Spring, Week 10 - The Traveling Troubadour

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

*****

 It's been a tough few weeks. The whole mess with the mayor... it's been stressful. And I've been avoiding people, companionship, even friendships. I know there are people in High Rannoc who support me. I'm feeling lonely, despite having penpals in the Here Yet Not Here and the friendly faces of everyone and everything living on the grounds. I think I'm ready to face down the rumour mongers and spend a bit of time amongst friends. Or, at the very least, be in town and show everyone that I'm not ashamed to show my face. I'll ride into town on Vapour Trail, all lit up and beautiful, and... and there is no 'and'. I'll just go and be brave and face whatever needs facing.

Despite coming to a decision about what I'm going to do, I've found myself doing little things here and there which, were anyone to judge my actions, could view them as avoidance. Not that I'd agree with that conclusion! It's just that, when faced with something that could go badly, and quickly, socially, I find that there are things that I see that need doing before taking on anything new. Like the cauldron needing a good scrubbing. The hearth needs a good sweep. The chimney should get a good scrubbing to keep the creosote under control. The...

"Hello, hello! To the faire I go!

I know the way, just steps away

and maybe it won't start today

but I'll keep singing anyway!"

So... I'm covered, head to toe, in black ash and grime and there's someone approaching the cottage singing exuberantly. I hope it's not someone suffering from a singing sickness needing immediate treatment! It'll take days just to get to a semblance of clean! And still the singing got closer.

"Hello, hello! Is anybody home?

I'm free to roam, with no fixed home

Is anybody home?"

And then a knock.

Now, as to how this bard didn't see me on the roof as I finished up the chimney... I was hiding. Yes - I, Mistress Sweetwater, witch of High Rannoc and environs, was lying down on the roof trying hard to not be noticed. The lonely witch, absolutely covered in soot, avoiding a knock at the door, and I...

"There's a bard knocking at the door." I realized, with MouseEye's voice coming from in front of me, that I'd closed my eyes. Because apparently that helped me hide better! So I opened them and, sure enough, MouseEye was up on the roof with me, crouching down, hiding, too.

"I know!", I hissed.

"Are you going to answer it?" MouseEye's eyes glittered with mischief. 

"No!"

"Ok. I will." And before I could stop him, he ran, sprang, and disappeared. I groaned inwardly. And then I heard, "Just one moment please! Mistress Sweetwater is indisposed. Please come in and make yourself comfortable."

There was no helping it. Now I had to come down and deal with... someone. Great.

"She's making herself at home. You're welcome." MouseEye was lying down next to me again, grinning. I swear, MouseEye should be happy I can't literally shoot daggers out of my eyes because at this moment I was trying really hard to make them shoot something. Given his impudent grin, I was indeed shooting something, but something less deadly and more ticklish. 

Fine. Fine! I'm going to handle this the best way I can. I stood up, called for Vapour Trail, and waited for a second.

Ok - it was a little longer than a second. It was exactly long enough for the visitor to stride out from the cottage and watch as I caught my broom, jump off the roof, and settle onto the ground. I think I felt a small cloud of ash rise up with my landing.

We both started talking at the same time, then quickly stopped. Then the bard made a grand gesture and said, "Pleased to meet you, Mistress Sweetwater. I'm the Traveling Troubadour, Bess by name, bard by trade, minstrel to all far and wide."

I smiled. I couldn't help myself. There was something just so... familiar. Easy. Fun. And it was infectious. I'd certainly caught something that turned my mood 180 degrees. "I'm afraid Mistress Sweetwater isn't here just yet. But I dare say that in an hour, and after a really good wash, she'll be here. For right now, just call me Ash. Ly. Ashly. 

Her eyes glittered back. "Ashly, can I get your Mistress' fire going while you wash up?"

"That would be delightful. Thank you."

And that was that. I took a towel and a lot of soap with me to the stream and Bess got the fire going.

It felt like forever to get all the grime off and feel clean. By which I mean almost all the grime because it just wouldn't all wash off!

Note to self - self-sufficiency is nice, but I bet I could hire help and not feel like I'm a walking ash pit. Even the few coughs I've had are a smokey grey! But I finally got to where I didn't feel filthy anymore, then headed back to the cottage. 

I hadn't forgotten that I had a visitor but I did sort of lose track of it because I couldn't help but be a little surprised when I walked into the cottage and Bess was there in front of the fire, looking at the spirit house. 

"You look cleaner. And a lot happier for it."

"Would you mind if...?" and I gestured to the door. 

She nodded in acknowledgement, then closed the door behind her. I took a minute to get dried off and dressed, and then opened the door. I didn't see her right away, but coming from a short way off was quiet singing. I followed the sound and found Bess sitting under a tree.

 "Either that was a very quick hour that passed or you are a much cleaner Ashly."

"No. It's Mistress Sweetwater now. Or just Sweet. It felt like it'd take an hour just to start to feel clean! Would you like some tea?"

"I'd love some!"

We chatted all the way back to the cottage. Which, to be honest, was very unusual for me. When people come to the cottage, they come with a purpose, i.e. to be cured of some affliction. And then they leave. And I like it like that. And so, to be happy and chatty with anyone is really unusual. 

"It's a hazard of the profession", she said when I mentioned it to her. "When you travel around, meeting people, hearing news, learning stories, you have to be approachable, charismatic even. So don't worry - you aren't the first person to feel like you're in danger of talking my ear off!" She laughed as she told me.

We'd settled into the cottage, drinking tea, trading stories. She told me about some places she'd visited, "... but I haven't been to the Imperial City. Yet. One day." And some of her adventures. "But enough about me! How'd you get me talking so much?"

I told her about being a witch, of some of my cures, places I'd been, and some of my adventures. By the time we'd traded stories, the day was well along. I'd been talking so much I didn't notice until the slanting sun shone through a window. "Oh my goodness! I just realized I'm famished. You must be too. Can I invite you to stay for dinner? It's not much but it is tasty." She gratefully accepted.

As I cooked, she sang and told stories. Most of the time it was in Commonspeak but here and there were different languages - some sound vaguely familiar while others were just plain strange.

After eating and cleaning up, I asked if she needed a place to sleep. "It's awfully generous but I've got a wagon and donkey parked by the entryway to your footpath here. Marvin, that's my donkey, will be fine - he's got plenty to eat. And my wagon's got a bed in it. That's one thing I got early on in my travels! It may sound romantic to sleep under the stars or even under a tent, but a real bed is priceless. So I'm all set for tonight.

"But I do want to thank you for your hospitality today. Would it be ok if I made us some breakfast tomorrow before I head into the town?"

"Thank you! Sounds lovely. Oh - are you here for the Spring Festival? It's not for three weeks yet, but I believe it's quite the thing."

