I woke to the smell of burned wood and dust and waited for the tap tap of Mother’s stick as she limped to stir the embers.

Then I saw a scythe above a door that was not ours, and I remembered.

I had mocked a hex I had never learned, frightened an old man with a pile of ash, and goaded my sister who told me to stop.

Berry groaned, her pups mewling for her milk. Dill opened her eyes. She smiled and it was like day breaking. Though we had quarrelled in the night, she was happy in the morn. That was then, this was now. And I needed her happy this day that must be done.

I stretched to stand and Berry growled.

‘Hush, Berry dog.’

I had not seen Croake sitting like a sack by the hearth. He nodded to the table, where bread and cheese waited.

‘See…!’ said Dill. ‘You like her new name!’

My hands sought the food, hoarding to my mouth as squirrels for winter.

Dill pointed, her cheeks full to bursting.

‘Can we… take us one, Jim Croake?’

He looked over to those clamouring pups and nodded again. Dill spat cheese.

‘Oh, Evey! I’ll look to it! I will so! It will be no trouble!’

‘No, Dill, another babe will pull us back.’

‘I am nine years tall. I am no babe and I do promise—’

‘No. It’s ever pups and play with you. We have far to go to make the coven by night.’

She fell quiet then, full of temper, tossing gobbets to Berry.

‘Come, Dill.’ I pulled our bag and rose from the table.

‘No. I’m stayin’.’

She dropped her head, hair across her eyes, but I knew their sullen shape.

‘Dill, we must away. The day is risen…’

‘Then go to it,’ she said quiet. ‘I want a pup.’

‘Dill. Now, I say.’

But I did not have Mother’s voice, her tongue stinging as a whip if I crossed her.

So Dill crept to Berry and whispered to her. The dog licked Dill’s hand as she plucked a pup with a patched eye from its tussling kin. She fixed me a look and her eyes shone fierce. I remembered in the night, how I spoiled to fight her.

‘And I say, now I have a pup, Evey. And that’s that.’

Then the pup caught her waving fingers, like a fly trapped in her jaws.

‘Ow!’ Dill sucked her hand. ‘Ow! You weasel!’

Croake laughed out and smacked his old hands upon the hearth, and laughter came to me. I breathed it in the flying dust, and Dill laughed too, wagging her bitten finger to the pup, and I saw Mother in her face and I was happy and sad at once.

‘So be it, Dill. You will have to look to it though, else it will die most likes.’

Dill gave a shrug.

‘We all die, Evey.’

She jumped her fingers across that pup’s jaws, mouthing to catch those pesky things.

‘Don’t we, my sweet? Yes, we do. I will, and you will, and Evey will…’

‘Dill, enough!’

Her sing-song ways. Soon I would not need to hear them. I opened the door, and morning air rushed in, the smell of rain on grass. Outside was all grey light.

‘I will call you… Spring!’

And so named, Spring barked. Dill turned to the old man.

‘Mind you name the rest now, or I’ll be back!’ She brought the pup to her cheek. ‘Thank you, Jim Croake!’

She was happy, and not to be stopped, life nipping at her heels. One moment a child she was, another older than her years she seemed. I had not thought to thank the old man, who bent for his raggy doll in the dust.

‘Come on, Evey! Spring wants to see the world!’

Dill ran from the yard, her pup yapping with glee.

The tree creaked and I thought of when we played in our wood, climbing high as we dared, Mother reaching to guide our toes. Then I saw not us, but Alice who Mother lifted down so gentle, kissing her still cheek.

A fresh wind chased across the valley.

‘Eveyyyy!’

Dill was above the farm, climbing into the day.

The tree stood empty. The door closed.

I turned and I followed her, and I never came back to Croake Farm.