Adventures of Aith

An attempt at Young Adult Fiction

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Granny was either a true Wise Woman or a crazy old bird; it depended who you asked.  No-one could deny her skill for healing and comfort - her sad eyed smile framed by soft grey curls was often the first or last thing folk saw in this lifetime.  She was kind, gentle and gave great advice.

But then... there were other things about her, too. 

Sometimes she'd just stop and stare for minutes or even hours at a time, at the plainest things - a blade of grass on the dirt track, or an old crack in the town wall.  People stayed away from her when she did that, and it wasn't too surprising.  She looked so strange, staring intensely at nothing, chewing her pink bonnet ribbons, glaring as if her eyes would burn through.  It was up to Aith, her grand-daughter, to tug her sleeve, break the trance and remind her to come home.

And she never spoke plain.  Everything was always about portents, or spirits, or both.  Once, she instructed a man after tending a nasty gash on his leg.
  "Be careful," Granny told him, as she finished securing the makeshift bandage. "If aqueous essences can enter your leg before the new moon, they'll pustulate the wound from within."
  "What does that mean?" the terrified man asked Aith.
  "Don't get it wet for a week," she replied wearily.

  Aith knew her Granny was a crazy old bird.  She also knew that she was a true Wise Woman.
 
And another strange thing.  It was common enough for a poor old lady to have a grand-daughter. But normally they had a son or a daughter first.