The story of Winter and Cynthia

Chapter 1

-- Chapter 1 --



‘….This…’

‘…Is….’

‘….Like…’

‘The…’

‘…Funnest’

‘Thing….’

‘Wuh..’

‘Wuh…inter’




In between each increasingly laboured breath Cynthia excitedly described how she felt running down the hill as both her and her friend kept trying to hold one another back.


‘Its… just... so…’

‘so..’


Unfortunately the statement was suddenly cut short because the momentum the girls picked up became so great they tumbled over together several times in a flurry of giggling and dirt just before they arrived at the base of the hill.

Cynthia sat up and sucked in a long, deep breath-

‘…EEEEEsy!!!’






She lent backwards and let herself fall back onto the soft dew-tipped grass. Several minutes then past in total silence before both caught their breaths back and were able to speak.

‘I’ll go and take the path down the meadow and visit old Maggort.’ Cynthia said as she started sitting up. Her friend Winter didn’t reply; instead pouted her mouth and she rolled her eyes in disapproval. Cynthia instantly noticed and drawled sarcastically;

‘Yeeeeaaahhh…’

‘I get it noooowwwww..’

A thick patch of dust was still sticking stubbornly onto her right thigh. Her attention was diverted for a moment as she took a few quick swipes to remove it from her dress. She continued rubbing at the circular shaped brown residue left but to no avail. Cynthia frowned at the mark, looked up, stared at Winter and crossed her arms as a big revelation beset her;

‘Hah!! I know what it is Winter!’
‘I know why you are angry…!!!You don’t like my plan… do you?...’

Her brow furrowed in a short but wickedly jagged line as she wondered how Winter could disagree with such a clever idea

‘Why?? It will work!!’

Winter continued not saying a single word and stubbornly refused to change expression. Cynthia nevertheless kept on going;

‘Hey, OF COURSE I’ll go back down there myself and tell her about the potatoes we took from her garden!…’

‘I’ll give them… all of them… back… I promise. She won’t be too mad. I know her and she’s never, ever, mean to kids.’

‘… Never.’ She added for extra authenticity


Now of course Cynthia was only a six-year-old girl, very small in height (NOT tiny as she would most certainly point out to you) and as such generally unnoticed by the “older” people in her village. From an adults perspective looking down from above it really did mean a decent downward tilt of the head so they couldn’t be punished greatly for failing to see the girl if standing right beside her. If focused for longer, they would see a skinny little child with a pale complexion, a small, angular face with a smattering of freckles in a thin band at the middle of her nose, two blue almond-shaped eyes, and a surprisingly thick mass of jet-black hair spilled across both shoulders and over a fair portion of her back. It seemed everything about her was so innocent in intent that hardly a soul in the village who dealt with Cynthia could be angry at her for any great length of time. What wasn’t widely known about Cynthia which Winter believed more people should was the fact she always had to yell out the very first thing that came to her mind whenever she was aware someone didn’t think a whole lot of her ideas.



Finding nothing else to say for the moment, Cynthia outstretched both her arms and presented the undersides of both hands in a pleading gesture to her stubborn friend.

Winter still with her back turned away from Cynthia crossed her arms defiantly;
‘Nope. I don’t believe you. I want to come too! I’m going to tell Maggort it was YOUR idea to take the potatoes. And to eat them too. You don’t even remember properly what happened!! When we took them out of the soil I told you to put them back!’


Conversely Winter looked nothing like her feisty little friend. For one thing, she was older and her skin colour much darker- reflecting her parents origin in the sun-soaked southern continents. Her hair was habitually untidy and although grown just as long as Cynthia’s it struggled to grow downwards, so instead always ended up raised in one vertical spike- similarly to Cynthia’s rooster called Barry. On that note, her face was also rounded much like the sun Barry enjoyed so much early each morning. And where Cynthia was so small and slender she could easily fit into the fireplace at her home, Winter couldn’t because she was a few centimetres taller and more than a few pounds heavier. The two girls were just so unlike they had to be the best of friends.


‘How would we have done that Winter?’ Cynthia snapped. ‘You can’t take ‘em and put ‘em back again. Wouldn’t be the same. Some of the little hairs at the end broke off and dropped. That’ll make new potatas anyway!’


