Trinity the last White Witch - Chapter 7

“Have you seen how he smile at me? I think he secretly likes me. But because we are in the same village, he didn’t want to make it obvious because we’ll be the talk of the town,” Dorothy continued to tell her one-sided tales.

Oh, you’ll be the talk of the town, alright, after I’m done with you. I thought.

I pretended to listen to Dorothy’s speech while waiting for a wagon to take us into the town. Usually, around six in the morning, farmers from the neighboring village delivered eggs and fresh milk into the inns, shops, and nobles’ houses in Hamill Town.

It’d only cause five gil per person to ride it plus another extra five with our basket full of fish. We were not exactly idiots to walk all the way into town while carrying kilos of fish in our hands.

The faint glimmer of the morning sun ghosted over my skin, and I lifted my face to its warmth. The sun danced on the tip of my nose and tiptoed on my cheeks, and I welcomed its warmth and loving caress.

Ah . . . how long has it been since the last time I gazed at that annoying ball of heat? Too long . . . I even missed it, even the sweat and discomfort it brought.

“Oh. Here’s our wagon.” Dorothy pointed to an old wooden wagon pulled by a giant ox with two big horns. On top of the animal was an old man with a white bead of hair and beard and a straw hat on top of his head.

“Good morning, missies,” greeted old man Jim while removing his hat, and for a brief moment, I got to gaze at his bald, shining head flanked each side by thinning hair.

“Good morning,” we greeted back.

“You headed to town?” Jim asked.

“Yes, please.” I handed our fair to Jim, and he beamed, showing what little teeth he had left.

“Hop right in the back and make yourself comfortable.”

“Thank you for always,” I said and went straight to my usual spot near the end of the wagon, away from the piles of eggs and jars of milk while Dorothy was still hesitant to go.

Her eyes were searching for Michael on the shore, hoping to have one last glimpse of him.

“I hope he’s still fishing tomorrow,” Dorothy murmured as the wagon started to move.

I gave a lazy half-shrug. “It depends if it won’t rain.”

“. . .”

“Don’t forget your promise about tripling our gil,” I said after a short silence.

Dorothy’s face scrunched in a frown. “I know.”

I leaned on the wagon, palms extending behind me, my back facing Dorothy. “How are you going to triple it?” I was not really interested in the answer. I just needed the noise as I looked at the sun and basked in its warmth.

“None of your business.”

“The thing is . . . it’s my portion of the money that you used. And with these little fish, we will be lucky if we get at least half of what we spent.”

Dorothy snorted. “Don’t worry. Just leave it to me. I’ll get you that money before the old hag comes in the afternoon.”

“. . .” I closed my eyes. I wasn’t really worried about the money. I could easily get that tonight. I just needed some ferns, and all would be good.

After fifteen minutes, we passed by Madam Bertud’s house, and within a few minutes more, we were traversing the road towards Hamill Town.

We entered a small forest near our village, around a ten-minute walk, and it’ll be perfect for my plans later.

Dancing rays of light dapple the ground in an ever-shifting pattern. The leaves above stain the sunlight green, and everything around us took an emerald hue. Spring wind swept the forest, spiced with the scent of pine. The cries of insects rise and fall like a wordless chorus.

I caught the merest glimpse of some forest creature flitting from tree to tree. Bird calls and lazy leaves floated down from the rich canopy above.

I breathed in the fresh morning air and caught the sparse scent of wildflowers growing nearby in the huddled bunch, and a whiff of fresh animal dung mixed among the earthy scents of the woods. The forest was alive and beaming with all sorts of plants I could exploit.

In the past, I didn’t even dare to use simple magic for fear of being discovered by the Church. But now, it was different . . .

A few more minutes, and we were out of the woods and into the open hills and fields. The fickle wind delivered the bleating of goats and sheep, and the occasional stop of the wagon to let the ox, chickens, and ducks cross the road brought a nostalgic feeling that I didn’t expect I’d missed.

Eventually, we arrived in Hamill Town and passed through its gate with an identification letter with Duke Hamill’s seal.

Hamill Town was like any other town with pointy tile roofs with chimneys, stone walls, windows with wooden shutters, and heavy, thick oak doors with bronze knobs.

Old man, Jim dropped as of in the harbor where the fish and meat market was located before he went his own way.

While Dorothy and I set up our stalls like the others, I looked at the bustling harbor. There was fresh fish too in the harbor, but they were mostly traded in the other towns as well as salt. The harbor was mainly used for trading and sea travel than a source of fish for the town’s folks.

Duke Hamill made sure that every village under his rule had a source of income, even if it was just selling fish, meat, vegetables, or delivering fresh milk to the inns, shops, and houses.

At least that was what I admired about the old Duke. He wasn’t greedy like the rest of the nobles.

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A/N

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