Chapter 1
“No no no! Where is it? I swore it was in there somewhere! Owh… at this rate, Master is going to scold me again…”
Hazel finds herself ransacking her bag for her book, yet it’s nowhere inside… It’s the third time this month. In her book, She made a note of her Master’s needs, the plants she needed to gather. She doesn’t know what it is but she can feel she misses it. “I cannot loiter around and let time pass by! Perhaps, walking around the woodland should help jog my mind, no, it HAS to!” She said with the determination of a knight to fell a dragon.
Her master forbids her from using magic for daily gatherings. Yet with the sun going down to the summit of a mountain, Hazel sees no other way to avoid her wrath. A little chant to the wind, a wish upon nature, a sudden breeze surrounds the little witch and takes her far above the trees and reaches the yellow sky. If anything that her body remembers it is to hold on tight to her bag and staff. The muscle memory that she developed after countless missing staves across the Woodland.
Lush greens cover the earth as chicks coddle to hens. It is a far cry from ‘walking around the woodland’ like she said, but it does the job just the same. “CRESS! WATERCRESS!” She shouted at herself while clutching onto her giant hat. “Oh no, the river is far to the north. I can’t–” the little witch thought to herself, but then remembered, that the risk of dying is a far better outcome than what her master would and can do. And so she sets off, to the waters of great salmon and algae, the river to the north.
No matter how many times Hazel has taken flight, she is never accustomed to the feeling. The wispy wind takes her braided hair in waves, brushing her pillowy cheeks and swiping the remainder of her sweat. It is perhaps the reason birds fly in the first place she reasoned.
On the subject of reason, her Master forbids her not without one. You see, her body is only comparable to a dwarfling. A tenacious dwarfling with a seemingly limitless vigor, at least that’s what she thinks of herself. She has a habit of only realizing tiredness when she stands still – something she rarely does and even more so with pressing matters such as now.
And so, from the great height above, the little witch Hazel comes crashing into one of the taller trees.
If it weren’t for the Poem written on her staff, she would’ve sustained a greater injury. Even so, it does not cushion her completely. But what she lacks in memory and vigor, she makes up for in durability – thankfully and unfortunately. The consequence of magic comes creeping in, as she cannot lift her leg or her finger. Stuck at the very top of the tree, she finds solace in her flight, as it is a yard farther than her best record. All kinds of self-assurement come to her mind, but little witch Hazel cannot run from one fact… That she is going to greatly disappoint her master once more.
“O’ Master of the Trees, beseech thy wisdom unto me,” A tender and soft melodious voice pierces the young heart of Hazel’s. “How does one craft such a fashionable hat?”
Tremor seeps into Hazel’s hands, her brown eyes spy her surroundings but the branches keep her head forward – not much leeway to look through other angles. And with the world upside down in her view, it’s difficult to find the source of the voice. “Hehe… Master…” she crackles, hoping that her master also finds the comedy of it all.
The soft and melodious voice turns to a humble laugh, “‘Master’? Oh my, Master of Trees, I am no one but a humble servant of the Woodland. To be called a ‘master’... hehe, I am undeserving of such praise,” the voice continued. “Pray tell, Master of Trees, what did my little disciple have in mind in her gathering, I wonder? Did she, perhaps, do something I sorely forbade… numerous times…?”
A gentle wind brushes Hazel’s temple. Emerging from below, a tall figure shows his disappointment through his mismatched eyes. A quick look at his round face suggests that he does not intend to hide it. Putting the incident to a close, he commands his hatchling drake, Clem, to safely lay his little disciple to the ground. With its size comparable to a wolf, climbing a tall tree and bringing Hazel to safety is a small feat for it. Once meeting the grassier end of what could be her fate, her master proceeds to inspect her. “Hehe… Master… I flew farther than before. That’s… great… right?”
The Master slides back his short silver hair in frustration, “Oh, why, that’s good. Certainly. Remind me, why did I forbid you from magic in the first place? Especially flight?” he asked sharply while gritting his teeth.
The little witch expected such a reaction, but still, she does not like the feeling that comes with admitting one’s mistake. And so she attempts to reason, “I only lack watercress, Master! The sun is going down and I do not have the time if I walk–” Her explanation then was interrupted by sudden pinches to her cheeks.
