To Suffer A Witch

A Quiet Village

Isn't it just like me to forget about Canadian Thanksgiving... *Insert face-palm here* Here's the next chapter. Finally. Much later than I wanted, but at least it isn't after Halloween yet. Lol. Next one should be up much sooner, at least. BTW, can I just say, I am constantly blown away by the feedback whenever I post a new story. You guys are awesome! :D

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The young maiden huffed out a breath as she hoisted a heavy woven basket of produce into the back of a little cart. Stretching over the wooden side rails as she adjusted the cargo until the weight was balanced just so. When she was finally satisfied that it wouldn't tip over and spill its contents somewhere along the bumpy road, she stepped back and nodded proudly to herself. Then she moved to the lovely white horse at the front of the cart, and gave her a scratch under her chin. Receiving a snort in return as the mare nuzzled her velvety snout against her best friend and pranced on the spot.

"Easy Stormfly," the woman muttered soothingly. "That's my good girl." Stormfly was a tough and sure-footed work horse that could easily go hoof-to-hoof with almost any war horse, but she had never much liked being harnessed to the rickety little cart. Not that the woman blamed her, as the cart was a bit unbalanced and the harness tended to restrict movement, but the horse would put up with it for her rider. You see, Stormfly also happened to be the woman's best and most trusted friend.

Glancing up at the swirling grey storm clouds overhead, the woman let out a soft sigh. Hopefully the storm held off at least long enough for them to make it to town and back. She wasn't much in the mood to get both cold and drenched today. Scowling in warning at the ominous sky, the maiden reached up to brush the sweat from her brow. Barely bothering with the grime on her hands, as her calloused fingers left a streak of dirt just below the edge of her bonnet. Not that it mattered much.

Even with dark earth smeared across her face, Astrid Hofferson was still beautiful. Gifted with flaxen hair, bright blue eyes, and skin as fair as any noblewoman, she would not seem out of place amidst the fine ladies of the King's court. Unfortunately, someone like Astrid would never see the inside of the palace. Her faded blue linen dress and threadbare white bonnet marked her out as nothing more than a common peasant, and this was all she would ever be - despite her looks.

"I'll never know why you don't just let Tuffnut do all the heavy lifting," came a drawling voice from behind her then. "It's all he's good for really."

Astrid turned to face her neighbour Ruffnut with a roll of her eyes. "Because I don't need anyone to help me, and your twin brother is an idiot who can't be trusted to put vegetables in a cart without setting something on fire." The same could be said for the female twin as well, but Astrid opted to leave that part out. "Where is Tuff anyways," she couldn't help asking as she glanced around in search of the lanky young man with his braided dirty blonde hair and slouching walk. "We need to deliver this stuff to Gobber's before noon, and I would prefer not to get caught in that storm."

"He went to find Chicken," Ruff returned with a shrug. Fiddling idly with the ties on the bodice of her dusty brown dress and being as unhelpful as physically possible, as usual. Her answer making Astrid arch a brow and cross her arms as she peered back at her friend. Even with her own dirty blonde hair tucked under a grey bonnet and a dress on, Ruffnut still looked so much like her brother that it was startling. Both of them bearing the same long faces, similarly lanky frames, and insolently slouching postures that all seemed a marker of the Thorston clan.

"Unbelievable," Astrid grumbled under her breath. The Thorston family had worked the plot of land adjacent to the Hoffersons for as long as Astrid could remember. Both of them granted decently sized parcels of fertile soil through copyhold leases. In Astrid's youth, the two fields had been overflowing with fat vegetables and waving stalks of grain. The Hofferson family had even managed to make enough profit to replace their old wattle and daub home with a much larger cruck house that served to better hold the coming winter chill at bay. Now that Mr. Thorston had fallen ill and Mr. Hofferson had passed on, the fields were becoming substantially emptier.