Once she’d gotten out into the center of the dirtlake though, she’d realized what her heart had prompted her to do. How could she deny it when it knocked upon her soul with such urgent demand, thrashing and struggling to be free? She had meant to drown her sorrows forever.
Alba’s sorrows were named Mitchell Abernathy, he was ten and lived on the next farm over. She had taken him by boat to throw overboard, bound and gagged, so that he and his insistent teasing may sink silently to the bottom, leaving her without so much as a “shump!” of earth to mark his passing. Resigned, Alba shoved him overboard, where to her amazement he floated as if a witch. Alba watched in a moment of struck horror as he rose up and magically ran across the surface of the dirtlake for the shelter of a benchbuoy. Along the bank appeared multitudes of cats… surely his demonic familiars come to his aid.
Alba managed to row out to him and resecure him in the boat before he could make land - and the cats, poor swimmers and wary of dirtlakes - merely mewed their protests from the shore. Following the witchhunting protocols she had heard discussed by family fireplace, she did the only thing she could and secured Mitch below a heavy stone. She had considered watching him through the night from the safety of the boat to make sure the Proto Eurasian Wolves finished the job when they happened upon his bound and wedged body… Somewhere out in the wild though she heard the strained howl of some type of dog… high-pitched and whiny, like something with short little legs.
This made her reconsider and with a shiver, she turned and rowed back towards Aunt Holda and home.
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