"Well, this is just what was missing," the hermit thought irritably when Grumpy Enciana flew straight toward him on her broom with firm determination.
Neither the hastily approaching witch nor the awkwardly standing hermit looked particularly cheerful. But neither of them looked tidy or well-groomed either.
In broad daylight, Grumpy Enciana was still wearing her nightgown, since she still had not managed to get home from the haystack where, instead of in her own bed, she had mysteriously woken up at dawn beside Frosty-Eye-Kate. She still had not dressed properly for the time of day. Why, she had not even looked in a mirror yet. Strands of hay decorated her uncombed hair here and there. The usually well-kept, beautiful witch now looked almost like Vanus, who lived near the cliff hermit and had given up beautifying herself when the very first wart appeared on her nose. Since then, several more warts had grown on Vanus's nose.
Frosty Ivan always shuddered at the sight of that witch whenever she went to the cliff hermit to drink wine or buy some. Vanus was not even ashamed of either the warts or her appearance. She cheerfully went on living her everyday life unkempt, with more and more warts growing on her nose.
Vanus came to the hermit's mind as he watched Enciana flying toward him out of the corner of his eye, but now he was not chuckling to himself at the Wednesday witch's improper and neglected appearance. He had a far more serious reason to be horrified than the witch's looks.
Frosty Ivan would much rather have continued on his way and minded his own business, if only his legs had obeyed him. But his legs had stubbornly refused.
He did not want to make an even greater fool of himself in front of the two witches, so he reluctantly pretended as though he intended to wait for Enciana. He stood motionless beside his wheelbarrow, his eyebrows slightly furrowed as he watched the witch approaching on her broom. He stopped fidgeting about.
Out of the corner of his eye, he also noticed that Frosty-Eye-Kate had not moved since the Wednesday witch had left her behind. The wretched hag was still crouching there, sulking atop the rock. Since then, she had only clasped her hands around her knees.
It must be admitted that Frosty-Eye-Kate, the Saturday witch, was also a pitiful sight indeed. Under other circumstances, Frosty Ivan would have taken malicious pleasure in it.
Under other circumstances.
If only it had not been one of the most beautiful days of the week, and if something had not stood in the way of that beautiful day unfolding as it should.
"The last thing I need is for some curse or hex to bind me to these wretched hags!" he muttered half aloud, voicing his worst suspicion.
Frosty Ivan had far too much sense to let the two witches ruin one of the best days of the week for him. Truthfully, he did not want to bother with either of the two wretched hags on any day of the week. Especially not on this beautiful day, when he had to go to the spring with the crystal-clear water.
Besides, he usually spent the afternoon distributing the fresh spring water. The Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and all the other daily witches were very grateful that the hermit made the long journey to the spring entirely alone twice every week.
No one else was allowed to bring water from the spring. Every potion recipe specified precisely that the hags had to ask a hermit for the spring water.
Even the witches from around the cliff hermit came to Frosty Ivan asking for spring water. Vanus herself visited him twice a week because of it.
It also had to be admitted that the hermit enjoyed himself on these afternoons. He had absolutely no desire to have this particular day ruined by a curse or a hex.
He got more than enough curses and hexes every Saturday, when... but of course we already know what Frosty-Eye-Kate did to him every Saturday when she was able to cast spells. There was no need to repeat all the misfortune that rained down upon Frosty Ivan's head on Saturdays.
The hermit was beginning to feel uncomfortable standing beside the wheelbarrow and staring at Enciana as she approached on her broom. He sat down on a tuft of grass and adjusted his footwear with such natural calmness, as though a pebble had merely found its way into his sandal.
Let Enciana not see that he was waiting for her. Let the hag not think he was curious about what she had to say. The witch did not deserve even the courtesy of being listened to attentively.
After all, it was this very wretched Wednesday witch who, in the middle of the night — simply to disturb his sleep — had actually climbed off her broom for the sole purpose of delivering a mighty kick to the hermit's front door.