She preferred to play ball in the middle of a downpour. Janet didn’t leave either, lest she offend the little one. How old the child was, and what she was doing near the earl’s castle, she didn’t even bother to ask. The girl looked ten years old, with purple sparks in her eyes.
В«My name is Tamsin,В» she said. В«IВ live near here inВ the buckthorn bushes. IВ like toВ spy on you from there. But my sister Heather is furious with you.В»
Heather! What kind ofВ name is that? Janet caught the ball and held it inВ her hands while it looked at her with its face covered inВ golden leaves. And then the whole ball turned into aВ round, elf-like mask ofВ leaves. Janet dropped it, and Tamsin watched her fright carefully.
«All the fairies of the forest and the lands near the forest are mad at you,» she continued, as if nothing had happened. «Lungwort is especially furious with you. She hasn’t even seen you yet and she wants to rip your head off so she can play with it like a ball. Are you afraid?»
What kind of naughty child is that? Janet did not respond to the impertinence, turned and walked away. The red lights in Tamsin’s eyes were beginning to scare her. The girl looked like a little demon, though she was pretty. She wore a wreath in her hair, woven from twigs of buckthorn.
В«Lungwort will find you!В» Tamsin shouted after Janet, who for some reason she dared not follow. В«Lungwort is mad at you! You captured her prisoner. She can easily break through walls toВ reach you.В»
Lungwort! That word somehow frightened Janet more than an entire enemy army. That’s the name of a flower, after all. All flowers are pretty to look at. How could one be frightened of them? But something told Janet it wasn’t a flower at all.
Why had she just left the castle when the sky was already darkening in anticipation of a thunderstorm? Why was she playing ball with a girl she didn’t know? Where would a child come from in these surroundings? The nearest village is quite far away. Squire, who recently hovered in the village of relatives, said that the well of the old witch Helga nicknamed Belladonna is indeed nailed up, and voices can be heard from it. Eyewitnesses assure that at night the fortuneteller scandalizes them and nails the well even harder. Where does she draw water for her brew? Unless it’s made with water and not blood. Janet was amazed that Belladonna really had a handle on the water elves. She herself could not find a way to deal with these magical folk, and had always succumbed to their provocations.
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