.

How could someone make a living if they had to pay out so much in a single treatment? Especially if a certain witch were to over-make a potion?

*Sigh* The same thoughts that had greeted me in the dark were now badgering me in the light. There was no helping it - I had to make things right. And that meant a trip to High Rannoc.

I did my best to rehearse what I'd say to Roger and what he might say in response. How angry he might be because of how much I charged him. How disappointed he could be in me for not being more thoughtful in my care, not being more helpful in my customer service, not being as useful a resource to the community as I could be. I must admit the discussions in my imagination turned into arguments, recriminations, accusations, rejections.

I felt miserable. I wanted to turn around, go back to the cottage, and put out a Do Not Disturb sign just so's I could hide and never see anyone again. But my legs got me to the High Rannoc gate. Open, as always. "Why are there walls if the gate is always open?", I wondered. But that attempt at distraction was swept aside with visions of poor Roger eating a crust of bread and being thankful to the person who'd mindlessly cast it aside.

Through the gates I went.

The Copper Fox Tavern seemed the best place to start looking for Roger. Fussy was up and serving a family breakfast. I caught his attention as I walked in. "Mistress Sweetwater. What can I get you?"

I swallowed, gathered my courage, and asked for Roger's address.

"He's in the back. He's just..."

"Thank you." I strode past him.

"But... Mistress?... he's..."

I ignored whatever he was trying to say. I was finally ready to do this and if I stopped now, I might never be able to summon up the courage again.

I went through the inn and out the back, following the sound of singing. Roger's singing. Meanwhile I faintly heard scrambling behind me.

I stepped out. Roger had a small bowl raised over his head. A very wet and entirely unclothed Roger dropped the small bowl onto his head. Which is when Fussy caught up. "Begging your pardon, but he's bathing, Miss." The tableaux froze.

Roger then said, "Have you eaten, Miss? Fussy, would you mind laying a table for two?"

I felt Fussy's arm wrap around my shoulders, steering me back to the Common Room. "He'll just be a minute, I'm sure. What can I get you?"

It was difficult to think, what with the new flood of mortification I was feeling. I just looked at him.

"How about I get you the House Special. Everyone likes it."

"Ok. Thank you.", was all I could manage.

A few minutes later, a still wet but very much clothed Roger joined me. He was smiling. 

We both tried talking at the same time, stopped, tried again at the same time, stopped. Our food arrived, which served as a pleasant distraction. I tried talking again, but Roger put his hand up to stop me. "I just want to say that, when you came storming out and saw me washing - your face! Priceless! I would've burst out laughing, but it's clear there's something on your mind. So - let me now shut up and let you talk."

He sat back and gave me the floor.

I sat up, bent forward, and began. "Roger - I want you to know that I've been thinking about the potion I made you, and its cost. I feel like I didn't take into consideration your... ahhh... living standards... and I..."

He held up a hand again. "I've faced fearsome beasts in my time, so just say what you need to say."

I stopped. "Fearsome beasts?"

"You doubt me?"

"A little. Yes."

His smile grew, carrying levels of humour and abashedness. "Ok. So maybe not as fearsome as I might try to imply. But yes - I've been to places most folks haven't. So a few words don't scare me." He leaned back again. Once again I had the floor.

"Look - you make ten silver on a guarding job. I charged you forty-two for a potion. How can you afford to live if I do that? I want to at least refund you the silver I charged for all the sweet I added." And I started digging in my pocket.

Roger stopped me. And smiled. "I appreciate that you care about this. I really do. You cared for me when I came to you, made a potion that, let's face it, I wanted to keep drinking long after it was all gone, and allowed me to stay at your cottage. Fussy tells me all the time that I should charge what I think is fair to my customers. Most times there's no trouble at all. This last time there was. So thank you for the offer, but I can't accept anything back that I paid to you."

This I couldn't accept. So I tried a different argument. "Why didn't the doctor help you? Why didn't he...?"

The hand had gone up again. "But he did. It's just that I opted to not take his pills. And I'm glad I didn't. Your potion worked a treat and I'm ready to guide and guard again."

"But... how...?"

"Look - sometimes what's supposed to be a three-hour tour becomes something more serious. I can honestly say, and I am being honest here, there have been times that it's only been my courage that's kept my clients from being lost, or worse. And yes, in the great ocean of adventure, I can feel like a little minnow, but I never feel alone. I suppose shipwrecked would work better for this analogy. So whether I'm guiding a millionaire and his wife or a professor or whomever, I know it'll all be ok. And that you have proven yourself to be able to help me so handedly, that helps reinforce that idea. So! Hand out of your pocket, please, and let's enjoy Fussy's House Special." And then he whispered, "Make sure to complement him on the food. He's fussy about how people perceive it." He smiled again, a little conspiratorial one. I returned it.