"Three weeks early? I... I guess I lost track of the days! It's longer than I usually stay in any one place, but let's see how things go and if it makes sense, I'll stay for it."

The sun was on the verge of dipping below the horizon when Bess, whistling, made her way towards her wagon.

And as I went to bed, I felt... it was like a warm spot in my soul. I have penpals (and a Best Bestie!) but this, this instantaneous friendship, is wonderful!

I woke up the next morning in a fantastic mood. And yes, it was before the sun rose! I wanted the day to start and to be long and wonderful.

Before it gets asked - yes, I had the fire up and ready to go. What I had for plates and cutlery were polished. Multiple times. It kept me from pacing in the cottage. Staying in the cottage kept me from knocking on a certain someone's wagon door!

"Nervous much?", said a bleary-eyed mouse.

"No! Why would I be?"

"No reason. Silly of me to ask."

It was a good question. Why was I so... not nervous, exactly, but... ummm... nervous. I guess. But not a bad nervous! A good nervous. A...

"Knock knock!", said the very welcome figure who stepped in.

"Hi!", I chirped. 

She laughed throatily. "You're quite awake. Sleep ok?"

"I did! And you?"

"So good. Ready for breakfast a la Bess?"

"Ravenous."

"Good! Then let's get cooking!"

Bess surveyed what I had, then grabbed a few ingredients and started cooking. It smelled... ummm... how to put it?... alarmingly bad. 

"Can I help?", I asked as I peered over her shoulder. 

There was this look on her face, a comical mix of apology, embarrassment, and overwhelm. "I really wanted to surprise you with a good breakfast. And I think I really wanted to surprise myself with the ability to make one! But... ah... it's not to be this morning. I'm sorry I've wasted the food."

"No worries! How about this - you tell a tale or two and I'll whip up a couple of omelettes tout de suite." 

I tossed her cooking atrocity out and quickly replaced it with my plain Jane (but filling and tasty) fair. Meanwhile, she told a story about the love of a fisherman, who lived along a river, for a river nymph and the child that was born from that relationship. His name was Bank and he lived a remarkable life. It was as if the spirit of humanity and the river water combined to form someone who could go with the flow when needed but could also blast through and around any and all obstacles in his way. He became a wise mayor, a beneficent provider, and a fierce protector. When he died at the ripe old age of 352 years, his body was placed in the river, where it literally dissolved and washed away. 

I had to force myself to not pay all my attention to her telling - I didn't want to scrap yet another breakfast attempt!

As we ate, I decided to tease Bess a little. "Where did you learn your cookery skills?" I grinned as I asked.

She took a minute to chew a few extra, and perhaps not absolutely necessary, times. "I... ah... didn't spend much time in kitchens, growing up. I was... ah... doing other things. Other chores. You know?"

I had to ask. "So... what were you trying to put together this morning?"

She gave me a weak smile. "Tavern keepers make it look so easy - just throw things together and have it be delicious. So I figured, how hard can it be? Now I know! I should've stuck with roasting miscellaneous rodent and/or birds on a spit over an open fire."

"Open fire - check. But I'm a bit short on rodent."

We both laughed and finished eating. We both started to say, "Shall we...?", then stopped.

I looked at her, crossed my arms, then said, "Well? Shall we?" And she did the same back. "Well? Shall we?" And laughing, we both said "yes" at the same time. And then we both just stood there. Which was funny on its own. 

"What did we just say we should do?", I asked.

"I thought it was some combination of cleaning up, then heading into High Rannoc. I need to ingratiate myself at a local tavern..."

"The. There's only one. The Copper Fox."

"... right. Right! The tavern. And start playing sets. That brings in customers which then brings me silver, and the occasional free drink, and everyone is happy."

"Ok. Good! And I'll.. I guess..."

"Why, you shall provide cures as needed, listen enraptured to me, and overall have a good time. What say you?"

It sounded good. Great even. It'd be nice to have a reason to stay in town for a while, socialize a bit (and hopefully that silly mayor business had, or would, blow over), and just relax. It'd be a rare treat. We cleaned up, then headed to her wagon.

To say it's a modest wagon is, well... accurate. It's quite small and, in essence, a tiny cabin on wheels. Painted on each side of the cabin walls are painted pictures of Bess and a mandolin. Words certainly weren't needed - the pictures got the idea across. And besides, I don't think a lot of people know how to read.

As we approached, her donkey looked up from grazing. Now - I might've been seeing things, but I swear the donkey gave Bess a quick questioning look and she just as quickly shook her head ever-so-slightly no. I would've disregarded it completely if not for the flash of resigned annoyance on the donkey's face and the accompanying snort. Bess looked at me and saw incomprehension. "Oh, don't mind Marvin. You know how donkeys are."

Right. It seems my adage about things not being as they seem has now been extended to encompass Bess and Marvin. So long as it's not harmful to me, we're all good!

She got Marvin harnessed in and we rode on the wagon together for the few minutes it took to arrive outside the Copper Fox Tavern. And not much after that, I'd introduced Fussy and Bess, her wagon was positioned to showcase a bard was now in town, and she was already playing for the couple of patrons eating their meals.

I felt bad that so few people were here to listen, but both Fussy and Bess assured me everything was just fine. Give it time, they said. Advertising comes in many forms, they said. It'd be the crowd tonight that would dictate just how successful (or not) Bess had been at drawing and keeping a crowd.

And they were so right. The afterwork and dinner crowd was bigger than usual (so said Fussy), but it was the rowdy evening crowd that Bess really played to. The songs were boisterous, bawdy, bodacious even. And a major hit. People sang, danced, swayed (mostly from the enormous amounts of beer and spirits being consumed), and overall had a fantastic time. Fussy was run off his feet keeping up with orders, Robert Robertson was doing his best to help, and even I got enlisted. The roar of the room was enough to bury whatever mean and/or rude comments were directed towards me.

As the nighttime entertainment continued, the mayor and his wife came in and sat down. Things got a bit tense at first, almost as if the people in the room were embarrassed to be having a good time, but the mayor quickly began singing along with the songs and the room exhaled. His wife, a severe-looking woman, sat watching the proceedings, not participating much at all. Maybe it was because she was under the weather - her nose looked red and she was constantly dabbing at it with a handkerchief. And not much after coming in, she left, leaving her husband to get more and more drunk.

They didn't pay attention to me at all. Thank all the gods for that!

At some point, Bess called it a night, the crowd dispersed, Fussy started cleaning the tavern before counting the take, and Robert and I did our best to help clean up. By the time we were all done, it was super late, I was exhausted, and we all started to head to our collective beds.

I'd figured Bess had gone to her wagon to sleep since I didn't see her outside. So I started heading home. Which is when MouseEye popped onto my shoulder. "Something's wrong. Go check on Bess."