Surprisingly, when the young children arrived excitedly back home at similar times both sets of parents never cared to ask them even once where the full baskets of potatoes came from. Making a simple point to the naïve parents the potatoes actually had the stalk still attached, making it obvious they were freshly taken from a garden and not actually bought from the local market!


Winter still stood resolutely with her arms crossed. It mattered little what Cynthia was to say. It was not going to change her decision.

‘Fine then!’ Cynthia yelled and paused for a few moments.

‘What should we do Winter?’ She finally decided to ask.


Although Cynthia didn’t see it, Winter grinned. She was happy now that she ‘won’ the argument. Cynthia herself honestly wasn’t all that bothered whether or not she went and told old Maggort about the potatoes.

Winter saw the opportunity to take control and laid down new rules for Cynthia to follow:

‘OK. Now this is what we’re gonna do. We’re going to go and see Old Maggort and tell her how it really happened. Then go play in the Silkthorn meadow . We’re always saying that we’ll go there but we haven’t at all. Not even once. And its about time. Theres so much to see. You know about the Chip pixies. We can see them. They all have so much fun there!’

’Yeah.. I guess…’ Cynthia replied only hesitantly. She didn’t trust the Chip pixies.
‘But Mother says the Chip pixies are always stealing things from the village.’ Cynthia reasoned,
‘An’ they don’t even care what they take an’ can be so rude too. Never say please for anything. Only take what they want. Father doesn’t like ‘em either.’

‘Humph… As if your Mum and Dad know anything about anything.!’ Winter scoffed. ‘First things are first. Your Dad is a Gnome. You’re already taller than him and you’re only six. I asked him and he said he is four hundred. I’m not very smart but somethings just not right with that. And your Mum, well shes a gnome too. And your taller than her too. And she said she is three, three-hundred and something.’

Cynthia stamped her feet repeatedly on the ground in frustration. Winter saw a thunderstorm approaching in the form of Cynthia’s anger and quickly tried to soothe it;

‘Well…ummm.. all I’m saying is that yeah they are both really old, so old they must have forgotten everything. Its so simple you know! I’m tellin’ the truth!’

‘Sure Winter!’ Cynthia yelled disbelievingly, re-fuelled for yet another argument.
‘Even if they are old that means they know more! I know more that I’m eight than when I did when I was seven. When I was seven I knew more than when I did when I was four. Same with you. That’s so easy. Everyone knows that silly. We should listen to your parents instead of not. Those numbers you said are big numbers. So that means they must know heaps of things….’

Winter and Cynthia continued arguing and both refused to back down from their points of view. Fortunately, before too long the pair were tired from all the fighting and decided to stop.




Lying back using both her elbows to prop herself up, Winter plucked a dandelion out of the ground and held it in her right hand and pieced off petal by petal and watched as they were instantly carried off by the breeze as Cynthia sat next to her gazing around at nothing in particular.

Never remaining quiet for any great length of time Cynthia stared up at the sky and pondered;
‘Winter, do you think we can touch the clouds?’
Winter, still engrossed in plucking out the dandelion pieces replied blankly;
‘Nah Graent says they are made of water. You can’t touch them. It wouldn’t work’
As usual Cynthia was unhappy with the response;
‘If clouds are made from water- then I should still be able to touch them.’
She crossed her arms and scowled wishing she could touch the clouds now for Winter to see.

‘Maybe clouds weren’t meant to be touched, that’s why they’re up so high. At least not for you to touch Cynthia. They would have to be real low clouds. Hehehehe..’

A frown quickly descended over Cynthia’s face and Winter rushed to refute the comment;
‘You…. you know I’m only joking Cynthia. Don’t take me so seriously!’.

Cynthia was very dissatisfied about the “bad” answer on where clouds came from though, and sat back on the ground wondering if a person has touched the clouds before and if they lived in the village. She then remembered a story about an enlarging potion old Maggort supposedly had. Hey, I’ve got a good idea.