The father of the family that had finished breakfast approached the table. "Roger, we're on for tomorrow, yes?"

Roger nodded. "Hank, before you go, have you met the new witch, Mistress Sweetwater? Worked a wonder on me the other day."

We all exchanged pleasantries and then the father left. I looked over at Roger, who just shrugged. "Don't mention it. It's what I do."

I felt more at ease in this minute than I'd felt since treating Roger. "I have to admit, Roger, I didn't see you as being... I don't know... I mean, you're energetic and enthusiastic, clearly able to take care of yourself from physical threats, but I didn't think of you as... business-savvy." 

"So you thought I wasn't, what? Smart enough? To take care of myself?"

"Ummm... I... when you put it that way..."

He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Ok. Fair thought. I wasn't the best student, but I'm doing well enough. Between Fussy helping me out and my adventuring, it's all good. So - you all good?" He reached across the table for my hands. I let him take them. He looked in my eyes. "All good?"

I felt so much better. I was lost in my relief. I heard myself say "Yes". 

"Good." He released my hands, took a minute, then made to get up. "I've got to get busy, so I hope you'll excuse me. But do make sure to give the food two thumbs up." And with that, he left.

Although I was tempted to linger, I decided to start making my way back home. The thoughts I'd had of checking in on my former patients to make sure they were doing well evaporated. The thought of going to the Herbology School to... I don't know what... also disappeared. 

I don't need to check in on Francie. Or the doctor. Or Madame Hightower. I could care from my cottage, but I don't need anyone to prove to me that they're ok. I don't need to try to control the lives of anyone (except, of course, myself). I don't need to rescue anyone.

What a relief! What a weight off my shoulders! I felt good! Who knew that witching could be such a complicated affair?

As I walked back to the cottage, I wondered if the old witch had faced these same problems. Probably, I found myself answering myself. I wondered how she'd faired; how she'd managed all the expectations; the requests; the demands, the reasonable and the unreasonable... all the different ways life could try, could pull, push, cajole... no wonder a witch's cottage sits a comfortable distance outside of town and those walls, those pitiful walls trying to keep everything out. Or maybe just the harmful, the dangerous, the unwanted out. Ugh. Give me free access to wild lands any day.

As I approached the cottage grounds, a dark shape flew low over my head, followed by an unspeakable greasy reek. I looked up as a harpy landed on a low hanging branch. 

How to describe a harpy? To simply say they are a combination of a woman (head, chest) and a vulture (all the rest) is like saying a giant explosion is a combination of a bit of fire and enthusiasm. Harpys are nasty. They stink, have mouths that would make sailors cringe... let's face it - if there's a single redeeming quality, I'm not aware of it. How they'd been appointed as the mail delivery service I'll never know.

"Hello, princess!" it shrieked. Did I mention they don't talk, exactly? They only shriek. "You been expecting a package? Got your hopes up to actually receive whatever this is?" It held up a bit of card with a small bag attached.

The thing to remember when dealing with a mail delivery (I think I'd experienced only one or two at my childhood home) is to not give the harpy any satisfaction in wanting the package. They usually get bored and drop it, sometimes in a convenient place, then leave. So I didn't give the harpy any attention, simply said, "no", then walked away.

The harpy shrieked in frustration, then flew ahead of me again. "Don't you want this wood-care oil? Good for brooms and wands?"

I forgot to mention that they'll typically read your mail.

"No, thank you." They also don't like manners.

It shrieked again. "Fie! On your head, then!" She dropped it then took off. She did try to poop on me as she flew away but I was able to step out of the way. One last shriek of frustration as it flew off and that was that.

As I picked up the bit of mail, I was grateful the harpy had been in a relatively good mood. One last thought dashed through my head - why would a type of creature - one that only has human female parts - agree to deliver "mail"? You'd think something with only human male parts, like a satyr, would be more appropriate. Then again, satyrs aren't big on schedules and responsibility - they just want to party all day every day.

The card was addressed to "The Witch of High Rannoc, or Current Resident". On the back was a sales pitch by a newly established company looking to sell a better brand of wood soap - to help keep a witch's wooden tools clean and weather-protected. The bag held a small sample, formed into an easy-to-transport bar.

Well - when I have a broom or a wand, this might become useful. For right now, however, it's simply something to store away.

I opened the door to my cottage. The usual comfortable dark had been replaced with the glow coming from Pop O' Lock floating happily in the middle of the cottage. 

That... hmmm... it's nice. I'm so used to only having light when things are open or the fire's going or, for special times, a candle's light. This is... it's like a bit of fantastical living. What a luxury!

