The Mud-witch - a short story collaboration | Page 21

‘I had to,’ Minno says. ‘I’ve no choice either.’
The Mud-witch’s eyes gleam in the lantern light. ‘But you do. You’re free, can do whatever you
like. Not like me.’ She digs in the wall of junk and pulls out two orange oars, and a basket tied to
a broom. ‘Let’s catch dinner,’ she says.
They row out. The Mud-witch hands the broom to Minno. ‘Hold it steady, near the bottom. Pike.’
Minno pulls a face.
‘Wish it could be iced buns,’ she says.
The boat rocks gently in the current, making silver ripples. Minno grips the broom in his hands,
one gloved, one bare.
‘Is that your worry?’ asks the Mud-witch, pointing at his bare hand.
Minno looks down at the small crescents of web between his fingers.
‘Nonsense,’ she says. ‘Never stopped me.’ She spreads her hands and dips them in the water,
flicking up a spray of droplets like stars.
When Minno hauls up the basket, they stare down at the gritty, sodden glove that lies in the
bottom.
‘That’s mine,’ Minno says.
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