That woke me up. Alarm bells, accompanied with flashes of red-hot fire, flashed through my mind's eye. "Where is she?"

"Down near the Lunar Tower."

As I began to run, I asked, "Is anyone with her? Is she ok?"

"No. And no."

Minutes later, and following the sound of coughing, I found her sitting with her back to the solid rock of the Ritual Stone. The little labyrinth that led to the centre was still filled with debris but she'd somehow made her way through. 

"Bess?", I called.

"What's happening to me?", she cried.

At first I thought she was referring to her coughing. And then, after a minute, I realized she was definitely referring to her coughing. 

"I was feeling fine! But I needed a bit of air so I walked down here. And then I started hacking away! But I still feel fine! *cough cough*

Her voice is mellow, melodious, rich. The cough was rough, severe, and an octave or two higher than it should've been. She was coughing someone else's cough.

I asked if she wanted company going back to the wagon. 

"I can't go back into town! If people suspect I'm unwell, they'll at best assume I won't be performing for a few days. At worst they'll blame me for all the pounding headaches and body aches they're going to feel from being hungover. No - I'll stay here. But... can you help me?"

Mentally, I scanned the old witch's book and found a diagnosis: Ventriloquist Cough. I needed to act fast, if for no other reason that Bess' voice could be affected for days, and also because the silly goose insisted on staying out here. Even when I offered her to stay at my cottage, she declined.

Ok then. Time for this witch to do her thing.

I raced home and scanned the book for the cure details. Ghost Goo, already in the cupboard, would take care of half the problem. For the other, I needed to go to... the Hollow.

I stifled my automatic complaining about the place and instead grabbed my things and headed off with MouseEye on my shoulder.

"You don't suppose...", I started to say as I made my way towards the dungeon.

"Suppose what?"

It felt like I knew what was going on, on one level at least, but the dots just weren't connecting in the 'racing-to-the-area-I-hate-after-spending-the-day-being-around-more-people-than-I've-ever-been-around-in-my-life-and-exhausted-from-a-half-dozen-different-causes-not-least-of-all-was-a-magical-malady-that-had-struck-my-new-friend' level.

But luck was with me. In a couple of ways, in fact. One was that I didn't trip and kill myself. And the other was that I found a map at the Hollow's entrance. Which is to say that MouseEye spotted it and called my attention to it.

As maps go, it was pretty terrible. I knew enough about the Hollow to spot several errors and omissions. But what it did show was the location of Darkwater. It was something I'd never used before and was located in a part of the dungeon I hadn't explored yet. But! - and this was a big but - it was exactly what I needed.

In my mind, back at the level that was busy connecting dots, more and different dots were being drawn into the big picture (or pictures, I had no clue), which I was still not grasping at my current level (which pretty much consisted of stumbling forward towards the next needed step to make a potion).

I hoped the Mimic, as Igor calls it, would show up and guide me. Nope. I hoped MouseEye would talk to me to help distract me from my exhaustion. Didn't happen. And, frankly, I was too tired to ask. But the map was accurate enough and by following it, I reached a... it's not something you can call a well or spring. It was kind of like a pool full of a heavy, very sweet, very dark, syrup. I'd hesitate to add hot water and turn it into a tea; it was just that sweet!

A little while later, I was back home prepping the potion. Ghost Goo boiled and to it I added the raw Darkwater (and since Darkwater induces a medical sleeping condition, I added some Wigfish to counteract it). With it all prepped, I made my way back to Bess.

True to her word, she'd stayed at the Ritual Stone, still coughing that awful hack. I navigated the brambles so I could hand her the potion. A few gulps of potion later, and gagging from the clinging and cloying sweet, she stopped coughing. We both waited to see if the dreaded cough would come back. It didn't, leaving both of us relieved.

We were now, both of us, leaning against the cool, heavy stone, enjoying the coughless quiet and (for me, anyway), the lack of creepy dungeon darkness. The night here was refreshing - dark but delightful. 

"Thank you. I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't cured me." She leaned over and laid her head on my shoulder. It felt... comfortable.

"I think it would've gone away on its own. Someone cursed you. Someone with a cough, I should say, cursed you to cough for them. So after they would've stopped coughing, you'd've stopped too. But it's good we got it stopped before your singing voice was affected."

The quiet settled on us again. Until...

"Sweet? Did that potion have to be so... sweet?"

"Well... of course!", I replied in mock outrage. We both got a chuckle from that.

"Shall we head to bed? It's really starting to get chilly." I think I said that. Maybe she did. I was so tired I think we both ended up napping where we were sitting. By mutual agreement, we headed back. I had to walk through town to exit through the correct gate, so I walked her to her wagon.

"Thank you again. I mean it. Thank you." She gave me a quick hug and a peck on the cheek before dashing inside her wagon. And I... I walked home. Both happy that I'd cured her and miserable that the night had come to an end.

Numb, I trudged home, undressed (more out of habit than anything else), and collapsed into bed.

Ordinarily, that would be that. I'd effected a cure, they'd left, and I was left alone to my own devices. Ordinarily, that was the order of things, the normal course of affairs, my preferred existence. But... today?... tomorrow?... yesterday?... what time is it? What day is it? *sigh* What use is it asking these tough questions when the blankets are very securely over my head, blocking out whatever is going on out there? I'm good right here, lying still, hearing the birds chirp. So... morning? I guess? Morning's for the birds. Let them enjoy it. I'll just lie here until... the cows come home. And that's a safe saying, given my absolute lack of anything resembling a bovine. Now that that's settled, I'll just lie here until... there's a whistling on the wind. A non-bird, and very non-bovine, whistling. A...

"Knock knock, anybody home?"

I heard her open the door and walk in. I heard her walk over to the edge of the bed. I felt her sit on the edge. And I felt her gently tap my head through the blankets, and laugh. "That was quite the night. I'm glad you've slept in. So, how about this - you make breakfast, I'll serenade you while you do, and then you can take me somewhere that's beautiful, peaceful, and above all free of people insisting that I carry the burden of their coughing."

There was warmth in her voice. Caring. Concern. Compassion. But I just... I just lay there.

"Or I could cook up something extra special for us and..."

The way to a man's heart may be through his stomach, but the way to a woman's brain is through threatening to make a horrid mess of her kitchen.

I popped my head out from under the blankets. And immediately regretted it - it was so bright!

"Ok, maybe more like lunch. I'm not picky."

I looked around as if seeing everything for the first time. Then looked up into Bess' face. Her smiling face.

"Oh yeah. I told Fussy I'd take today off but that I'll play in or around the tavern until the festival."