However, it wasn't up to me if this lovely glowing orb stays or goes. I had to ask the house. I sat and thought, breathed and asked. And got back acceptance. Even happiness that I was going to be pleased.

I opened my eyes and found Pop O' Lock floating near my hand, which was folded in my lap. I opened it and allowed Pop to land on my palm. There was that sensation of warmth, of comfort. I could feel it gently melding with me, accepting my energy and offering me its own.

I thought back to Pip's note and how she'd sent it here to save it. Maybe in Pip's land, something would eat this? Whatever the situation there, I was going to take care of this one here. But I did need to send Pip a note. I gently let Pop (it felt ok to call her that. And she was definitely a she, but why I decided that I don't know) float off and I got my writing things together and started to compose. I'd figured at some point that if I was going to have a penpal in the Here Yet Not Here, I'd better put together a small kit for writing).

The letter I wrote is all about Pop. How she seems to be getting along and is safe and happy here. And I felt the desire to write a bit of a poem about her as well:

What shall I say of who's come my way

the lovely one now known as Pop?

Her gentle glow, a moon you know

is lighting up the dark a lot

She floats so free and alights on me

never dims and never stops

She's found a home where she can roam

and the spirit house is also her cot.

And since Pip has sent me some things, I thought I'd send her the wood soap. If I can simply order it and have it delivered... nope... check that... ask Bob to have it brought in, then maybe where she is they don't have it. At least not yet.

So maybe I'm doing things differently than the old witch. Maybe she didn't have a Pip, or a Pop, or a Fen. And definitely not a MouseEye! But I have love and acceptance. What more does anyone need?

Spring, Week 6 - She'll Be Comin' Round the Mountain

To listen to the narration (and learn how I put the episode together), check out this video:

*****

 "Sorry. What? How about this - sit down, take a nice deep breath, then when you're ready, take it from the top."

As Roger began to work through this calming exercise, I was able to take a minute to reflect on what had been, until his arrival, a lovely morning. 

I'd spent it quietly, starting with my now usual practice of sitting and breathing in front of the spirit house. Afterwards, I spent some time with the bees. They'd flown around me, landed on me, and gently swarmed me. Far from creepy, it was comforting. Although their little gripper feet can be a bit much on bare skin!

I was within that communion of companionship when this loud lout had burst upon the grounds. Thankfully he was consistently loud so I wasn't hurt by startled bees.

At first I'd tried to ask Roger about why he was here, but all he'd been doing is talking, and acting out something that had happened somewhere. I was hoping he'd make more sense after taking a minute to settle. But in watching him try to sit quietly, it was clear there was something going on bodily - he just couldn't sit still. And what's more, odd movements kept happening. It was like watching something in a bag trying to get out.

Despite that, he did quiet down. And told me his story.

"You remember that I'm an adventurer, right? I approached you in the Copper Fox a few weeks ago and offered to guard you on your foraging journeys. Say! Why haven't you ever hired me? I'm really good at guarding and guiding. I mean, ok, yes, my armour is bits of what I can find to cover my important bits but I'm saving up for a quality piece of leather. It's going to be awesome! There're these trim pieces, red, you know, that'll set it off and..."

I help up my hand, hoping he'd stop talking. Again. "Yes, Roger, I remember you. I've been managing reagent gathering just fine. But I haven't forgotten your kind offer."

"And affordable!"

"Yes, very affordable. But not needed by me to date. So why don't you tell me what brings you here."

"Right! Yes! Well, I was hired to take my customer... sorry - my client - to Hero's Hollow."

"Ok. Who was your client?"

"Oh! Sorry - I have a strict policy of not revealing my clients' identities. Anyway, apparently there's a necromancer living in the dungeon. So we went in search of a reanimated skeleton. We had money to pay!"

*Sigh* So the doctor was still in search of a living skeleton. "So what happened?"

"We made our way to where my client knew the necromancer lives. And we met this... I guess... person? Anyway, we got there. This... person... directed me to a room while the necromancer and my client conducted their business.

"There was so much cool stuff in the room! I swear I didn't hear anyone say anything about not stepping into the chalked star-shape on the floor. But let me tell you, I heard about it right after I did it. The necromancer threw us out! My client was so angry. Anyway, there was some other stuff yelled back and forth but I couldn't focus on it. Not that any of that stuff would have made sense to me even if I'd been paying attention. Instead, I started feeling really weird. Like I wanted my body to do one thing but things kept trying to move in weird ways. I mean, I'm a highly trained warrior! Reflexes that just... Snap!... like a trap. Here - watch!"

I stood there, politely, watching. I didn't care about his... air sword attacks and air shield blocks, I guess you could call it. I watched as bones continued to move about in decidedly odd ways. It was if his skeleton had become reanimated inside his body. Restless Bones, the witch's book calls it. It's annoying to have but doesn't progress beyond the bones trying to move independently. The muscles help to keep everything in check. 

