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By Root 646 0

of ash clung to the surface of the post. Bathsheba moved around the very edge of the clearing until she could see the other side of the post. She grimaced in horror at the sight but a morbid fascination prevented her from looking away. A blackened corpse hung there, suspended by chains clamped tightly around its wrists. What skin there was left was shrivelled, shrunken, but for the most part it had burnt away, leaving crisp muscles and brittle bones exposed to the air. But the horror did not end there, for just as Bathsheba had felt the bile rising to her mouth, the head lifted upwards, white eyes agape, and the mouth fell open as if to scream. But rather than sound it was a torrent of oily black smoke that poured out.

Sitting in the haybarn, Bathsheba's mouth felt dry as she remembered running as fast as she could away from the apparition and finally, when she could run no more, falling to the ground and fainting in a pool of her own sick. She had woken on her bed in the farmhouse with concerned faces looking down at her but afterwards no one mentioned the incident. She had begun to wonder if it had all been a bad dream, but had ventured into the wood again and had found the stone post. No horror hung there, but the circle of sickly looking grass which surrounded it was more than enough to convince her of the truth of what she had seen. And she knew that the stone post was the fate which awaited her if there was any indication that she too might be a witch.

That was the reason why her hair was regularly shorn by her loving mother - so that at the first sign of a darkening of the skin midway between the nape of her neck and the lobe of her ear, she could be burnt without hesitation before she could cause any harm. Her family were watching for the mark of the witch.

She gave another wistful look at the small patch of blue sky just visible through the circular window above the barn door and then tried to concentrate on the lesson. She slipped easily into daydreaming again and before she knew it the lesson was over and she was following the others out of the barn. By the time she had emerged from its shadow the yard was empty and she stumbled across the cobbles towards the delightful smell of freshly baked bread. She could hear her brothers' and sisters' cries of pleasure as they snatched up the hot bread from their plates and juggled it from hand to hand until it cooled enough for it to be eaten. She pushed open the door and was greeted by a breath of warm air, then she entered the dimly lit humidity of the kitchen. The family sat around the table waiting for her -

there were two empty places at the table, one for her and the other set with an ample helping just in case Dagda or maybe Silvanus should arrive at the doorstep.

Bathsheba settled down on to her stool and waited whilst Mother burnt the first loaf from the oven before she, and all the others, began eating their own meals. A chunk of bread, a wedge of cheese, a ripe purple beetroot and, as a treat, a piece of salted fish made up the meal and it was consumed all too quickly. Bathsheba pushed her plate down along the table and then rose and went out into the yard. One of the cows was gazing soulfully at her over the wall and so she went and rubbed its face. The other children kicked a broken tin cup around the yard and laughed at her when it landed at her feet and she tried to kick it back. She turned away from them and saw Druffud the troll watching her from the shadows of the cowshed. She waved at him and grinned as he tried to manoeuvre his heavy features into a smile.

And then Siân was standing in the door to the barn calling for them to come and settle down again.

Bathsheba leant against the wall where the sun had just been falling and felt its warmth seep into her back. Siân’s voice droned on and on and then...

...she felt the wind rushing over her skin as she pounded across the grassy plain. Her large lungs drew in the air, sweeping it over the sensitive mucous membranes of her nostrils which responded by sending messages to her brain and painting a