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?