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Choosing

 There are rivers and there are rivers of blood. The witch thought both dangerous. The one was too hard to cross, the other too hard to squelch.

    In a sense, she'd prefer neither. If she had the choice, if she could make her own destiny, there would be nothing that soaked through. But that presupposed she had not chosen her lot in life. And that was something with which she would not hold. She had chosen to be a witch, and she would have to take the lot that came with it. One didn't often have the luxury of choice. She had. It was exhausting to think that choice could just keep going.

    Thus, she plunged into the river and waded across to the other side where she staunched the wounds on several fallen men, and then went home, soaked on both fronts.

    The cottage that awaited her was small, but clean and mostly empty. 

    She changed into her other set of clothes, and boiled the kettle over the fire.

    There were worse ways to end a day, and river water and blood both washed easily.

    Someone had left sausages on the front doorstep.

    She would be up in the middle of the night to staunch the bleeding of a mother-to-be. But then there would be eggs for breakfast. And sausages. 

    Yes, one could choose far worse a life than this. 

The Little Girl who Breathed Properly

 Once upon a time there was a little girl who read fairy tales as though she was breathing.      She loved them so much, she began to believe that fairy tales would happen to her.      And so they did. 
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Go Forth the Witch

 There was once a woman weighed down. She felt the weight of her cares as strong as if she were Atlas himself, though perhaps her sky was a different one. Atlas' heavens might carry the fear of wars, chaos and the troubles of the gods, but his purpose was decided and though his shoulder might wrench, he would carry on. The woman, on the other hand, did not carry the cares of a purpose, for she was lost in crowds, and little did anyone care if either she had a purpose or if she did not.      Her responsibilities, what little of them that were allowed her, were filled with small decisions that ate away at her until she herself grew quite small.      Then came a day when she wandered the woods and met a witch.       The witch had, quite naturally, a cottage. It was filled with potions and poultices and remedies of all sorts. Her scrubbed oak table was laden with tinctures that were passed off to various people throughout the day. Thoug...
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Where a Witch Dare Not Linger

 The witch stepped into the city, and flinched. She thought about stepping back out, but she'd only have to step back in again. After all, she had business.      But there was a ways into the city to go until she got to her business. The question, then, was how best to manage.      Crying, certainly, felt like an option. Humans, she was certain, were never meant to be packed in tight like sardines. Anchovies, more like, as more could fit in the can. And an ugly can it was, too.      She could scream. That was another option. Just to join in the noise. No one would notice.      But, of course, the witch got on with it. That was what witches did.      Her business complete, she left the city.     And didn't think about it anymore.
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To Make a Good Sweet

The little girl had no interest in money. Most small children don't until a grownup makes a big deal out of a little coin. She did have an interest in sweets, though. And those cost money.       So she worked for the witch. Doing odd jobs, milking the goats, making cheeses. Gardening. Tending the hives.      The witch paid in goods, and the little girl could sell them or eat them as she chose. Honey, she discovered, was sweet. Add the cream from the goat's milk over high heat, and it made a very good sweet indeed.       It was an interesting day when the girl discovered that she could make her own sweets without money. It was an even more interesting day when she realized she could exchange her sweets for a new pair of socks, or to the cobbler for patch on her boot, or to the shopkeeper for a new book.     The little girl grew up, and found she cared very little for money.       But only, perhaps, becau...
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