“Are you going to stand in the shadows all night listening to conversations or are you going to come in…Ignatius?” she asked.

  “Those were some kind words.” The tall witch said, stepping from the shadows.

  “We could all benefit from a kind word from others, I think.” She said as she corked the canteen again. “We can give away as many as we like, and it doesn’t a single copper to do so.” Ignatius walked over to her and sat down on the bale where his brother had just been. Hoxley retrieved her spear from the wall and rested it against her shoulder.

  “I think that’s why I enjoy your company, Hoxley.” He said. “You put others before yourself. You make your presence known but have no trouble making sure that others are seen as well.”

  “I’ve no want for ego.” She replied. “It makes no sense for me to be the center of attention if I don’t have something important that needs to be said. I can learn more by listening than talking.” She smiled “Ears as big as these should be used for more than just detecting handsome witches waiting in the shadows.”

  “You think I’m handsome?” he asked.

  “Very much so. I believe the witch you choose as your mate will be a blessed companion.”

  “What makes you believe the mate I would choose would have to be a witch? Am I not allowed to join with others?”

  “I’m sure you could have anyone of your choosing, Ignatius. The one you ultimately select will be the one you feel best suits you, regardless of ability to be magical or cast spells.”

  “Sometimes those who aren’t magical cast the strongest spells.” He said with a devious grin and a wink. At the same time, he reached behind his back and produced a pair of small purple wild flower crowns similar to the one he’d given her before. Hoxley’s cheeks grew warm. “May I?” he asked.

  “If you insist.” She blushed, closing her eyes and bowing at the waist. The crowns were just the perfect size to slip over her horns and rest upon the bases at the top of her head.

  “You like the purple ones, don’t you?” he asked.

  “I appreciate any flowers given as a gift.” She said as she looked down at her own reflection in the bucket of water by her side. In the rippling mirror she admired the blossoms he’d meticulously woven into beautiful bands. “They’re lovely, Ignatius. Thank you.”

  “You should always have flowers in your hair.” He remarked.

  “It’s a bit impractical for me to constantly be weaving flowers to wear.”

  “And if you had someone to weave them for you?”

  “Who would do that for me? You, Ignatius?”

  “Perhaps.” He said as he leaned back to put his shoulders against the bale behind him. “Considering the result,” he crossed his legs. “I can’t see it being a task I would tire of easily.”

  “Your flattery is too kind,” she remarked. “While I do appreciate them, I’m afraid our current situation would cause your generous gift to come apart all too quickly. The fragility of flowers fairs so poorly during heated swordplay against king’s men and abominations of ice.”

  “All too true. But perhaps in another place when those things are behind us, we’ll find the time to make them so that they won’t be disturbed.”

  “I’d like that.” she said as they shared a smile. “A time of flowers seems so much more desirable than a time of swords. I already miss making my deliveries. Somewhere along the way my regular customers are likely wondering why I haven’t arrived to take their letters.”

  “You’ll have your route again.” he said.

  “And what of you, Ignatius? Where will you be when we’re no longer needed to defend a fleeing prince?”

  “I suppose I could deliver messages as well.” He thought aloud.

  “You’d want to be a messenger?” she asked.

  “Why not? Witches in the past have done it. Besides, if I were a messenger, I’d have a greater chance of running into you.”

  “And why would you look forward to such encounters?”

  “In the summertime I could walk by your side and make sure your head is laden with flowers.”

  “And in the wintertime when there are no flowers?”

  “I would offer my cloak as warmth as we walked frosty trails. I could carry your lantern and we could speak of whatever was on our minds and share sticks of sarsaparilla.”

  “I do love the sarsaparilla you bring.” she said. “That’s all so very proper. Wouldn’t you prefer to be home in Spellvale?” Hearing this, Ignatius stood up and closed the distance between himself and Hoxley. With one hand he took her spear from her hand and leaned it against the edge of the stall while the other slipped behind the small of her back to hold her close.

  “Of all the times I’m in Spellvale, I find my thoughts always wandering back to you.” He said. “I do fancy you, Hoxley.” He pulled her closer before using the long spindly fingers on his free hand to massage the flesh of her goatlike ears. The delicate kneading between his fingers and thumb was enough that Hoxley’s brain began to melt as she looked as his deep grey eyes that seemed like stone wells without bottom. Ignatius breath drew closer to hers and their lips were all but touching. “From horns to hooves you’re always on my mind, Hoxley.” He said just above a whisper.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “And you, I.” she said. Hoxley closed her eyes and waited for the kiss she hoped would be coming. But after a few anxious breaths, it never arrived.