Roger had just finished reenacting some sort of mythic battle where he was the sole survivor. I interrupted his victory speech. "Roger, why didn't the doctor treat you?"

"Umm... well..."

 I just raised my eyebrows, waiting for what was going to be a ridiculous answer. 

"He said I have PNSD. Post Necromancer Stress Disorder. He said I'll be fine in a few weeks. And he wanted to give me some pill or other for stress. But I told him that my body is a temple and that I can't pollute it with something that'll make me sluggish. Here - watch!"

I managed to get his attention before he began slaying vast numbers of dread enemies. "I can make a potion. It'll take a bit, but I can do it. And it won't make you drowsy. Is that ok?"

"That sounds great! Here - watch as I show you how I defeated the Moose-headed Minotaur!"

"That's great. Yeah. Just great. Say! How about I direct you to these trees over here. Yes, these trees. The trees that are a good ways away from the cottage and my bee hive. Ok? I'm going to gather some things and head out. You can stay here until I'm back."

*****

"It's nice being out here. The peace. The quiet. No trying to chop down a tree using a twig." MouseEye perched on my shoulder, echoed what I'd been thinking. He continued. "Although it does seem a bit cruel to whack a living tree repeatedly with a piece of dead tree. I mean... trees have feelings too."

I said, "I do hope they have a good sense of humour."

MouseEye shrugged. "I'd think they're rather uptight. How else can you grow so tall?"

We both had a good laugh.

It felt good to be out, walking, enjoying the sun, the breeze, and the gentle odours that floated on it. Not to mention the mountain looming ahead of us. Somewhere up there was Glittersnow - the product of snow absorbing the power within ley lines. Combined with a bit of Wild Rose, that lovely flower growing in my plant bed, Roger and his amazing reactions/warrior instincts/pure physicality would be restored. Which, I'm sure to the relief of the trees, would result in relief in not having him whack them over and over as he tried out various battle cries.

I thought about the best way to locate the Glittersnow and it occurred to me that rather than find snow and hope it was on a ley line, that instead I should look for a ley line and follow it up the mountain until I hit snow. Rather brilliant of me, I wasn't ashamed to admit!

The trick, then, was to find a ley line. And for that, I didn't need my eyes. (In fact, they'd get in the way). Instead, I focused internally, paying attention to my intuition. (While there are other methods of finding ley lines, like pendulums and divining rods, they're just methods of focusing intuition). It did take a while of navigating the hills and terrain of the Mountain while staying focused on the ley line (and in there as well was MouseEye, who began telling jokes. It would've made things more difficult if I'd been laughing, but his jokes were so bad I only groaned.)

After finding a ley line, I then began following it. Unfortunately, they don't adjust course to help searchers navigate around sheer rock walls or through thick berry brambles. It took a while to finally reconnect to the ley line in a space with snow. But I found it, celebrated, and collected some (and celebrated again because who couldn't use a bit of victory dance in their life? However, victory speeches to phantom crowds of grateful townspeople saved from marauding hordes don't count!)

With the absolutely necessary reagent collected, I decided to look around and see if more potion ingredients were close by. Which is how I noticed a cave. It was very nondescript on the face of it. But quite comfortable and cozy inside with mosses growing at the cave mouth and on the floor. Which helps explain why a lost sheep might hunker down in it.

It "baaa'ed". I said, "Hello." And things progressed from there. Mostly due to MouseEye's ability to speak... what? Everything? Sheep, for sure. Anyway, it became pretty clear that the sheep didn't belong here. It wasn't sure where exactly it did belong, but it was able to give us a clue or two as to where to go. At least initially. And that was near the mountain, but a different face of it. We had a walk to get this sheep returned. I did have a bit of a quandary - return the sheep or get back to Whacky Roger. The sheep won out.

We picked our way along the side of Moonbreaker Mountain. There were animal paths that made things easier (when they existed and headed in roughly the supposed right way). And there were some places that were more... I don't want to say "precarious"... but there were places that guaranteed the sheep hadn't come through there. 

At one point we came across a large Gull-Drake nest. The birds weren't amused. Especially when I helped myself to bits of their nest (not structurally important bits!) and a bit of guano that was holding it together. They cried, swooped, pooped on (not collectable, unfortunately), and pecked at us. Thankfully it was more to scare than to injure. I thanked them and left (although I don't think they accepted my appreciation). 

