October 11, 2017

‘Where’s my slender trident? I distinctly remember leaving it leaning against the shed. Is it leaning against the shed? No, it is not leaning against the shed. So where is it? I’m looking at you, Bernard,’ said the witch.

‘Look at me all you want. I know nothing about the silly trident,’ replied the raven, shuddering its neck feathers.

‘Now I’m looking at you, Charlotte,’ said the witch, turning her most withering gaze toward the black cat.

‘There’s nothing in the world I care less about than your trident. You probably jammed it into the ground in the green wood so you could wander around babbling nonsense unencumbered,’ replied Charlotte, unsheathing her claws to have a nice rake across the gravel.

The witch whirled around in fury and strode off into the green wood. She kicked a tree, threw dirt clods into the stream, bit her own arm, threw herself to the ground and sobbed. When none of these things produced the slender trident, she sat up glowering, her face a silent storm. It was then that she noticed the slender trident stuck in the ground next to a stand of lush green yellow bushes.

‘Oh, yeah, heh, heh,’ she mumbled in embarrassment.

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