Determined to try a new theory out Cynthia got up and left Winter who had pulled another dandelion up from the ground and started to pluck away at it. She didn’t seem to notice Cynthia quietly slip away and walk back to old Maggorts house. Cynthia knew the journey so well even the ‘back of her hand’ knew where the little hut was.

What Cynthia came across was more like a hovel than a hut. It was simply a mixture of badly set clay and imported stone covered with some old fraying thatched straw which should have been replaced many years ago. Visitors could easily mistake it as being uninhabited if it wasn’t for the adjacent well-maintained vegetable garden. Everyone in the village knew Old Maggort took great pride in her vegetable patch.


The old house smells kind of strange, thought Cynthia. Like cat poo. I reckon. Yeah. Cat poo it must be. But she liked Old Maggort. The old woman had something about her that was undeniably likeable. Maybe it was the stories. So believable. Maybe the wonderful vegetable patch. Somehow it always contained a large variety of vegetables and Old Maggort excitedly showed Cynthia her latest seedlings and how large they have grown whenever she called in to visit. Cynthia walked up and rapped several times on the wooden door. Knock, knock, knock!

Cynthia clasped her hands over her knuckles. Ouch! That hurt!
As she nursed her bruised hand the door opened and an old lady with grey frizzled hair stared quizzically at Cynthia
‘Oh dear!’ she said with grave concern
‘What have you done to yourself?’
She gently clenched Cynthias hand and led her inside.
‘Are you alright?’ Old Maggort walked behind and took out a small magnifying glass carefully inspecting every line, indent (no matter how small) and joint throughout Cynthias hand. Her brow furrowed in concern at every bump and darkened circle she noticed.

‘Wait here for a moment darl whilst I go get some milkthorn creature’ Old Maggort rushed into the back and disappeared for a few moments and walked into a small archway leading into another room. She reappeared moments later with a small round container with a mild-green coloured creamy substance.

‘This’ll get you going right again’ She said as she soothingly applied the cream with the tips of her fingers to Cynthia’s bruises on her hands.
‘Its ok’ Cynthia reassured her.
‘It didn’t hurt a lot.’ Old Maggort appeared oblivious to what she was saying and continued to rub cream deep into her hands. After she was confident it was properly absorbed into her skin Old Maggort placed the cap back on top of the milkweed cream and disappeared again into the other room. She came back out and immediately went over to the other side and put on the kettle.
‘Hows about now I’ll make up some lampboh tea. I have a new story for you Cynthia.’ Old Maggort quietly cursed to herself as she struggled to get the kindling ignited under the little cauldron. A few seconds later after the striking the stones in her tinderbox together a few more times a flame finally shot out from the spark and ignited the kindling.
‘Aaaahhh.. good. Now, yes. I’m going to tell you a story. One. I’ve never told you before Cynthia. Whats even more exciting about this story is that it’s not even about me!
‘Huh?’ Cynthia looked puzzled. Old Maggort anticipated this look of confusion and she smiled.
‘That’s right my small friend. I have a crystal ball. Do you know what a crystal ball is Cynthia?’
‘A ball made from crystal?’
‘A crystal ball is a special device used by people like me to see into the lives of beings and into other realms’
‘Why are they only used by people like you… why not by people like me too?’ Cynthia asked innocently.
‘Because it just isn’t.’ Old Maggort snapped at Cynthia, glaring at her angrily. The little girl decided not to question further. Old Maggorts expression softened and she smiled.
‘I’m sorry. The crystal ball took many years of training to perfect. When I began using it It almost managed to take away my soul. Did I ever tell you that Cynthia
‘Yeah.. I think you did one time’ Cynthia eyes searched in the upper right corner of her eyes for the memory, yet Old Maggort told Cynthia so many stories she was sure one about a crystal ball was in there somewhere.
‘The crystal ball. I have here is a very rare and special device. You won’t see one anywhere else. This I guarantee. Like the other objects you see laying about my house, I came across the crystal ball from a visiting merchant.