I became aware that: 1. I couldn't get out of bed because she was sitting on the blankets and, 2. If I did get out of bed, I'd be quite... exposed. "Wanna give me a few minutes?"

"Sure thing."

In a repeat of yesterday (was it really only yesterday?), she settled on a seat near the cottage, humming and singing, while I quickly got around and then let her know I was dressed.

I cooked, she sang, we both ate. Lovely.

As we cleaned up, she asked where I was taking us. It seemed like an opportune time to check to see if Lady Copeland had written back, and of course the beach and Loch are gorgeous, so I suggested we go there.

As to how... I'd never tried two people on my broom but thought it'd be fun to try. So we stepped outside, I held up my hand, and Vapour Trail came as called.

"That is so cool that you can do that! And I still can't believe you own a real-live flying broom!"

It took a few minutes to figure out what seating configuration was best, but finally with me in front and Bess behind me, arms around my waist, off we went. My head still wasn't fully there, so I kept the showboating to a minimum. But, of course, I had to do a little! I felt Bess' uncertainty in the movement of Vapour Trail and so kept the ride fluid and loose. There was no sense in doing something risky and crashing into a tree.

The Loch's waters gently lapped the shore, a breeze kept the leaves moving to and fro, and the sand was warm. A perfect day at the beach!

I told her about the message in a bottle I'd gotten from my newest penpal. I then recited the poem she'd written. Bess' eyes went wide as the words rolled off my lips.

"Wow. Um... hmmm...", was all Bess said.

We stayed all day. We swam, sun-bathed, talked, joked, traded stories. I think she began composing one to start memorializing her trip to High Rannoc. It was lovely.

The sun began to set. Shadows lengthened, the breeze off the water picked up, even the temperature began to drop.

Two more things happened. The first wasn't so much something that happened but more what was noticed. Vapour Trail, which has a perpetual glow (thanks to the Pop O' Lock that merged with her), became more and more bright (comparatively) and brilliant. It took my breath away. For Bess - she was left nearly speechless. "I wondered if your broom glowed but I chalked it up to tricks of the light. But, wow, was I ever wrong! How...?"

It was as she was trying to put her feelings into words that the second thing happened: from a mist that began to rise from the Loch's waters, a ship emerged. A misty, ghostly, ethereal, three-masted ship. And on the deck of the ship were crew members. Looking at us. While we looked at them. And then Bess and I looked at each other. 

"Are you doing that?" Which makes sense for her to ask because I was wondering if somehow she was!

"No. And I take it you aren't."

"Not I, said the cat."

That stopped me - which is funny because her response caught my attention more, in that moment, than the ship and crew that had just materialized. "What's that about a cat?"

"Little Red Hen. An old tale. I'll tell it to you sometime."

Ah. As I digested that, the ship's captain came to the rail. "Ahoy! What might these waters be called?"

"Meltwater Loch!", I yelled back.

A pause, then, "Might you know the way to the township known as 'Racine'? It's famous for its moss piglet exhibition."

Bess and I looked at each other and shared shrugs. "Sorry, haven't heard of it, let alone know how to get there."

Another pause. "Well, apparently neither does my Navigator! No matter! We're here and anchored. I'd be honoured if you'd grace us with your presence onboard!"

Another shared shrug. "Sure!"

"Wonderful! Wait there and I'll have a boat launched to bring you over."

I raised my hand and Vapour Trail, in all her lighted glory, shot into my hand.

"Or you can make your own way here!"

A minute later, Bess and I were on deck. And minutes after that, there were songs, dancing, and drinking all over the ship. Bess reached for an accordion and played songs. As crew members sang their songs and told their tales, she was actively listening, learning, absorbing. She collected songs and tales the way I collect reagents - every chance we get!

I did hear someone say something like "Well shiver me timbres! Listen to that voice." before an older crew member slapped him across the chest. "Mind yourself or go below." And then the first one said something like, "Well, Quartermaster, I hear you, but there's a... a mast belowdecks and..." followed by another slap. "These ladies are the Captain's guests. Would you insult the Captain and his guests, and sully his hospitality?" There was a far more meek "No, sir." and then the Quartermaster ended with "Then not another word on the matter." It all struck me as odd, but then again, so much of what tends to happen to and around me is odd, I didn't give it another thought. Instead, I danced. It was fun and joyous. And thankfully didn't require much skill; enthusiasm was all.

While I could close this out with the nuts and bolts of the remainder of the night until finally we found ourselves to our respective beds, instead I'll leave it full of sea shanties, jigs, and the pure expressions of being alive.

That, and the repeated insistence of the Navigator that it hadn't been a mistake to not make a course correction to port off the coast of Albuquerque. 

Also Spring, Week 9 - Message in a Bottle

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

*****

 These past few weeks... no - wait... these past few days! have been crazy. The mayor... oooh - the mayor... every time I think I've finally put it past me, it comes trotting back into my headspace and I feel the need to go off and do something. Something that allows me to refocus on myself and my wellbeing, that is! For now, whatever is happening in town can stay in town.

I wonder if the town turned on the old witch and that's a reason why she left. Not that I haven't heard (or imagined) a few different reasons already. Maybe there were a bunch of factors, one of which was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back, and the town was one. And by the town, I mean the mayor.

And there I go again!

One of the benefits of my working through my frustrations with the mayor is that I'm taking time to explore different areas more deeply. I've been to the Bog, the Isles, and the Grove, so I think I'll continue my explorations and go to the Loch. By which I mean the beach! A bit of a swim, some time in the sun (and more time in the shade - my lovely tan, as lovely as it is, doesn't need another burning to make it even darker!), pick a few reagents (of course!) and overall have a relaxing time away. 

Hopefully this relaxation time won't involve my being chased by hungry, flying lizards!

I do hope I can finally get the whole mayor thing out of my head, out of my body, out of my space. Until then, I'm going to focus on me-time.

I put a few things together, let the spirit house know I was headed out, then popped onto my broom and flew off.

What can I say about Vapour Trail now that she's been "enhanced" by Pop? She feels even more nimble than before, more able to dance in the air, and, of course, the constant glow emanating from the broom - it was the epitome of the phrase, "tripping the light fantastic".

I suppose I could've flown straight to Meltwater Loch using the existing path. I suppose I didn't need to slalom around trees and sometimes through foliage. And I suppose I didn't need to experiment a little with standing on the bristles and working the broom like a surfboard, laughing at the ridiculousness of it. 

I didn't need to. But I wanted to and I loved every minute! But I did want to go to the beach, so I did get there (eventually) and set up a spot in the dappled sun (but just steps from the water).

Note to self - set up a hammock! But that's something for a different day.

The day was perfect for laying in the warm sun, feeling the gentle breeze with a hint of salt, relaxing. No need to think about patients, no call to consider what I must do, and simply allow the day to pass without any worries, bothers, or distractions. *sigh* What a lovely feeling.

