Something In the Grass

It was a good week on the whole, until today when I treated Bixa to a display of childish temper that would have shamed a ten year old.

On Monday she and I, and Teg, spent most of the day in the chandlery. We got the basic inventory done and at least I know now roughly what to order. Whin arrived and went into the dry dock. He found one of my leaflets about the open day and was inclined to be disapproving until Teg spoke up for me.

The next few days were busy but uneventful, then, on Friday, Bixa and I went into Sefton Middle for provisions. Now that there are three of us here at the harbour it makes sense to share. It was not until we were coming down the drive on our way home that we had time to notice that there were patches of dying grass. Then we realised that the dead patches were letters and made out the shapes that spelled BURN WITCH. It must have been the men we saw a week ago. They were poisoning the grass. It will only get more visible as time goes on and I can’t think what to do about it.

I did try to keep my temper. We were packing away the provisions in the kitchen when it all got too much for me. I picked up a mug from the dresser and smashed it on the floor.

Bixa was very understanding, which only made me worse and I snapped at her. Now, of course, I feel very ashamed of myself.


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