Old Maggort stood up and wandered over to the pot belly stove when she heard the water begin to boil. She picked up an old brown rag and used it as a barrier against the boiling hot cauldron. Her cast iron kettle was always sat on the end of the stove and she carefully poured the boiling water from the little cauldron into the kettle. She then took out a few lampboh leaves out of a container kept sitting on a shelf and dropped them into the kettle.
‘It’ll take a little time before the lampboh leaves will release their flavour into the boiling water’ Old Maggort commented to Cynthia. It mattered not Cynthia heard her say it every time she made up the lampboh tea, the dark brown matter tasted so much better when Old Maggort said those words.
‘Now’ Old Maggort rested her elbow against a curious sculpture looking somewhat like a huge hairy human.
‘A long time ago, before you were born Cynthia- someone arrived at my door. How did I know he was at my door might you ask Cynthia? He knocked, several times in fact Cynthia. The time was early afternoon I distinctly remember. I thought to myself, wekk who would be visiting me at some forsaken time like this? The week was very busy I remember also. I already had seen several people in town about a pesky flu going around, fortunately for me I never got myself. I pretended not to hear the knocking. The way I saw it- they were well enough to come down here- their illness wasn’t so bad they needed emergency treatment. The knocking continued for a few more minutes. They’re persistant. I’ll give ‘em that much! Was what I thought. Then came a the point in time where I realized I made a fatal mistake. I started to creep over. I was dying for a cup of lampboh tea. Didn’t make a sound. I went and picked up the handle of the kettle, and then… smash!

After that happened- I knew it was too late! The stranger knew for sure he wasn’t knocking on a door to an empty house. I then said something I won’t repeat for you to know
‘What did you say Old Maggort?’ Cynthia asked
‘I can’t tell you little friend. You aren’t supposed to know those words until you’re older
‘Oh…’ Cynthia nodded her head and pretended to Old Maggort she understood why.
‘Now…as I was saying the person knocking constantly on the door realized I was inside . I just wanted the knocking to stop! A little curious too, I wondered who was there I must admit. So I went over to the door and opened it.









The old woman was seen by the other villagers as not exactly an outsider but they generally only went and saw her only whenever they had some kind of ailment, a curse to be lifted, or for a chat about personal/family related problems. Old Maggort was happy to treat anything related to the first two issues, however with the third she only reluctantly offered as part of her services.

Many years ago a young woman from the village named Daphne arrived at her place with complaints of feeling ‘melancholic’. The medicine woman encountered this kind of problem many times previously and always issued a tincture of the Quios bulb in the more serious cases. This also prevented the patient from going through a lengthy counseling session. She directed Daphne to take a small amount of the bulb morning and night. Daphne didn’t come back to see Old Maggort. This greatly comforted the old Witch Woman because for her it meant the treatment then must have been successful.



Old Maggort was even kind enough to provide her patients with a custom-made egg cup to ensure the correct dosage of medication was measured when the patient arrived back home. Even how she made the egg cups greatly interested the villagers. She somehow managed to cut the delicate shell in half, glazed and applied beautiful patterns to it. The townsfolk were most pleased when she started giving out the egg-cups along with the medications. There can always be ‘too much of a good thing’ of course, and soon enough old Maggort felt she had no other choice but to charge the townsfolk for the egg cups.

Apparently, word got around to nearby towns about the decorative egg cups and some unscrupulous townsfolk ordered the cheapest medications available and sold the amazingly beautiful items to visiting merchants. The shells were indeed unique and they always fetched grand prices. The merchants then sold the egg cups at greatly inflated prices to their customers. Demand always outstripped supply for the half egg-cups and the merchants rapidly began wanting more and more and a few of the more bold sorts realized a better idea would be to order the egg-shells directly from old Maggort herself.

This happened for some time to the oblivious Maggot until a day came when an overweight merchant arrived at her doorstep. As soon as she opened the door and saw the man she instantly knew he was not a townsperson wanting medication. This man reminded her of an oily sardine. He had barely enough time to flash a quick, cheesy smile before she slammed the door shut and left him standing.


A minute later curiosity just got the best of her and she re-opened the door. The merchant composed himself and readied a well-practiced sales pitch to persuade any potential supplier to work on his behalf. Not that he was fair of course- his terms most of us would consider unacceptable to work under and could call slavery. The merchants name was Cedric and his ideas never amounted to anything less in his mind than one where he would receive at least double the profits.