After a while, I decided to take a dip. It was... how should I put it?... teeth-chatteringly cold! Yes - refreshing, in much the same way that... actually, I don't know in what other way the refreshingness of a cold dip into a deep loch can be replicated! Brrr!!!

But it's also kind of addictive in its way. After getting out and warming up for a bit, I was ready for another round of plunging into the ice blue water again.

As I was getting in and out repeatedly, I figured I'd collect a few things. Nothing stressful or difficult to find - just things that required minimal effort to get.

Smooth Croak, for example. I'd collected the mucous from the colourful frogs before. This time I decided to offer one of them a new home. And just like that, one of them hopped towards Vapour Trail. I like simple!

And another simple request was made - this time for snails, producers of Slime Shell, to come live with me. A few started their slow but steady way towards the broom. 

Speaking of simple, I collected more Deep Reed. Last time there were Wigfish aplenty but this time there were no vain swimmers around.

In fact, I ended up with only two new things. The first was something called Mermaid's Gift. Why a toxic algae has "gift" in the name baffles me. And the fact that it's something primarily used to cure Male Pattern Baldness leaves, oh, I don't know, half the population of the world only seeing it as something not to put into a seafood stew!

That... it just irks me. A boy dies years ago and suddenly the Herbology School isn't letting students experience real-life experiences. Who knows how many girls disappeared or even died! But something happens to one boy (granted it was the head family's son) and everything has to change. Really!

And then that whole thing with the mayor! He makes some sort of accusation, or perhaps not even, and all of a sudden my reputation is being examined and judged. 

It's so frustrating!

But I know I'm not the only one who feels this way. Which brings me to the second new thing I found - a bottle. A sealed bottle. An old, sealed bottle. With, on my first examination of it, a letter inside. A message in a bottle. Rather than open it on the beach, I decided to bring it back with me to the cottage. 

I'm so glad I waited to open it!

With all these things found and collected (and the snails finally finishing their huge 100 metre trek to the broom - I couldn't help them - they have pride, you know), I decided to pack up and head back. 

Impatiently, I made my way back using the fastest route I could think of, got everything (and everyone) situated, made a quick meal, then, as it cooled, I opened the bottle. 

The reason I was so happy to have waited until I was home is because the bottle was packed with paper. Packed! It took a bit of coaxing to get the papers to come out without tearing. 

I began eating and reading. And reading. And reading some more. The amount of ink alone was enough to make the letter heavy, let alone the quality paper. And the bottle itself - it looked like one of those stained glass windows they use in posh mansions and houses of worship. I didn't think they were seaworthy! (Turns out they usually aren't - but this bottle, made to emulate those windows, was).

I won't bother trying to summarize everything here, but do know there was a lot said about the sender of the letter, who signed it "Lady Copeland". She talked about the sting of winter winds, the wish to see Stew and Andy (friends of hers. Minstrels I believe) in the coming months (having seen them on several of the preceding summers), and all sorts of domestic things happening in and around Imperial City. 

Imperial City?!? While I'd only become recently aware of such a place, this letter was from someone living there!

But there were also tales of difficulties. The police, apparently, were tasked not only with fighting crime but with controlling its citizens' behaviours as well. In particular, or at least for Lady Copeland, was the fact that while she desired to write, to be a poet or an author, to take her thoughts on the Rights of All (regardless of gender, race, colour, etc.) to the public, she couldn't. Not only was she prevented from publishing, she wasn't allowed to share her thoughts with anyone.

Being a lady of means meant that she did have access to things, mostly stored away in forgotten rooms inside her mansion. Ink and paper were easy - she could write to friends no problem. It was the bottle that was the big find for her because it had a magic on it that would allow it to act like a carrier pigeon (of sorts) - once it had found an endpoint, it could travel the waters between on its own.

Aside from the already mentioned day-to-day goings-on, and the brief thesis (as she described it, anyway. I didn't think it short!), she also included a poem because she hoped to find, not just someone interested in Equality, but also knowledgeable in literature. This is what she wrote:

Perambulating like doxie muskrats

Pennant-filled joyous colours

Accusatory commingling rough with sweet

Flabbergasted pawns enraged

Dissecting rainbows, vainglorious

    of crinoline and silk 

and asked for "honest feedback". 

I... ah... well... there are a lot of big words with lots of meaning in them but put together like that... ummm... I have no idea what it means! And maybe that's the point? I think I'm going to have to give the return letter a bit of a think. Maybe send Lady Copeland a sample of my poetry? But would someone like her enjoy what I write? I... I think I'll sleep on it!

*****

I slept on it. I can't say I found any clarity overnight, but maybe with pencil in hand and blank paper in front of me, I'll write something witty, or... *sigh* I think I'll just write what comes to mind.

With pencil hovering over paper but not knowing how to begin, I... 

What's all the racket? Why is everyone croaking? (or at least - why is everyone who naturally croaks croaking?)

Putting down my pencil (and secretly relieved at not staring at the blank page), I went outside to see what was up. I headed for Fen's place. MouseEye ended up on my shoulder halfway there. "The snails found something." 

The snails? Ok...

Minutes later, I found out what was all the fuss. There was a letter, addressed to the old witch, unopened. How it had ended up being mostly buried in bracken I'll never know, but what is certain is that the old witch never opened it.

I contemplated just leaving it, figuring it was not my business. But then I reasoned that if it affected the cottage or grounds, I should know. (And, to be honest, reading the letter meant not having to write mine!)

I thanked everyone for their diligence, then brought the letter back to the cottage. What was it that the letter said?

Turns out the old witch, when she was planning her journey to Imperial City, had actually had a bit of a schedule and had made lodging arrangements. This letter was in response to her request for a year's lease on a cottage outside of the city - which, given that she had her pet cow with her, made sense. However, in the reply, it said that while no cottages were presently available, they did have a lovely apartment on the third floor of a building that overlooks a market square. It also stated that unless she replied back within two weeks, that would be her reserved lodgings. 

The only words I could think were "cow pie, oh my". And as I laughed and thought about all the difficulties of having a cow climb three flights of stairs, not to mention the feeding and bathroom needs of Humphrey, I started to hear a poem. So I wrote it down:

Some time ago, a letter was sent

To confirm a room and appropriate rent

But missed within the conversation

A cow is part of the whole equation

Oh to be a fly on the wall

When a third floor room becomes a stall

The noise, the smell, the mess, oh my

With hay and hooves and, of course, cow pies

And then I set to writing my response. I introduced myself and gave some basic details. I told her that my skill with poetry wasn't at her level at all, but that the work sounded grand when spoken aloud. And that I hoped she'd enjoy something of mine.