“You missed it…? Did you forget to bring your book? Even after I told you to double-check?!” and with the confirmation of her shake, he begins to pinch her even harder. “My sweet little disciple, what do I do with you? How would you survive had I not put the poem on your staff?!”
“Spharhe mhe, mahstur, Spharhe!” The little witch Hazel struggles to talk from her mouth being stretched. Much as he tries, her master was never the kind to subdue his temper. Although it is justifiable in this instance, he never likes it when Fury takes hold of him. Once the fire in his mind is extinguished, Master Tristan finds no harm came to his beloved disciple, only a couple of bruises – which no ointment cannot handle.
Knowing her lack of vigor, Master Tristan commands Clem the hatchling drake to carry her for the rest of the way. The herbs she was tasked to gather are crucial for his stock. Despite the night being riddled with terror – one he’d rather not expose his disciple to – the hands of the circumstances push him to do so. A poem from Master Tristan lends strength to grasses and trees in the direction of the river. They illuminate the encroaching darkness in a bright hue of green – thanks to their chlorophyll.
Walking through the dark Woodland, the growing little witch is guilty of having her master do her task. With her feet dangling above the ground, she musters every courage in her tiny body and asks a question to her ill-tempered master. “Are you… mad? Please don’t be…”
Master Tristan calms himself ever more, in hopes that he does not lash out. “I’d like you to reflect on your shortcomings and strive to compensate for them, my little disciple.” He succeeded in replying with deep patience. “I hope that this chance does not slip by you,” He said while harboring ‘unlike many of my teachings…’ in his heart.
“I–I’m sorry… Master…” She apologized full of heart, “I will do better, I promise!”
Her master sighs and forces himself to smile before turning to her. “Don’t dwell on it, my little disciple, it’ll hinder your growth. Surely you don’t want to be compared to a dwarfling any longer, do you?”
Those words stoke a fire in her. It’s a fire that was fed since the very start of her witch journey. “No, I don’t! I’m telling you I WILL grow taller than you, just you wait!”
Seeing the little witch explode out of small mockery, Master Tristan cannot help but laugh into her face. “Do try to wish for it, my little disciple. You know how powerful they are,” he jested.
The moon hangs above them when they’ve arrived in the river of great salmon up north. It’s less than ideal to continue foraging at these hours, however, supplies for the village’s needs must be endless. Master Tristan recites a poem to the wind and water, and thus plenty of watercresses illuminate below the river. “Dra– Clem, make a fire to warm yourself and Hazel. I’ll be back shortly.”
“Do you need help, Master?” Little witch Hazel offered innocently while dangling from the jaws of a hatchling drake. “The two of us would gather faster.”
Master Tristan catches a glimpse of his little disciple. “I’ll make do on my own. Take a rest, my little disciple.” He ordered calmly.
The fire was made shortly after the Master ordered. Watching him gather the watercress from the warmth of the fire, Hazel cannot overstate how useless she feels. This was supposed to be her job, her way to return the favor as his disciple. She would do anything to alleviate her master’s burden. And so, with the help of her staff and the hatchling drake’s crimson draconic eyes occupied by firewoods, the little witch makes her way to the illuminating watercresses.
With her naturally small body, Hazel’s steps hardly make a sound – even more so with little energy she has left. It’s more than trivial for her to sneak under the surveillance of a hatchling drake. Carefully, she dips her hands into the river of the great salmon. The water is icy cold – the looming winter bites her early into the month. However, it only further intensifies her determination. Her Great Witch Master should never stoop into such a lowly gathering task.
In her secrecy, a thought slips her mind. Hazel has not lived for long in the Woodland’s domain. Her scent has not been fully accepted by its inhabitants. With bright watercresses illuminating around her, she notices a crow perching on a tree branch beside her. Its caws lend her to remember something important, something dire to her well-being: A poem imparted by her master whilst traveling the woodland.