Other merchants in his home town long-ago labeled Cedric a ‘megalomaniac’ and ‘ruthless’. Little wonder. Perhaps it was destiny meeting poor Cedric. Soon he was to find his illustrious life turn a much different way than expected. Later on, Old Maggort would always argue with anyone black and blue about what really happened. She didn’t kill Cedric. She never had such a cruel heart as to actually go so far as to kill anyone who annoyed her. A better punishment was to transform the offender into something more useful for society or more importantly, her property. Toads and newts were her favourite once she transformed a victim into a lemon tree.

These creatures, she constantly re-assured herself were useful because they were all playing an integral part in the local ecosystem. Toads and newts were effective in removing the large populations of itchy-bugs, flies and mosquitoes inhabiting the creek flowing behind her property. Lemon trees provided nesting for the birds. Several victims were currently in the creek and Maggort took great pleasure in watching them live out their new and (in her opinion) much more productive lives.

She went back inside and placed her small cauldron filled with water to make herself a lampboh tea.
‘It’s the most calming tea you will ever find’ This is what she told everybody
She went and sit on her little old wooden stool- given as a child to her by her father. Somehow he made the third leg a few centimeters shorter than the other two resulting in an only too familiar ‘wobble’. She found if she sat in a certain position the chair wouldn’t ‘wobble’ and she could pretend it was a fully functioning stool. Old Maggort always reminded herself that it was made with the greatest precision and care by her father- a wood cutter by trade but with a temper so sharp it easily matched his trusty axe blade.

Old Maggort watched with mild interest at the embers flickering and petering off from the log fire in various sized pieces. A few wayward pieces even found themselves lying in places Maggort never wished to be such as on a black pointed hat hung up with a peg tilted on its side. She stood up, and this motion led her to knock the stool over. Unfortunately it was too late. The ember fell straight through the top leaving a large hole with a sharp stench of burnt fabric. Oh well… kind of looks more authentic that way I guess… She kept the witch’s hat for the times when children visited her and was in the right frame of mind to entertain them. Some mystery was to be found in that black hat. Maybe even a toad could start wearing a smaller one. Now that’s an idea! Lying next to the hat she kept her sweeping broom ever-ready for its next use to clean-sweep the floors of her hut. She quite often stared at the hat and broom lying right beside it and felt the two had a kind of special link between them. What would the children think if I brought them both out together?

The old woman walked over and stomped out the erratic ember as an ant traveling on his usual business foolish enough to try and climb over the obstacle of the glowing ember and abruptly ended his already short life. A second forceful stamp of Maggorts red-pointed wooden shoe was equally effective. It cancelled out any chance of the ember damaging any other property of hers as well as pulverizing the ant along with it. Maggort took the broom and swept out the ashes left scattered about around the amber. Her house provided ample opportunity in removing any dust or similar material about the place. She simply opened up the same day front wooden door and sweep out anything deemed a nuisance.

She prepared herself to undertake the familiar routine and grabbed the door knob and opened the door knob. She literally jumped out of her shoes because out of the corner of her eye, was the horrible merchant she previously delighted herself in ridding herself of.
“What in the hell are you doing back here?!” She yelled
“Uhhh…’ The merchant felt like he was struck by lightning by the sheer force of the woman’s anger. He stepped back nervously and wiped away the sweat starting to bead on his brow
“Ok… ok.. ok.. I make another deal for you?” He begged
“No deal! Maggort crossed her arms and stared at him angrily
‘You back away from my house now or I will turn you into… into… a toad… no…a newt?... no…Uhhh..”
“Anyway when I make up my mind I’ll change you into something. And you’ll be fortunate if it will be any higher up on you than your feet!”
“I don’t understand.’ Cedric panicked and started stammering.
I wish I knew more of the common language… Kychana was right…
‘You will give to me a frog… that… is like a toad….. yes??

A look of puzzlement washed over the merchants face. She is a hard bargainer and she is going to require some solid persuasion skills! Of course due to the intricacies of his native language when compared to the common king the words could best be interpreted in this sense most accurately.