I signed it, sealed it inside the gorgeous bottle, flew to the Loch, and set the bottle in the water near to where I'd found it. I watched as it orientated itself, began moving through the water (and leaving naught but the slightest wake), then dropped out of sight when it dove down into the depths.

I don't know how long it'll take for the bottle to make it's journey, or if the Lady will find it when it returns. I do hope she has a bit of a laugh when she reads my poem.

I find it interesting that I'm now corresponding with two people, both of whom I'll probably never meet, both of whom talk about being alone, or at least feeling alone. It's like we're castaways. Maybe not literally shipwrecked on a deserted island, but figuratively. 

The lovely thing is, I think, we know our value to the world. And maybe, just maybe, we can feel less alone in our being alone.

Spring, Week 2 - I Become Mistress Sweetwater. And Cure Madame Hightower.

Here's the video on how I wrote Spring, Week 2, Cure:

 I found myself wondering, once again, if I'd made a foolish choice in staying in the witch's cottage. It had been more than a week already and I could feel my uncertainty filling the future. Did I really want those feelings of being someone apart from the rest of humanity? Yes, the cottage and grounds are peaceful, but at some point we all want companionship.

Unwilling mouse-y familiars don't count.

Nor do grumpy disbelievers in my ability to help them through their various ills and ailments. 

Nor do... *sigh*... I guess I'm just feeling sorry for myself.

Who am I kidding - stepping into the role of local witch without having a clear idea of what I'm doing. Let's face it - I'm making it up as I go along. *Ugh!*

Maybe I need a hobby. Like taking care of things here isn't enough.

Maybe I...

"Hi. You busy?"

MouseEye. He tries, I think. Maybe my expectations, my hopes, and my dreams are just getting in the way. Maybe if I...

He jumped onto my shoulder then tapped on the side of my head. "Hello! Is anyone home?"

Somewhere in there I should have counted to ten before answering but I didn't give myself that space. So a bit more sharply than I should've, I answered. "Yes? What is it? What's so important?"

He twitched his whiskers. He was irritated too. And I was probably the cause. *ugh* But kudos to him - he swallowed a sarcastic comeback and got to the important thing he wanted to bring up. "Something we've never discussed is what I should call you."

And he was right. I'd never thought of telling him my name. "Oh! Well, it's..."

He quickly interrupted. "Not your real name. Real names have power. If someone knows your real name, they can have power over you. "Witch" is your job, your title, but won't suffice as a name. Is there a name that speaks to you, that you can call yourself, and that others can use?"

I'd never given it much thought. Any thought, really. A name not my own that I'd make mine. It was a new and novel concept, one that was just so foreign. I wonder how someone goes about doing something like that. Would I need another trip to the Glimmerwood Grove to ask for one? Would I have received one at the school, if I hadn't left, that is. Maybe...

"You have five minutes. So just ask yourself and find yourself a name."

"I what? Why...? Five minutes before what?"

"Four minutes."

"I...!"

Mental turmoil galore! But within all that, all the confusion and the unknown and a demanding mouse and an uncertain future and a past rapidly receding and choices becoming more and more permanent... I heard myself use a name. Mistress Sweetwater.

"Three minutes."

"Mistress Sweetwater!", I shouted.

He paused, then murmured, "Mistress Sweetwater. Madame Sweetwater. Mother Sweetwater. Granny Sweetwater. Yup - all sounds good. It works, Mistress Sweetwater."

And that was that. I had a new name. And never would I use the old one again.

So... if I had a new name, did that mean... "MouseEye? What's your real name?"

And he just looked at me. "I'm here to help you, to the degree that I want and can do. Telling you my real name isn't part of the deal.

"Oh - and the rush is because someone is coming down the path."

And with that, there was a voice calling from outside the cottage. "Hello? Miss New Witch? I require help!" and then she knocked on the door.

I flashed a look at MouseEye. "You could've told me she was coming!", I hissed.

"I did. With five minutes to spare."

As I reached for the door handle, MouseEye said, "Smile!"

Grrrr... but I did smile as I opened the door. Or at least I tried. Not that she noticed - she barged through the door and past me.

"Where's your mistress, girl? Don't just stand there - I'm in a hurry and my time is invaluable."

My smile became more strained. "I'm Mistress Sweetwater, the new witch. How can I help you?"

She turned and looked at me. "No, girl, you misunderstand. My maid, Francie, said that you are the domestic here. I'm looking for the new witch what cured the miller's boy of his warty lips."

Ah. Well that helps explain things. "I cured him."

She just stared at me. Then, "Well? Are you going to help me or must I go elsewhere for help?"

That smile was now very forced. "I'd love to help you, Madame...?"

Her eyes narrowed to slits. "Hightower. Madame Hightower. As everyone in this part of the world knows. Or should know. Now - you will help me."

This was too much. "Certainly, Madame." I probably added too much obvious snark into that "Madame". "If only you'd tell me what your affliction is."

"Hmph! Should have known a little slip of a girl wouldn't know her stuff. If you were worth anything, you'd know just from my visage."

Her visage? Her face. Something amiss on this horrible person's face. A cursory look didn't reveal anything. "What...?"

"Oh for heavens sake! This! Right here! As clear as the nose on your face!"

She was pointing at her nose. I took a closer look and saw a tiny wart.

"Have you tried kissing frogs?", I asked.

Her eyes blazed. "The effrontery of such a question! No, I haven't been kissing frogs. Nor rubbing them on my nose. It just appeared, marring my flawless complexion, and I'm to host a small gathering of close acquaintances in a few days. What am I do do?"

Her angry facade gave way to anguish. Angruish, to coin a term. Frankly, I didn't see what the big deal was.

"And of course I will pay handsomely for a cure."

Well - there was my motivation. Not a great one, but the coin would help smooth my trampled feelings. "Ok. I'll get to work on a cure. You can go home and I'll..."

"Absolutely not!" The imperious bitch re-emerged. "I'll stay here, thank you very much, and ensure that you effect a cure post haste."

Um... ah...

"I will sleep on this bed and stay here until I am cured and can face society again."

Will you now? Fine. Then I think I'll take my time in making this potion. But first I need a diagnosis. And for that, I need to know...

"Is it only the rhino-wart? Or are there others?"

"A rhino-sized wart!?! How dare you! I...!!!"

"The 'rhino-' refers to the nose. I was asking if you have any other warts besides the one on your nose."

That seemed to mollify her a bit.

"Ah. I see. A medical term. Frankly, you surprised me. But - no. No other warts."

 I turned to the book. MouseEye was there, out of sight from Madame Hightower. Quickly we identified her affliction: Toad Nose.

As we worked through the needed reagents, I found myself asking myself if there was something going on in the vicinity. First frog warts and now toad warts? Strange.

