The Seam Sorceress

The County Fair, part 1.

Carrying the pumpkin above her head, Tilly looked like a single, solitary ant trying to abscond with an oversized slice of cake. Booger found the arrangement especially humorous, pointing out the similarity between Tilly and the aforementioned insect countless times as the two walked down the dusty dirt road that lead to Coleville—at least, until Tilly threatened to drop the pumpkin on her. Then, curiously, the dog was all out of commentary.

"You wanna stop for a spell?" Booger's question came sometime later and with a yawn. She was always ten or fifteen feet ahead under the guise of scouting for dangerous ankle-breaking ruts left by the wagons and buggies that came before them, but more often found herself investigating interesting smells from the surrounding fields. "Reckon it's gotta be three or four in the morning now."

The determined pace of the early miles had dwindled as the hours dragged on. Tilly's arms first trembled under the prolonged strain, then developed a shooting ache that raced from her wrists to her shoulder blades, down her spine and back again. Finally, she had went totally and mercifully numb, legs seemingly moving under their own power in the velvet black of night.

But the moon was big and bright propped up on the peaks of Semsi Mountain, and the air had cooled to a welcome crispness that Tilly knew meant the long summer would soon be over. The world was giving her as much kindness as it could for the task she had ahead, and for that, she was grateful.

"Can't hardly be that late." Tilly blew out her cheeks and came to a stop. She'd grown so accustomed to the crunch of gravel beneath her feet that its sudden absence felt all-encompassing. The suggestion was awful tempting. The fields around her seemed to spin as she closed her eyes to collect her thoughts. "If I rest now, I dunno if I'll ever get back up again. Best to wait 'til we get there."

"Maybe I could turn into something big and push it."

"It's flat on the bottom. You hit any kind of rock poking out of the ground and tear a hole in Mr. Tubbington and Sprout'll have both our hides." Tilly's footsteps resumed. "This is why it's important for you to pay attention to that encyclopedia I've been reading."

Booger's ear flopped over as they continued on. "That big book on critters? I thought you bought it as a sleep-aid. Page or two of that is better than a nip of moonshine for a nightcap."

"Can't turn into something you don't know exists, now can you? Thought you might find a thing or two that could be useful to change into at some point. Something strong." Tilly grunted as she shifted her grip slightly. "With hands or claws or somesuch to hold things."

"Hmph." Booger's still slightly swollen snout shot into the air with indignation. "Hands are overrated anyhow."

"I don't know, they're fair-useful when you're hauling a two-ton pumpkin around."

"You know what else got hands? A raccoon." The dog trotted ahead, glancing over her shoulder. "And they eat trash."

A bead of cold sweat trickled from beneath Tilly's kerchief but she didn't dare sweep it away, shivering as it rolled down the back of her neck. "I'll remind you that you live off of table scraps. Ain't much better."

"One of these days," Booger said, head whipping back to give her owner the cold shoulder, "I'm gonna turn into a big old wolf and eet you up, that's what I'll do."

Tilly smiled. "Well, when it happens, let's hope it goes better for you than the bumblebee did."

"Oh, you're right," the dog muttered, wandering into a tobacco field to lick her metaphorical wounds. "I'd clamp my mouth shut and you'd have one of them sharp pokey things too, 'cept yours would be a sewing needle."