  “Hoxley.” He said in a different tone.

  “Yes, Ignatius?”

  “There are eyes upon us.” Hoxley’s heart almost skipped a second beat.

  “There’s what?” she asked with wide eyes.

  “Hoxley get down!” Ignatius pulled her to the floor as an arrow grazed the inside of her right horn and embedded itself in the wooden beam behind where Ignatius had just been standing. “Assassins!” he said, thrusting the spear into her hands as he pulled his sword free of its scabbard. “Stay down!”

  “We have to warn the others!”

  “They have archers with crossbows! If we step out now, they’ll fill us with bolts!”

  “Then what’ll we do?” she asked.

  “We have to break free and join the others indoors.”

  “And how do you suggest we get there?” she asked.

  “I’ll create a distraction. When I give the word, get inside as fast as you can!”

  “What about you?”

  “I have my broom. Find the prince and I’ll meet you on the second floor! Get ready!”

  “Get ready for what?” she asked. Ignatius raised his arms in a “V” before his voice cut the air to cast a spell.

  “Cluster of bluster!” he shouted. Hoxley watched in amazement as the pair were immediately set upon by spiraling whirlwinds so violent that they threatened to split apart the stable at any moment. Arrows and bolts came sailing in at them half a dozen at a time but were no match for the barrier of gusts that protected them. The sharp points embedded themselves in bales and pails and wood supports, steering clear of their true targets. Winds increased in intensity causing her delicate ears to painfully pop. Faster and faster the winds grew, scattering anything not anchored to the ground. After a few moments the stable itself began to shake and tremor, threatening to jump free of its moorings. Ignatius held his arms out from his sides before making fists with his hands and slowly facing the fists inward toward his center. As he began bringing the knuckles together, the whirlwind became so dreadfully ferocious that Hoxley feared for her safety by being so close to it. Closer his fists got as they moved inward, closer. The air howled as it twirled. She’d seen “twisters” in her past, volumes of violent air that made funnels to the sky, but in those instances where she’d witnessed them in the past, she had sense enough to steer clear of its path or seek shelter in a cave or protected area. When Ignatius fists finally joined, the whirlwind contracted to a pillar of air around the two of them before exploding outward in an appalling thrash of wind. The stable came apart at the seams, throwing wood poles and boards in every direction as the dandelions in the fields sometimes do on blustery days. But instead of seeds, Ignatius’ scatting of debris flashed outward, striking or killing anyone unfortunate enough to have ventured too close. “Go! now!” he told her. Hoxley sprinted from the place and burst through the door to find men with covered faces and swords drawn pressing upon Morell and the prince upon the stairs. When she came bursting in, everyone froze to take in the horned form that stood in the threshold.

  “Hoxley! Help!” Morell shouted to her

  “Boys, back to the room! she said. “As for you,” she pointed at the aggressors with her spear and sidestepped the exit. “If you wish to live long healthy lives, you’ll leave this place now.” The two boys made a swift retreat up the stairs, but for a moment the men looked confused. That was then the leader of the assassins spoke:

  “You six get the prince, the other half stay with me, and we’ll carve up the horse.” Those closest to the stairs started their climb and the others unsheathed long blades and started their advance. Hoxley had to think fast. The room was confining on its own but the pillars holding up the second floor gave her even less room to maneuver. In the last second before the first man was upon her, she remembered the advice she’d given the prince about fighting in enclosed spaces. “Have at you, you cretins.” She spat. Kicking the bottom of her spear with her hoof, she pivoted the end upwards to catch the first man in the groin. He gave a sudden “Urk!” noise before she spun the spear back the other way, clobbering him upon the crown of the head and sending him sprawling to the floor. He held his crotch and emitted the most pitiful of groans. The others saw this and paused. It didn’t take long for them to bolster the courage that had been temporarily shaken. They charged with their swords and Hoxley held her spear horizontally at chest level and stepped behind a wooden column as thick as herself. With the wood between her and her enemies, she used the position of the post as a focal point to swing the tail and blade around one side or the other.