I turned back to my impatient patient. "I need to gather reagents. Please stay here - where I need to go is very dangerous. But I will return with the ingredients needed to cure you."

"You are certain you can eliminate my disfiguration?"

"Yes. And in time for your party. But please be patient in the meantime." And with that, I gathered my things and headed out. 

Our first stop: Meltwater Loch.

As we made our way to the Loch and gathering, not just what we needed for treating my newest patient (who was helping me realize the connection between "patient" and "patience" - the one I needed more of and the other... I also needed more of. The first will come in time, if I continue to do a good job, but the other was all up to me. And regardless of anything else, that is surely not a subject covered in that school.

Nope! this is something that requires experiences and none were to be had behind a desk, playing at potion making, whereas here I am, tromping around on a warm Spring day, on my way to gather this and that at the Loch. Oh if only my family could see me now, going from no prospects in the far off woods to being someone counted upon, someone respected, someone...

"Hey! What's that?"

What's what? I looked around to see where we were. We'd just come out onto a beach. "Where are you looking, MouseEye?"

"Right in front of you. In the sand."

Sometime, and hopefully some time soon, I'll learn to pay attention to where I am, to where I'm going, and to the very large tracks that look like a massive dog walked into the water. My first thought was gratitude for not meeting whatever it was that made those tracks. My next thought of gratitude is that they went down the beach and into the water. Had they been pointed the other way, I would have been scared of it wanting to go back into the Loch but stopping for a small witch lunch first.

I ventured, "A dog?"

MouseEye looked at me. "That big?"

"A large dogfish?"

We both stared at the tracks for a minute. Then I said, "What do you think the chances are that it's alone. You know - no mate, no little large dogfish?"

We both listened intently. A gentle lapping of surf, insects buzzing, birds chirping, the safe sounds of a beach were all we heard. Certainly no crashing through foliage, no loud breath bubbles in the water, no signs anything would give us grief. That was a relief.

Despite the feeling that we were safe, I still had MouseEye keep lookout. After all, he says he's good at watching. So - watch out for danger! He took up position on a cliff edge while I started gathering reagents.

First up - Smooth Croak. It was an amazing ingredient last time so I went with it again. Besides, finding the frogs, so iridescently colourful, was most of the joy in gathering it. Collecting the mucous that coats those beautiful skins was less so.

And that was all I needed from here. But since I was determined to take my own sweet time with the cure, I also gathered some extra things. Like wigfish. How can you not grab the seaweed wigs the fish put on their heads when they just parade back and forth in the water, desperate for attention? Although it's possible they were hoping I'd be some sort of beauty judge.

The reason I'm only half-kidding about the beauty show judge thing is that they, each of them, emerged from behind a grove of deep reed. After I'd taken a wig, the fish disappeared, leaving me free to harvest a branch or two of the reeds.

As I prepared to gather up some gas weed (which had floated up to the surface from the depths) and also slime shell (because apparently I hadn't gotten my hands on enough slimy stuff after gathering the smooth croak), I called up to MouseEye to check out Gimmerwood Grove before we headed that way together. After getting through the seemingly required "Must I?", I set to collecting the last reagents.

While I waited for the all clear, I decided to dry off and warm up by lying on the beach and soaking up the sun.

I found myself, besides keeping an ear out for giant dogfish, staring up at the clouds. They were all puffy and white. What would it be like to fly up there? Wouldn't it be the same feeling of cold and wet like what happens when it's foggy? Would they be more solid? Could you turn clouds into thread and then into fabric? Imagine a set of clothes made from cloud cloth! Would they be light as air? Could I maybe one day fly to them? Or maybe I could just climb Moonbreaker Mountain and do it that way. I could maybe...

"Good morning, sleepy head." And then a pressure landed on my chest. Opening my eyes, there was an impudent mouse staring at me.

I tried to speak but between the sun, the sand, and my mouth being wide open while I napped, all I had was cotton in my mouth. And not cottony-soft cloud - nope - this was full-on cotton sand, the ultimate drying agent.

After taking some refreshing gulps of Loch water, I was finally able to ask about Glimmerwood Grove. "It's all good. And there's a group that wants to play a friendly game with you."

I should have asked who the group was and what game they wanted to play, but I figured I'd find out in a little bit anyway.

Reminder to self - ask the questions beforehand.

When we got to the Grove, there was indeed a group who challenged me to a game. Caber toss. Thankfully, the group was a group of pixies. If it'd been trolls, or really anything much bigger than me, I'd have lost of a certainty.

As we set up for the game - getting the "log" (much more like a large stick) ready for tossing - the pixies started taunting me. It was good-natured, but they insisted that there be a small wager on the outcome. They said that the old witch would routinely lose and that she'd pay off her debt with a fresh reagent. They also let me know that if I refused to give a reagent, they'd lay a curse on me! There was at least one pixie who really wanted to practice their curse-craft.

Inspired by their attitude, especially the expectation I'd throw the game, I threw the caber farther than I ever would've dreamed I could. Pixie jaws dropped.

"I suppose you won fair and square. Although I wonder why - the old witch supported us with fresh reagents and needed an excuse so she'd lose at the caber toss. Ah well..." And they turned to go.

"Ahem. Aren't you forgetting something?" I wondered if I crossed my arms, tapped my feet, or pursed my lips, if I'd look more imposing.

One of the pixies reluctantly reached into a pouch. "Fair's fair. I suppose." And with that, he handed me ten silver. And then they left in a huff.

After they'd gone, I looked for MouseEye. "Pixies? Caber toss? Are you kidding me?" I must admit I got pretty shrill.

"Granted, ok. But ten silver is nothing to sneeze at. And did you know the old witch was a pixie caber toss team supporter? That's something. So all in all, it all worked out. Thanks to me. And your bulging biceps, of course."

We both knew that I don't really have biceps, let alone ones that bulge. My dad? Arms bigger than my whole body. Me? Thin as reeds.

"Come on. Let's get to work. These things won't gather themselves."

After walking a bit, we started hearing singing. Unearthly singing. God-awful unearthly singing. Drunk fairies. If you've never heard drunk fairies before, they're just like regular fairies but using dirty lyrics, out-of-tune melodies, and harmonies that can knock birds unconcsious.

I think I heard this one:

There once was a man from Glasnee

Who's prick was the size of a flea

   You'd think never under heaven

   That it could plant a bun in the oven

Yet it just made wee bairn number twenty-three 

Yup, drunk fairies.

The thing about drunk fairies is you can pretend to be just about anything and they'll believe it. For instance, this is how our little conversation went:

"Hey! Who're you?"

"I'm a Fairy Good Witch here to harvest some songberries because they're so ripe and sweet."