As we made our way, the sheep had this amazing ability to find Candy Rock. And eat it. All of it. After it'd eaten the fourth lump, I began to worry it'd go into some sort of diabetic shock. How could it eat all that sweet? It was... ugh! And it would've been nice if it would leave one piece for me. (It did. Eventually. I decided to hide it deeper in a pocket than I usually put reagents because there was no telling if Sheepy would suddenly get hungry for my piece.) Clearly, with this sheep's ability to eat Candy Rock, it hadn't passed through this path. And maybe the sheep had been in a diabetic coma in that cave for a while. Maybe?

We did eventually spot a farm sitting in a lush valley. Shortly after, we heard sheep calls and sheep dogs. The sheep I was guiding no longer needed a guide  - it took off like a shot, glad to recognize its home. It took me longer to get there.

As I got closer, a few children ran out to meet me. "Did you find Gerty?", "What's your name?", "Mah!!!" were a few things yelled out. As I walked towards the main house, the children followed me and continued to yell out questions. 

A middle-aged woman emerged from the house, wiping her hands on an apron. "Greetings. Am I hearing correctly that you've brought our fool runaway sheep home?"

I said I had and that I'd found her in a Moonbreaker Mountain cave. 

"Is that a fact? I wonder what she was doing up there?"

I told her I suspected it was for Candy Rock.

"Hmm. Sounds like her. Anyway, my thanks for the service. Do you live locally? I don't believe I recognize you."

"I'm Mistress Sweetwater, the new witch near High Rannoc."

"Are you? Well, it's getting late enough that you shouldn't be travelling back. You'll twist an ankle or worse up there. You'll stay with us the night and can head back safely when the sun's up tomorrow."

I started to refuse, but she insisted. "Don't fret for room or board - we've plenty enough of both. Have to, what with all the little ones. And it's what we've always done for the High Rannoc witch."

"Oh! You knew the old witch?"

"Sure we did. Didn't come often but it was a joy to have her stay."

I was given an honour guard (one child was assigned to show me. The others came and helped) to see me to a bedroom (where I'd be sleeping with the girls) so I could clean up before supper. 

It was tasty and there was plenty. And by plenty, I don't simply mean the food. The whole family (including the father and a couple of older boys who'd been working in the fields) were excited, happy, and laughing. I think my presence was an excuse to have a bit of a party. 

After the meal and associated clean-up (I insisted that I help), we talked and sang and danced. 

Somewhere in all that I found out their family name is Bleater. I guessed sheep farming had been part of the family tradition for a long time!

Also somewhere in there, I was introduced to a song they liked to make up for guests. Apparently the old witch loved it and would come armed with a verse or two. It starts like this:

She'll be coming round the mountain when she comes (when she comes)

She'll be coming round the mountain when she comes (when she comes)

She'll be coming round the mountain

She'll be coming round the mountain

She'll be coming round the mountain when she comes (when she comes)

The she meaning me. 

The next verse was:

She'll be bringing back our Girty when she comes (when she comes)

(I'm sure you get the idea that it repeats just like the first stanza.)

And so on. 

I tried to make up a good line for the song. My creativity was "aided" with a nip (or two) or something very apple-y, very yummy, and very burn-y when swallowed! So I sang:

She'll be carrying a mouse-y when she comes (when she comes)

All eyes turned towards me when I sang that. Partly in a bit of shock, but mostly because MouseEye, the always-watchful, the never-seen, the little-trickster, was dancing on top of my head. I think I'd had enough of whatever it was for the both of us.

It was a delightful night. And overnight was... unusual... given that there were several of us all sleeping together in the same bed. Between the long day, the celebrations, and everything, I fell asleep right away. 

I was told by one of the young girls that I snored. But she said that it was funny to hear, so it was ok. 

One early, filling breakfast later, I was ready to go. Mrs. Bleater handed me a small pot of something sweet (it would keep just fine for use in my potion. She insisted on contributing to the potion since that was the original reason I'd been on the mountain in the first place). I bid them farewell and headed out.

It didn't take anywhere near as long to return as it had to get there - not trying to find and follow ley lines can save huge amounts of time! But it was mid-day when I got back to my cottage. To the peace, the quiet, and the grunts of satisfaction from skewering imagined vanquished foes.

I let him continue with his training session, I guess it'd be called, as I prepped and brewed the potion. It took seconds to mix the crushed rose hip seeds with the Glittersnow (quite melted now, but still effective), and the added sweet from the Bleaters.

My warrior prince patient would have licked it clean, I think. He seemed as eager for sweet as Girty was. Anyway, it was satisfying to see his bones finally settle down. 

The relief he was feeling was plain. His entire body relaxed. He even stopped stabbing everything around him. 

However, it was my turn to be uncomfortable. I knew he only charged ten silver for a protection trip and here I was about to charge him thirty for the potion plus four for each of the three doses of sweet. Forty-two silver. That wasn't a profitable trip for him at all!

