Her cart trundled after her as she walked along the dusty road. The thing moved of its own accord, much like a pet dog would. Then again, while dogs were seen as very loyal, she still very much preferred her cart.
The witch saw a little town come up on the horizon, and heard the cart speed up a little behind her. They both knew what this town meant. A new place to sell wares. A new place to rest. A new place to potentially get her reputation smeared to the point that she was cast out for being a witch. Again.
The cart kept speeding up. It was an optimist, obviously. The witch herself gave up on optimism long ago. People just kept disappointing her.
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Tiny Stories Part 2
ContoMy second collection of microfiction, sometimes dealing with the mundane, but mostly dealing with the magical. Unlike the first collection, the stories in this one are based on inktober prompts.
