People don't usually imagine a "witch" doing something as mundane as washing clothes. But alas here I am with my washboard and bin, dunking my robes and aprons in soapy water near the little creek.
The mid-day sun beams down on the surroundings, making the creek glitter like precious gems as well as giving the lush forest a warm and comfortable hue.
My old knees creak in protest as I rise from my kneeling position, dunking the last robe in the creek's fresh water. I place the robe in the extra basket I brought and heave it onto my head. I steadily make my way home to my little woodland cottage, picking herbs I need as I go. The moss-covered stone cottage comes into view a few moments later, sun rays making it glow as they peer through the canopy of great oaks. My few chickens wander about, while my mule's ears perk up as he sees me arrive.
I let my basket rest on top of a stump near the front door, rolling the aches out of my neck. Stepping inside, the old wooden door groans its complaints. I put my little kettle on top of the fire to make some tea to ease the aches and crannies of my old body. I shuffle back to the stump to my awaiting basket.
"Silly boy, what are you up to?" I mumble as I watch my mule rummage through the basket. His head comes back up and hands me one of my aprons. I pat him lightly on the cheek and grab the jumble of fabric. I walk over to my homemade clothes lines, a rope tied between two trees. I hoist up my apron, draping it across the line.
I turn to grab another item, and see my mule staring intently towards the cluster of bushes the denser part of the forest, ears facing forwards and attentive. I follow his gaze, clearly not hearing what he does. Straining my ears, the sound of little whimpers and shushing grab my attention. Curious, I mindfully waltz over, keeping my movements slow and careful. I near the bramble shrubs and gently pry them apart and peer through.
The gasps of surprise greet my peering eyes.
"P-please don't hurt us!" a little squeaky voice says from below.
I look downwards and see two young children. A young girl, no older than seven years of age, wearing a simple light blue dress with a white collar. Her teary eyes look up at me with fear while she holds her scrapped knee. The boy, a little older looking than she is, is kneeling with his arms out, protecting his younger companion.
"What do we have here?" I say gleefully.
"Please don't hurt us!" the young boy repeats once more.
I laugh lightly. "Oh, young one, that was never my intention." I look over them once more. "What are you doing out here so far from the forests edge? From the village?"
"We heard tales!" says a strong little voice suddenly, the little girl. "We've heard tales from Mama and Popa- "
"Shh! We can't trust her!" the boy whispers furiously.
"Tsk," I huff. "Let her finish."
"Mama and Popa..." she starts hesitantly. "They talk of the woodland witch."
I hum in wonder. "What do they say of this..." I wave my hands around, "witch?"
"You are the witch, aren't you?" the young boy exclaims.
"No more questions for now. Come along now, I have tea and fresh pie waiting." I glance over to the girl's knee. "I'll treat that knee while I'm at it."
I let the shrub bounce back, letting the children make their decisions. I doubt the young girl will be able to make it home quickly with that nasty scrape. I make my way through my already open front door and grab a plush blanket from my favourite chair near my favourite window