Roger, to his credit, after he digested the cost, accepted it and paid. I encouraged him to let the doctor know about the additional cost of his healing and to add a term in his contract to include "damages to person". 

I also felt bad when he told me he'd slept the night beneath a tree. He said he felt uncomfortable sleeping in someone else's bed, especially a witch's bed. It took me a minute to digest that. But I gratefully accepted his sacrifice of personal comfort.

After he left, I got to work on the grounds. It wasn't that I'd not done anything on the land for weeks, but I wanted to get back to my usual routine. 

I finished up for the day and went into the cottage to make some food (nowhere near as tasty or as plentiful as last night's meal!), which is when I spotted a note on the mantlepiece. With a gentle glow coming from behind it.

That, I decided, would have to wait until tomorrow.

Also Spring, Week 5 - Miss Bogfire

To hear the narration of the episode and learn how I put it together, check this out:

*****

 Quiet. Blessedly quiet. The crackle of the occasional stick popping open in the hearth as I sit and sip and relax. It seems life has become either frantically busy as I run around gathering necessary reagents, dealing with the environs where I have to go to find them, or the blessed peace in between cases. I know I'm needed here - every time someone needs help and I'm able to provide it demonstrates just how much I'm needed. But what I want is more of this. Peace. Solitude. Harmony.

On the flip side, the last couple of weeks has been full of time off. Aside from cleaning up endless messes! I suppose I should be grateful that the last encounter didn't end up with my place a total wreck. Who would've thought a vampiric necromancer could use a mop?

Thank you, cottage, for not laying that cleaning job on me!

And also on the flip side - I've been doing quite nicely for myself monetarily. I think it's about time that I added something to the cottage. Or something that will assist me as I go about the gathering of potion-makings. And for that, it's to the village I go. I'm sure Bob will have just the thing. Even if I'm not sure what that thing is yet.

I gathered up a few things and prepared to head out. As I stopped in front of the spirit house to let it know my intention to head off, I spotted MouseEye in what has become his place in the structure. He opened an eye. "Heading out?"

"Yes. To the village. And I think you should come too. Visibly."

He just looked at me. "Must I?"

"I think it would be good for you. I know you like to watch and observe, mostly out of sight, but I think you should consider being visible at times too."

He didn't move. He just laid there and looked at me.

*Sigh*.  Fine. "Yes, MouseEye. You must."

He took his turn to sigh. "Ok."

As we headed to High Rannoc, MouseEye on my shoulder, I talked. About how well things were going. About all the things we'd seen and done. About all the adventures we'd had. MouseEye kept up an unenthusiastic "mmm hmm" to each of my observations. So I stopped talking. And instead let my mind wander to an imagined stock of goods at Bob's shop. Nothing really inspired my excitement, even when I dreamed of impossible things like trees that cut themselves down, chopped themselves up, and stacked themselves as firewood, or a scullery that magically did all the dishes. Oh well - I'm sure actually seeing Bob's inventory will cure me of needing to dream of something worthwhile.

"MouseEye? What do you think I'll buy today?"

"Mmm hmm."

Maybe this wasn't the best idea. Anyway - I'm not letting a certain someone's attitude ruin my day! I'm going shopping and that's that! Unwilling companion or no.

It's hard to ignore the sorry state of the boundary between High Rannoc and the rest of the world, try as I might. I hope those large timbers aren't actually needed to keep things out. And I really hope that because I'm outside those walls! Ha! Me - first line of defence against bandits, monsters, and who knows what else. But, to be fair, one necromancer might be less inclined to cause trouble.

Those thoughts got me thinking - maybe I am a bit of a buffer between things Out There and In Here. But before I could take that thought any further, I arrived at Bits & Bobs.

Bob, as usual, was attentive, patient, and very willing to show off his stock. But as I looked at various items, nothing seemed to... fit. Nothing was quite right. My anticipation of buying something was quickly draining away and I found myself wanting to tearfully apologize for wasting his time. Which is when Bob asked the fateful question. "Have you considered expanding the areas you search for reagents?"

That stopped me. Yes. Yes! YES!!! That was the thing. I was suddenly transported to traveling to the Cloud Isles in Madcap's balloon. That would be amazing! That would be...!

"I have a friend. Bit of an eccentric but can weave wood like nothing I've ever seen. He makes boats. Calls 'em 'coracles'. They're not much more than a bit of circular dryness on top of boggy bogginess, but one of those would mean you could navigate through Blastfire Bog. Not that I'd suggest that to most anyone, but then again, you're not most anyone."

The bog? It's... well... it's not flying, that's for sure. But... going out in a small boat to explore a new area, gather new and unique items... yes. Yes! YES!!! Sold! I'm in! How exciting!