However, before the little witch could return to the hatchling’s view, a root had taken hold of her legs. Sudden gusts of winds swiftly carry her staff and giant hat from her already tired self. In the corner of her brown tiny eyes, a bundle of roots and mosses come piercing through the ground. It wraps and tangles itself, forming an upper half of a giant body. Its head is shaped to adorn a crown, arms and fingers are as long and slender as twigs. It does not speak or is it capable in the first place? It sways like a curious child looking at a butterfly. With its intention unknown, it succeeds in rendering the little witch Hazel with fear. “H..ark… Master of Trees… Hark…” She whimpered but her presence meant nothing to the leshy.
The spirit, unblessed with a pair of eyes, moves closer to the little witch – inspecting every inch of her. It envelopes her with its wooden hands, roughly moving her like a plaything. From her legs to her arms, from her hair to her oval belly, the curiosity of such creatures is as deep as the ocean. Its abrasiveness proves too much for the child’s plumpy skin – glowing red through the darkest air by the moment. Finally, it reaches a threshold a child couldn’t possibly bear. But as much as she tries to call out her master or the hatchling drake, her fear is keeping her mouth shut.
“Hark, Master of Tree, hark!” A soft melodious voice swiftly reaches through Hazel’s ears – soothing her heart from the terror she’s facing.
“I stood before you of no honor and lineage.”
“I stand before you only for your generosity.”
“Lend thine hands once more, pray you remember this child.”
“For she is my disciple – a future in carving.”
The spirit listened with its unseen ears. Understanding and recognizing her master’s poem, it lets go of his disciple. Like a child losing interest, it goes whence it came – to the ground where it emerged. The crow that once perched now flies under its own will – blending with the night sky above. From behind the Master Witch, the hatchling drake rushes to Hazel’s rescue – soothing her bruises with its tongue.
“Let us be off – back to our abode,” Her Master said nothing more – now and for the rest of the way home.
The Little Witch cannot afford any energy to gaze back at her Master. Silently, she relents to her fate of hanging by Clem’s scaly jaws and the ice-cold gaze of her master. Thus, her imagination takes her to where her body cannot.
A morning in a quaint cottage, Hazel awakens to tender caresses of Clem’s slimy licks, as per his pact master’s orders. After cleaning the crustiness at the side of her eyes and making her bed, the little witch makes her way to her master’s study. She finds Master Witch Tristan already developed bags under his eyes. With his mismatched eyes becoming bloodshot red at a moment’s notice, little witch Hazel cannot help but grow concerned. “M-m-master…? Are you well? Should I call a healer?”
“I’m fine… my little disciple,” He replied in a shaking voice, the lack of energy did not convince her. “I have a task for you. Take these and bring them to the Elder Rasmus. He has been hounding me to conjure an ointment for his aging back. Although I’ve repeatedly told him there’s nothing I can do, and the BEST he can do is to get himself to EXERCISE!” The sleep-deprived Master Witch takes a deep breath and replaces boiling anger inside his lungs with fresh oxygens. “It comes with instructions on how to prepare and apply them. I suppose I can entrust you with it ?”
“Of course, Master, I will deliver this in no time flat!” The little witch replied with full energy, tapping away at the wooden floor beneath her. “I will make sure Elder Rasmus understands how to apply them.”
It takes all of her master’s energy to nod in approval. Seeing little toes of Hazel brings her away from his study, he turns to the hatchling drake beside him – sleuthing together in secrecy. “I do not need to tell you what you should do, do I, drake?” Clem the hatchling drake groans to confirm its understanding of its next order. “Wake me up when her antics should endanger her, but I do hope you can settle them yourself…”
Master Tristan sniggers at himself, the grin is riddled with worry and a slight tinge of fear. “That girl… I hope she doesn’t bring trouble today…” he imparted before going to the dream plane on his chair. At the very corner of Clem’s crimson draconic eye, a small brown eye is spying from the ajarring door of the study. Little witch Hazel emerges from the door, already prepared for the task handed to her. But also on her hand, a warm blanket.
With the help of Clem the hatchling drake, Hazel covers her master with the warm blanket – ensuring that he will not catch a cold in the looming winter month. “Master worked himself again, didn’t he? Hreh, if only I didn’t blunder myself yesterday…” the little witch whispered with a tinge of guilt and worry. “Don’t worry, I will not bring trouble, Master.”
Clem gazes at Hazel, realizing there’s no need to stealthily watch her from afar as instructed. It decides to tag along and help whenever needed. This is Hazel, after all, she will need its help.
