Wintersmith

She screamed. The Wintersmith's snowy outline became a flurry of flakes. The snow around her feet erupted with a cry of "Crivens!" as a mass of Feegles grabbed her feet and carried her, upright, across the clearing and back in through the cottage's doorway.

Tiffany forced her hand open and, with trembling fingers, pulled the silver horse off her palm. It left a perfect print, a white horse on pink flesh. It wasn't a burn, it was a…freeze.

Miss Treason's chair rumbled around on its wheels.

"Come here, child," she ordered.

Still clasping her hand, trying to force back the tears, Tiffany walked over to her.

"Stand right here by my chair, this instant!"

Tiffany did so. This was no time to be disobedient.

"I wish to look in your ear," said Miss Treason. "Brush your hair aside."

Tiffany held back her hair, and winced when she heard the tickle of mouse whiskers. Then the creature was taken away.

"Ah, I am surprised," said Miss Treason. "I can see nothing."

"Er…what were you expecting to see?" Tiffany ventured.

"Daylight!" snapped Miss Treason, so loudly that the mouse scuttled away. "Have you no brains at all, child?"

"Ah dunno if anyone is interested," said Rob Anybody, "but I think yon Wintersmith has offskied. An' it's stopped snowin'."

No one was listening. When witches row, they concentrate.

"It was mine!"

"A trinket!"

"No!"

"O' course, this may not be the best time tae tell ye…" Rob went on, miserably.

"You think you need it to be a witch?"

"Yes!"

"A witch needs no devices!"

"You've used shambles!"

"Used, yes! Don't need. Not need!"

"Ah mean, it's quite meltin' awa—" Rob said, smiling nervously.

Anger grabbed Tiffany's tongue. How dare this stupid old crone talk about not needing things!

"Boffo!" she shouted. "Boffo, Boffo, Boffo!"

Silence slammed down. After a while Miss Treason looked past Tiffany and said: "Ye wee Feegle schemies! Get oot o' here right noo! Ah'll ken it if ye don't! This is hag business!"

The room filled with a sort of whooshing noise, and the door to the kitchen slammed shut.

"So," said Miss Treason, "you know about Boffo, do you?"

"Yes," said Tiffany, breathing heavily. "I do."

"Very well. And have you told anyone—?" Miss Treason paused and raised a finger to her lips. Then she banged a stick on the floor. "Ah said get oot, ye scunners! Off intae the woods w' ye! Check that he's really gang awa'! I'll see yer guilt through yer own een if ye defy me!"

From below there was the sound of a lot of potatoes rumbling as the Feegles scrambled out through the little ventilation grill.

"Now they've gone," said Miss Treason. "They'll stay gone, too. Boffo will see to that."

Somehow, in the space of a few seconds, Miss Treason had become more human and a lot less scary. Well…slightly less scary.

"How did you find out? Did you go looking for it? Did you go prowling and rummaging?" said Miss Treason.

"No! I'm not like that! I found out by accident one day when you were having a nap!" Tiffany rubbed her hand.

"Does that hurt a lot?" said Miss Treason, leaning forward. She might be blind, but—like all the senior witches who knew what they were doing—she noticed everything.

"No, not now. It did, though. Look, I—"

"Then you will learn to listen! Do you think the Wintersmith has gone?"

"He just seemed to vanish—I mean, vanish even more. I think he just wanted to give me back my necklace."

"Do you think that is the sort of thing the spirit of Winter, who commands the blizzard and the frost, would really do?"

"I don't know, Miss Treason! He's the only one I've met!"

"You danced with him."

"I didn't know I was going to!"

"Nevertheless."

Tiffany waited, and then said: "Nevertheless what?"

"Just general neverthelessness. The little horse led him to you. But he's not here now—you're right about that. I'd know if he was."

Tiffany walked up to the front door, hesitated for just a moment, and then opened it and went out into the clearing. There was a bit of snow here and there, but the day was turning into just another one of those gray-skyed winter days.

I'd know if he was, too, she thought. And he isn't. And her Second Thoughts said: Oh? How do you know?

"We've both touched the horse," she said under her breath.

She looked around at the empty branches and the sleeping trees, fiddling with the silver chain in her hand. The forests were curling in on themselves, ready for the winter.

He's out there, but not close. He must be very busy, with a whole winter to make….

She said, "Thank you!" automatically, because her mother had always said that politeness costs nothing, and went back in. It was very hot inside now, but Miss Treason always had a huge log pile built by the Secret of Boffo. The local woodcutters always kept the pile high. A chilly witch might get nasty.

"I should like a cup of black tea," said the old woman as Tiffany walked in, looking thoughtful.