A Poet Man And The Witch

Chapter III: The Lake

The morning sun cast a gentle warmth over the chilly morning mist, causing droplets of dew to shimmer like tiny diamonds on the grass. Birds soared into the clear blue sky, flowers unfurled their petals, and the trees stood proudly in their vibrant green hues.

As I took a sip of the chamomile tea that Peter had made, a wave of nostalgia washed over me, reminding me of my mother. A smile crept onto my lips as I gazed up at the sky, wishing that the sun's radiant light could bring warmth and peace to wherever my mother might be now.

Peter stepped outside, eager to catch some fish using a handmade fishing hook. I followed him, the crunch of leaves and twigs underfoot announcing my approach. As he heard my footsteps, he turned his head.

I nodded in response, not quite ready for conversation.

"I'm going to try my luck at fishing again today," he said with a bright smile, casting his hook into the shimmering waters of the lake. The sunlight danced on the surface, creating ripples that sparkled.

I wonder if he ever touches his hair and realizes how messy it is. I want to pull his hair and shout at him to fix his hair. Tired eyes focusing on the ripples. Foot tapping on the ground shows impatience. Is he ever wondering about me? We are both strangers, and we don't really know each other. The thought of being killed by him has always crossed my mind.

Something about him lingers a familiarity in the back of my mind. Peter, the name my mother wanted to give if she had a son.

"Willow, there are some sweet potatoes right there, could you harvest them? I think they are gonna taste delicious."

My eyebrows lifted, surprised by his sudden demand. I nodded, it isn't too hard to do so. The sunshine touches the earth, and gives a clear color of the world around me. Some grass caresses the palm of my feet and it's the gentlest thing I've stepped on in the last few days. I picked some fruits, especially sweet potatoes he told me to harvest. Because I'm not sure he is really going to catch a fish. But I would be happy if he did catch a fish. I was just preparing for the possibilities. But the question is, where are the sweet potatoes?

I walked back to his spot. Bored look was obvious on his face. I was being careful on taking steps, and didn't want to make him surprised with the suddenness of my appearance. A twig snapped under my foot, making his head whip around. He looked confused as he stared, tilted head as he asked, "Where are the sweet potatoes?"

"I... I should be asking you the same question," I muttered, feeling the weight of my oversight.

"You'd ask me the same?" His head tilted slightly, his expression unreadable.

I nodded, pressing my lips together. "Yeah. Where are the sweet potatoes... and where's the fish you've been looking for?"

A sigh escaped him, and he set the fishing stick aside. "No fish, obviously. But the sweet potatoes... you didn't find them?"

"I'm sorry, the sweet potatoes aren't obvious for me to be looking for. I actually don't know where they are..." I admitted, my voice dropping.

The sigh he let out made me feel embarrassed and guilt caught my feelings instead. I look down to my bare feet. There I feel like myself at the age of eight. "Let me teach you. It's simpler than it seems, once you know where to look," he said calmly, leading the way after putting down the fishing stick he made.

He led the way to a patch of soil, crouching as he gestured. "See these leaves? Some stay green, others turn purple. That's how you know. The sweet potatoes hide underground—you have to dig for them." His voice softened as he glanced up at me. "It's not your fault. You just didn't know where to look. But that's okay. We'll find them... together."