Bob and I traded items - he got seventy silver and I got a paper to take to the coracle maker, Cunk, to show I'd paid properly. So exciting! I couldn't wait to have my first sail. Or row, I suppose - coracles don't have a mast. Or a rudder. Or a keel. But what my boat will have is a fine rower. 

I stepped out of the shop with a pep to my step. The sun was a little brighter, the flowers a bit more colourful, the... why is someone walking at me? Why... I think he was in the herbology school? And I'm sure I don't know his name...

"Hey! Loser! What are you doing here? You quit! So go home back to your mommy!"

Ah. Well isn't this delightful? "Sorry, do I know you?"

"Yeah, you know me. You're such a failure that you don't even remember who was in your class."

Ok. Tongue - stay put. Feet - start moving. Eyes - look away. Mouth... oooh, why won't you listen? "Sorry, I have to go. So... see you."

He grabbed my arm. "And I see a rodent, a pathetic mouse, on your shoulder. That's your familiar? Ha ha! What a joke!"

I bristled. I stopped and turned. "Take your hands off of me."

"Why? You going to cry?"

"No. But you will." I didn't say that. MouseEye did. And then he jumped from my shoulder onto my attacker's neck, and then slid down under his shirt. What happened next was that the boy let go of me and clasped his chest as he screamed in pain. A small red circle started to appear on his shirt. As the boy turned to run away, crying, MouseEye slid out from the shirt cuff and jumped back onto my shoulder. "It's not like I bit him all that hard. But it is all about placement."

Time to leave before anything more happens!

*****

Blastfire Bog extends from the edge of Glimmerwood Grove forest and off to the edges of the Moonbreaker Mountain range. It's a huge expanse that houses all sorts of unique life. Including bog goblins. Which includes at least one who tried (and failed) to sell Bob inactive Fentoad Scurf and who also tried (and succeeded) in cursing him.

And here I was, off to see someone named "Cunk". I guessed I was about to have dealings with an industrious goblin. Hopefully I wouldn't end up with a curse of my own.

As we walked to the Bog, MouseEye and I talked about the encounter in the village. And about changes - the very same topic I'd been musing on earlier. After the encounter with Richard, Count von Rannoc, and how the land had defended itself, I felt little fear about being waylaid by a jealous boy. Or, if he has friends, a pack of them. I didn't feel invincible, but I did feel much safer than I would have even a couple of weeks ago.

Oh, how fast things can change!

After a while, we found the piece of shore, if there can be a shore to a bog, where Cunk has his workshop. As we approached it, we called out to let Cunk know we were approaching. There's no sense in staying quiet if that causes a startled curse-wielding someone to start hurling magic at you before getting a chance to think!

Cunk - how to describe him? Start with what you think a bog goblin looks like, then add unsettling clever eyes and a bearing that gets you thinking that if bog goblins have royalty, here before you stands a likely family member. Even his smell, while strong, wasn't putrid. Exactly. Maybe he'd bathed in the bog recently.

He came out of his shack, cautious, wary, but curious. His eyes were clearly taking us in. "Yeah. What?", he half-yelled.

"I just bought a coracle. I've paid Bob. Here's the paper." I held it up to show him.

"Come." Cunk turned around and entered his shack. I did my best to prepare for the enclosed version of Cunk.

The shack wasn't much beyond his coracle workshop. Strips of wood were all over, some bits woven already, others being prepared. He also had a large pot over the fire; the odour was some sort of adhesive or perhaps sealant. Maybe this was how he kept water out. In a corner was some straw and a blanket. Cunk had made his way to a bare patch of his worktable. He slapped it. "Show."

I put the paper down and stepped back. He took it, made at least a show of reading it (whether he could actually read it is another question), smelled it, then said, "Ok. Follow." We went out the other door and into what must have been his storage area. He had a few boats leaning up against trees. "Pick."

They all looked the same to me. So I asked for some help. "Which one is best?"

"All best."

Ok. Thanks for the help. As I started looking at each one, he followed (I didn't need to see him to know he was close, if you know what I mean). As I looked at one, he said, "Big. Carry lots. Paddle hard."

Now that was useful. I hadn't considered that the size of the boat would affect the difficulty to use it.

I looked at another. "Small. Carry little. Paddle easy. Lift easy. You small. Maybe best."

And that's how I ended up with Miss Bogfire, the finest, smallest, most nimblest coracle on the Blastfire Bog seas. Cunk carried it easily to a small dock. "Dock here. Ok." And there was another thought I hadn't even contemplated yet - where to keep it when it wasn't in use. But... wouldn't he want some compensation for keeping it at his dock? "I can keep it somewhere so that it's not in your way."

