by Taylor Hubbard

Created on: August 31, 2008   Last Updated: September 21, 2011

The First Witch

"Which story should we hear tonight, eh?" The old man craned his neck to peer at the children. "Which story for tonight?"

"The Tale of Sir Darien!"

"The Crying Wolf!"

"The Candlemakers helpers"

"The Demon and the Lady!"

Cries and pleas echoed throughout the inn's common room, and they were too much for Burt's wrinkling ears. "Well then," drawled Burt in his least hurried voice, "Since you folks cannot agree, I will decide for you." At this there was much moaning, grousing, and pouting. But Burt held up his hand for silence and said: "Just listen here, I have a new tale for you all tonight!"

And for that they did listen, for new stories are rarer than cat hunting mice. Burt cleared his throat, "Tonight I will tell you the Tale of the First Witch!" And so, he began:

In a faraway time, in a town not so very different from our own, there lived a girl, Shana. She lived in a house like mine, with a lovely mother, and a father as brave as could wished for; her heart was softer than down, her mind was as keen as Sir Darien's blade. When you looked into you her eyes, they listened, and when she listened with her ears, she saw your mind. Now these are very admirable things, but they set her apart from her fellows.

When wolves would get into the sheep, the farmers would yowl and call for vengeance upon the evil wolves. But Shana would say, "the wolves are not evil." For she knew it was no more evil for a wolf to kill a sheep, than for a human to kill sheep. But neither was she angry with the farmers, for she understood. She understood the wolf's need to eat, their happiness in hunting, the farmer's instinct, and their emotions. She understood their feelings, the growth of their minds from young to old, and the lessons they'd learned. She understood a mother's love for her children, a girl's jealousy, and a man's fear. She knew the meaning of running water, cloudy sky, and the names of the Stars. Eventually she knew life, and she knew death.

But the people did not love Shana. Oh surely here mother did, and her father, but not the people. The people feared what they could not understand: death, lightning, plague, nightmares, ill omens, and Shana too. They began to despise her. She who always seemed so calm, she who went her own way. Their fear and distrust for Shana grew and grew; until one day, when they decided to kill her.

They gathered their saws and chisels, their axes, picks, and scythes; they gathered these things and went of in search of her. The

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