"All right," Edith said, from their position high in a tree overlooking the village green. It was a nice-looking village, well maintained with not too many saplings in the open spaces. The roads were lined with flowering plants, and were made of well-packed gravel. "Target acquired."

"Where?" the Trickster whispered, peering through the leaves.

"Those guys rounding up the goats."

"The one with the brown hair?"

"No, the tall one."

"In the red coat?"

"No, the brown shirt."

"Where is--"

"Shh! --oh, shit!"

A tall young man with short black hair and hazel eyes wandered over to their tree.

"What are you doing here, Edith?"

"Shut up!"

"You're not supposed to be here, why--"

Edith stood up on the branch to scold her brother better, shaking the tree. The Trickster overbalanced, and fell straight into Edith's brother's arms.

"Hello," she said. "I'm Cassie." Edith sighed, and sat back down on her branch.

"Arnold," Edith's brother said, setting the Trickster on the ground. The Trickster gave a curtsey.

"Pleased to meet--argh!" the Trickster jumped behind Arnold as the goat, hearing her voice, came out of the bushes, laser-focused on the Trickster's hair.

"What are you doing here?" Arnold said, making shooing motions at the goat, who bleated angrily at him. "Come on, go with the others!"

The goat looked like it was going to fight for a moment, then grudgingly trotted over to the flock of goats being herded in the distance. The Trickster clutched Arnold's arm tightly.

"My hero!"

"Laying it on a bit thick, aren't you?" Arnold asked.

"Actually, she's being serious," Edith said from up in the tree.

"What are you planning this time, Edith?"

"Marry this girl, and you'll be able to be a warlock," Edith said.

"How is that supposed to work?" Arnold said.

"Just trust me!"

"I'm not quite sure I should."

"I've got a curse," the Trickster said. "If you attempt to marry me, you won't be able to stay in your village anymore."

Edith threw a handful of twigs at the Trickster. "Hey!"

"What, were you trying to trick him?" the Trickster said, self-righteously.

"No, that was your job!"

"In any case, I need to go home soon, or Mum'll go looking for me again," Arnold said. "I can probably sneak you out some supper, Edith, but Cassie doesn't have to stay out here in the cold. Did you want to join us, Cassie?"

"Yes, she does," Edith said. "Go on."

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Arnold looked suspiciously at Edith, but the Trickster just curtseyed when he turned to face her.

"Come on, then," he said, and led her away from Edith. The Trickster walked on the other side of Arnold as they passed the goats into the village proper. The sun was setting, giving the houses a warm salmon glow. Arnold and Edith's parents lived in a little cottage three houses down from the centre of the village. Their yard was delineated by a little wooden fence, and they had chickens running underfoot.

"This is a nice house," the Trickster said. Arnold looked askance at her, but she seemed to be sincere.

"My mother would be glad to hear you say it," Arnold said, then raised his voice. "Mother! I'm bringing home a friend for dinner."

"What, now? Today? I--" a petite middle-aged woman came out of the house, and stared at them. The Trickster gave a curtsey.

"This is one of Edith's friends, is it?" the woman said.

"What do you mean, Mum?"

"She's got a witch's eyes."

"That doesn't mean--"

"I do know Edith, but please miss--madame," the Trickster said earnestly. "I need your help."

"Why should I help a witch?"

"I don't want to be a witch!" the Trickster wailed. Edith and Arnold's mother looked at her for a moment, then sighed.

"All right, come in. I'll hear you out. But no funny business!"

"No, madame," the Trickster said earnestly, and followed her inside.

Edith and Arnold's mother introduced herself as Mrs Strathfield, and set down an extra plate for the Trickster at the table. Mr Strathfield, Edith and Arnold's father, was a tall, thin man with a beard that bristled more like a hedgehog than a human. He did not talk very much, preferring to concentrate on his dinner. Dinner was a meat stew with a side of greens, and was pretty tasty; the Trickster could understand why Arnold's dad would pay more attention to it than the nonsense she was spouting.

"So how do you know Edith?" Mrs Strathfield asked.

"I was introduced to the local coven. I'm from a few villages north of here."

And you said that you were not a witch?"

"No. Well, I don't want to be. My father said I have the power, but I was allowed to choose whatever I wanted. But then he died, and my village doesn't have a witch at the moment. They said it was my duty that they needed a witch to keep them safe. They didn't need one before I came along! So I ran away. The--the witches said that my father was right, that it was my choice, and they helped me come here."

"In my experience, witches do not like losing one of their own," Mrs Strathfield said.

"I don't know. I, um, I'm not a very good witch," the Trickster said.

"That's all to the good, in my humble opinion," Edith's mother said, avoiding looking Arnold in the eye. "Do you happen to know why they brought you here?"

"That was Edith," Arnold said. "She said to me that if I insist on staying here, I might as well help the poor girl--no offence, Cassie."

"Help her how?" Mrs Strathfield asked, eyeing Cassie suspiciously. "This isn't one of her schemes, is it?"

"It means she's given up, Mum," Arnold said gently. "Cassie's village was determined to bring her back and push her into becoming a witch. The only way to prevent that is to stop her from being able to be a witch."

"You can stop people from becoming a witch?" Arnold's mother asked, oddly intent.

"If you have sworn an oath to Cloe, she prevents you from using your magic," Arnold said.

"An oath to--you aren't thinking of marrying this penniless--girl, are you?"

"Im not penniless, I have fifteen head of cattle at home," the Trickster objected. "Oh. That may be the other reason they want me to be a witch..." Although there was nothing that said a witch had to give up her worldly possessions once she became a witch, it was a sort of tradition in some villages.

"What breed?" Mr Strathfield asked, pausing with his spoon halfway to his mouth.

"Nerdowells," the Trickster said. Mr Strathfield nodded approvingly.

"An old breed, good stock to keep the bigger breeds from becoming complacent." While most of the Trickster's former hosts had not been too versed in farming, she did know that there was a problem when Bounty's gifts met with animals that were too domesticated. Most breeds had to be regularly crossed with wilder strains to keep them from becoming too placid to do anything but sit on the grass (and if they were unlucky, starve). While the needed "enwildening" was relatively easy to do with dogs, it was much harder with cows and sheep. Many villages had given up, considering the abundance of venison in the forest and the enduring bloody-mindedness of goats, which appeared to make them immune. Cow cheese was therefore highly prized, and could be very valuable if a village wanted to trade with another.

"All right," Mr Strathfield said, putting his spoon down. "You have a deal, if you give me two of your nastiest cows."

"What?" Arnold asked.

"Wait, dear, I don't think--" Mrs Strathfield interjected.

"Done," the Trickster said. Mr Strathfield held out a hand, and the Trickster shook it across the table.