He looked at me for a second, then said, "Better here. Water up, water down, coracle here, no coracle gone." I started to give that a thought when he added, "You witch, yes?"

I said I was.

"Help Bob, yes?"

I said I had.

"Keep here. Better."

I thanked him, but asked, "Did you give Bob the cludgy mouth?"

He looked shocked. "Me? No. Stupid, greedy goblin. Live in bog. You sail, you meet."

I was taken back to when I'd wanted to hear how a certain vampire wasn't going to be a problem. I found myself wishing for the same basic thing, only replacing vampire with goblin. But I was also feeling brave(r), so I decided it was time for a maiden voyage.

I'd heard, at some time or other, that when big sailing ships are launched, they are christened using some sort of bubbly wine. Having nothing like that on hand, I scooped a handful of bubbling bog water, dribbled it onto the gunnel, and had a quick naming ceremony. I also asked that if she ever felt like sinking that she do so without me onboard. Cunk chuckled. 

With that done, I set off. It took a few minutes to get used to it. A circular boat doesn't cut through the water so much as unwillingly running it over. So going forward was an effort. Spinning in a circle, however - it was brilliant at doing that. Even when I really didn't want to.

Like I said, it took a bit to get used to. But I did get going and set off across the water. And the islets. And the trees and reeds and...

"MouseEye? How am I supposed to navigate back home? Everything looks the same."

He just yawned. "I watch."

"So you can get me back? From wherever?"

"Mmm hmm."

I didn't want to go too far out. Initially. But as I found a rhythm, I just kept going deeper in. 

After a while, I pulled up on a small dry-ish island. It felt good to hop off, stretch my legs (they were folded under me during my paddling) and looked around. It was very open, very bright - nothing taller than large scruffy bushes got in the way of the sky. The air hummed with insects of all sorts. Happily, none of them were hungry for witch's blood.

I remembered an addendum to the old witch's notes about reagents growing specifically, and only, in the Bog. On a lark, I began to dig next to where I was sitting. And found Milkroot. In a minute I had a good-sized tuber. Into the boat it, and we, went. Rest time was over!

Off we went in a different direction and came to another small islet - this one covered in mushrooms and other low growth. It looked the perfect place for faire folk to gather. And I was right! Their dust (quite glittery) was all over. It took a bit to gather some up, pinch by pinch, but I did eventually have a nice amount.

It was starting to get later in the day, so I started heading in the general direction of back home, but I took an alternate route. As I paddled, I started hearing the unmistakeable sounds of toads. I had to go look.

As I paddled closer to the islet where the sounds were coming from, toads began to jump, panicked. Towards me. Which was really weird. Until my nose picked up the indescribable reek of bog goblin. Several goblin heads suddenly rose above the grasses, toads continued to jump in all sorts of directions, including towards me, and in all the pandemonium, or perhaps toademonium (there being no pandas here), a large toad ended up in my boat and scooted under the seat.

The goblins, who up to this point had been focused solely on toads, spotted me, There were grunts, screams, yells, and a couple of loud belches. One in particular looked enraged. "You! Thief! Steal toads!"

I started to backpaddle as fast as I could. Meanwhile, most of the goblins ran to the water's edge and stopped. However, the really angry one looked around desperately, then started to grab and throw handfuls of mud at me. Goblin + anger + mud = bad aim.

I paddled away from there as fast as I could.

After a few minutes, I felt safe enough to stop, listen, and assess. No sounds of pursuit. No crashing of angry goblins in the undergrowth or swimming my way. No sounds but for one quiet, perhaps grateful?, croaking from under my seat.

I peeked underneath. It peered out back.

"You're safe."

It just stayed in place.

"I can set you on land somewhere."

Again, no movement.

"I'm heading home. Back to my cottage. I'm a witch, by the way. Mistress Sweetwater, at your service."

It croaked. Within that croak I swear I heard "home". Well... ok. "Can I call you Fen? Short for Fentoad?"

Another croak. The meaning was more complicated, and to be honest I didn't understand most of it, but I think part of it was acceptance.

Not much happened after that (thank goodness). I was guided back home by both MouseEye and Fen (there were a couple of times they argued over the best way back). I pulled up at the dock and was met by Cunk. "You meet! Ha! Have toad! Ha ha! Welcome back!"

I unloaded the coracle and then went to help pull it out of the water. "You go. Goblin come. Sun go." I thanked Cunk, then headed home.

The walk back was entirely uneventful. MouseEye on one shoulder, Fen on the other, not a word spoken among the three of us.

When we got back, Fen found a spot outside, near the spring where I collect water, to live. MouseEye settled back into his usual perch in the spirit house. And I brewed a lovely cup of tea and reflected again on just how fast things can change.