"Oh, aye. I recognize you! Sure, go ahead."

While I picked a few, I couldn't help but notice some rats in cages off to the side. I had to ask. "What are you doing with the rats?"

"Training them! Fastest rats you'll ever see!"

"May I have some of their spit?" Rat spit is fantastic for teeth.

"Um... sure... but it won't make you any faster."

"I'm sure that's ok."

A small vial of rat spit later and I was ready to head home and on to kicking someone out of the cottage.

Home. Did I just call the cottage "home"? I guess I did. So I guess it's time to start treating it not as a guest would but as an owner would. And hopefully the old witch, when she returns, will appreciate my efforts.

It was with that in mind that I headed back. Yes, I'd shown her that I wouldn't be rushed but I was tired, hungry, and so ready for a bath and bed. But first, a potion.

As I approached the cottage, Francie yelled out to me from the wood chopping block. "Hello, Mistress! O, my lady will be so happy to see you back! How was your adventures of getting your things? Why didn't you tell me that you're really a witch? Why would someone who's so clearly skilled need lessons in healing the misfortunes of others? Oh! I should alert my lady you're back!"

Was I gone for so long that Madame Hightower needed her maid? Ok - yeah. Probably. So that's two people who can vacate as soon as I've got the potion prepared.

I entered the cottage - my cottage, I amended - and was met with the expected imperious demands. "Where have you been? Did you want me to die of exposure and starvation? I had to bring Francie here to keep me safe and sound. And what have you done? Nothing! Except, perhaps, gather things."

Something in there brought me up short. "I asked you to wait at home. You refused. But you went back home to bring your servant here?"

"Well, of course! I couldn't leave you to your own devices without my supervision and yet I needed someone to take care of all the little duties while you were away."

I decided not to press it. Instead, I asked Francie to get the fire stoked.

"You will not give directions to my servant, young lady! If you have need of something, I expect you to do it. It's what I'm paying for, after all."

Sealing my lips so tight that they must have turned a blinding white. I got the fire up to boil the smooth croak mucous. As it boiled, I crushed the songberries and let them sit in the mortar - I figured letting the air into the juice would enhance its sweetness.

It felt like it took forever, what with scowls from one and poorly-contained excitement from the other, but eventually I'd poured the two together and thus finalized the potion.

Madame Hightower held her nose as she started to drink, but then eagerly downed the rest. The songberries really were quite sweet.

After she'd downed the last of it, she sat down heavily onto my bed. She looked dazed.

Yeah - I was worried something had gone wrong and was getting ready to do... I really don't know what I would've done. But she looked at me and for the first time since arriving, was actually nice.

"You make a wonderfully tasting healing concoction, Mistress Sweetwater. My thanks to you. I believe this is your going rate, plus let me add a bit extra for the delightful taste." Twenty-four silver! Isn't that lovely. But isn't it really lovely just how she changed. Those songberries and its mood-enhancing properties - golden.

Francie then rushed to her mistress' side. "My lady! Your wart is gone!"

The lady looked at her maid. "I have no doubt this lovely new witch achieved a cure."

As she and Francie made their way out the door, Madame Hightower looked back at me. "At the party I'll be hosting, I expect Mrs. Ruffage, the head mistress of the herbology school, will be there. I believe she's the old witch's cousin. I'll be sure to put in a good word. I'm sure she'll be pleased to hear that you are filling in so ably. Good day to you."

And that was that. No invitation, though. Although, to be honest, I would have declined. Still, it would've been nice to have been asked.

After the ladies had left, I finally turned to MouseEye. "Well, we're home. Our home." MouseEye just curled up near the fire. "Mmmhmmm. That's nice." Then mouse-y snores quickly followed.

You know what? Food and bath can wait. I laid down on the bed without bothering to undress first. That's something you can do in your own home.

The First Week of Spring - Albert Flywheel is Frogified

Here's the video on how I wrote Spring, Week 1:

*****

 The first thing the book said was that the curing of ailments isn't all that difficult. And it's true. And not.

The poor man, Albert Flywheel, the son of the miller, loved to read. In particular, he loved to read stories where people would do something accidentally magical and have incredible things happen. He hadn't counted on becoming Frogified by kissing frogs (in hopes of having one be a transformed, and forever grateful, princess).

I told Albert I'd prepare a remedy and that I'd let him know when it was ready.

He left and I read as much as I could about how to cure his affliction.

After considering the hows of his cure, I decided to first travel to Hero's Hollow. Maybe I was getting a bit ahead of myself, having spent a bit of time reading instructions from an absent witch but I felt I was a hero and helping someone who clearly needed it.

The day was pleasant, I was whistling in a fabulous mood, and full of confidence that I'd soon be an accomplished healer! And people said things like this were difficult.

That was the last thought I had before the ground rushed up past me and I landed in the dark. And at some point I came to.

Hero's Hollow, huh? Hollow, that's for sure. After a bit of feeling around and getting used to the bit of light shining down from above, I realized I was on the wrong side of some sort of jail cell. Iron bars are one of those quick clues that things aren't going according to plan.

A bit of panic hit me, I must admit. I grabbed the cell door and began to shake it, yelling, crying, begging. Luck was with me again - the key fell out of the lock and landed within reach. In short order, I was out.

Sniffing the air told me that one way along the long row of cells was old and musty - probably going deeper into the jail. The other way was fresher, more organic smells. Even rot can be good - something was alive recently.

Some feeling around, some more sniffing the air, and finally catching some light, got me out from underground and into a bog. And luck was with me again - in short order I'd found both some Crow Coal and some Skullcap (I think ravens must have dropped the Crow Coal and the Skullcap was growing right next to it). I now had my reagent to deal with the poison that lies latent in some frog skins. I now needed something for the warts. That took me to Meltwater Loch.

This time I walked far more cautiously - I didn't need another bit of trouble trying to escape from behind any sort of door or cell involving a lock. The walk was long but entirely uneventful. And easily found within the Loch was Smooth Croak.

It had taken me far longer than I'd originally thought it would take but I did eventually get back to the cabin with my reagents. Now it was time to prepare them.

I made quick work with the mortar and pestle on the Skullcap while waiting for the Smooth Croak to release its goodness within the steaming cauldron.

With everything in readiness, I fetched Albert. I carefully wiped the resulting watery cream over his lips which immediately began to heal. He smiled in relief. "I wasn't sure I'd see you again. I thought maybe you weren't a proper witch. But I can feel things getting better already. Thank you." And then he paid me.

I get paid? I...? I could be sitting in a classroom, getting bored, but here I am making money. Wow.

If Dad ever hears that I dropped out of school, hopefully I'll have a small fortune to show for it.

And now I think I'll have a bit of a rest before I think about next things.

I got paid!