Boots by Angel Martinez Page A

blankets and started the fire with shaking hands.
    Today, it had to be today. Constantly chilled and living off canned food, Willem would soon become ill. While he could still weave formidable magic, his ability to heal had been taken from him. And then what would you do? Carry him down the mountain on your back? Dump him at the nearest ER?
    No, he wouldn't let it come to that. Although, a bit of a manufactured predicament, well timed, just when a certain witch's grandson happened by...
    It was time to begin moving the players into place.
    "I think I'll go hunt for myself this morning. Just for a little variety. You don't mind, do you?"
    Willem looked surprised, but not offended. "No problem. Don't tangle with any skunks while you're out there. Or foxes."
    "Please. I'm not a kitten, Willem."
    "Don't hand me that. Even experienced hunters get caught off guard. Just say you'll be careful."
    "I do try." He padded over to rub noses with Willem in a cat kiss, and then left the cabin before he could change his mind. What he did today was to secure Willem's place in the world. That was the thought he had to keep wedged tightly over all the others. If he thought about the possibility of failure, or perhaps even spectacular failure and his own death, or even about Willem in someone else's embrace...
    The task at hand, he had to concentrate on that to the exclusion of all else. Distracted thoughts bred mistakes like rabbits. He hurried through the woods, darting through dense thickets of elderberry, his boots stirring up the scent of wild mint as he crossed clearings. Foxes and skunks were the least of his worries. He could communicate with them, calm them, and gain safe passage. What he would face later this day, he feared there was no bargaining with.
    His heart slowed in its rapid staccato when he glimpsed the slate roof of the witches' home through gaps in the brush. The yellow house gleamed in the morning light, welcoming and safe. Some of the peace of the place emanated from the wards of protection surrounding it, certainly, but much of it came from the good hearts that lived there.
    That peace bolstered both his courage and his resolve. If he met disaster today, he wouldn't leave Willem bereft and abandoned. The witches were, though they didn't know it yet, his insurance policy. He spotted the eldest working in the garden, perched on a low moveable bench, carefully harvesting rosemary.
    He checked his fur for burrs, smoothed his tail, and buffed the shine back into his boots with the back of one paw. Presentable and outwardly calm, he crossed the lawn with a purposeful stride, one that said he brought news.
    "Mistress Natt! Good morning!" He waited until the old woman turned and raised a hand in greeting before he approached. It was never wise to startle an old witch.
    "Good morning, pretty kasha. How are you and your master today?"
    "Both quite well, ma'am." The chill clung to the morning, but it was no longer unpleasant, so he settled to the grass beside her. "Would you like me to speed up the work? I could, if you like."
    The old woman laughed, a sound much younger than her appearance. "No, dear, but thank you. I don't like to introduce unknown variables into my spells or my cooking. Besides, I enjoy working with the plants. As long as I can, I intend to."
    "Ah."
    She snipped a few more branches, the snick-snick of her garden shears a soft percussive counterpoint to the birdsongs. "While I wouldn't mind you coming for a social visit, I doubt that's why you're here. What can I do for you?"
    "I'd like nothing better than to come just to visit. Maybe after today, I can."
    "Not nice to keep an old lady in suspense, you know."
    "Sorry." Kasha gazed up at her face, kind and impassive for now. He was certain her anger wasn't something he wanted directed at him, though, so he hurried on. "I explained your problem to Willem. He's more than willing to help."
    "That's good news. Did he have any suggestions?"
    "Yes. He believes the