Magister: Reed! Stand up straight!

Reed: Yes yer grace (sniff).

Magister: I'm only a magister, Reed, not the bloody Duke of Cramshire.

Reed: (sniff).

One day Ramrod was in the garden, raping daisies. He had his raping fork and his raping bucket, and had a nice pile of raped, nearly raped, and barely raped daisies. It was a beautiful spring afternoon, brilliant blue sky, and one lone cloud, high, wispy, dainty. Ramrod glanced at it nervously every once in a while. He'd never seen a noblegirl's knickers, but he was pretty sure the cloud resembled what knickers would look like if they were-- and here he blushed hotly ate the about-to-be-raped-daisies-- discarded. Musn't think about knickers, Ramrod thought to himself. Musn't.

Along came Reed, in his thin and sniffling way. He stood there, casting a shadow over the should-be-raped daisies, like a wet sock would if it could walk and sniff and cast a shadow. If all was right in the world, he would have stood such that he blocked Ramrod's view of the discarded-knickers cloud. But he didn’t.

Suddenly, there was a sharp report from the cottage, and a witchly yelp. Both boys stood up and ran towards the door, although Reed's progress was less athletic and more moist than Ramrod's.

They entered, and saw their poor mum sprawled on the floor. She looked a fright. Her black dress was nearly up to her shins, her filthy shawl was strewn, and her tall crooked hat was nearly bent uncrooked beneath her.

"Alright mum?" said Ramrod. Such a good boy.

"Oh my. Help me to my feet son."

Ramrod obliged her as Reed reached out a feeble hand in faux-assistance.

"Alright mum?" Ramrod said again, but in a different tone.

"Yes, Yes. Oh dear. My word. Hand me my shawl, Reed. And stand up straight."

"Mum (sniff)" Reed said, fetching the thing and handing it to her as she sat down.

"Alright mum?" Ramrod said in still a different tone.

"Oh, it was nothing, dear. I was just mixing together a potion for the Magister. Wart remover, you know how his hands get. And all of a sudden, it went poof!"

Reed shuffled wetly over to the tea pot. "I'll just set the kettle on, mum."

"There's a boy." She found it difficult to say the word good, but he was her son.

"What's a poof then, mum?" Ramrod asked.

"Sort of like an explosion, dear. First time it's happened, although they did warn me…"

"Warn ye, mum? Ramrod said.

"They?" Reed asked, the more important question.

"Yes, the people at university, where I had me witch training. They said if I was at it long enough, I might wind up with a bit of magic in it. That must have been what happened!"

Reed shuffled over with two cups of tea. Ramrod never drank the stuff.

"But yer a witch, mum," said Ramrod.

"Yes, that's right, but there's little magic in it these days. Ointments and unguents, mostly, some cavorting in the forest. Not much call for magic, really.

"What's ungunts," Ramrod asked.

"Is it the touch?" Reed asked, the more important question.

The Witch Nutella gazed at her thinner child. What if it was? The touch? What if she was able to do real magic? Oh, that would never do. They'd ship her off to a proper shire if they thought she could do real magic. She'd heard the stories. Shires applied to the Duke for proper witches, ones that could take care of unwanted pregnancies, curse your neighbor with a bad cow, someone to blame bad crops and missing children on so you could burn her, a proper sacrifice to the very old gods, the ones who didn't muck about with all this love and eternal peace and such-shite. No, this wouldn't do at all. "Oh, go on, Reed, you loony. Me, the touch?" She laughed semi-nervously. "That'll be the day."

Reed shrugged and sniffed.

"What's the touch, mum?" Ramrod asked.

"Never you mind. Go on, go finish rapin' the daisies. I'll be all right. Just a random bit of poof, nothing to worry about."

"Yes mum," Ramrod said, shuffling in a mighty and manly way out the door.

Reed stayed behind. "Don't worry, mum. I won't tell anyone." He too shuffled out the door, not leaving a trail of moisture, but seeming to.

The Witch Nutella sat back in her chair, eyes slitted in thought. If she did have the touch, the first thing she would do would be to turn Reed back into a frog. Keep the boy quiet.