Bess lock eyed Meg as their minds circled each other warily.
"if I were a cat I'd scratch you." she ventured.
"A dog, I'd bite you." Meg countered.
"As a bear I'd press you down…"
"A horse I'd kick…"
"If I was a buzzard I'd swoop with talons…"
"A Magpie, I'd mob you with heavy wings…"
"A hornet I'd sting…"
"A swallow, I'd flit and dart with sharpened beak…"
"And what would it get you, Old Meg?"
"Methinks the same as you,Young Bess. Naught but ill."
They stopped mentally pacing. A battle over that had never begun.
"What now then, Old Meg?" Bess said aloud, as much for the visitors as for the witch.
"A dance is what we chiefly need, to settle these poor hearts' misdeeds."
Even the bystanders recognised the significance. This was the beginning of a spell.
"Master Farmer, is the harvest in?" Meg asked quietly.
Will nodded. "Aye it is."
"And do you not reward your workers with ale and music this ev'n?"
"Aye, I do." he agreed.
"Then we have somewhere else to be!"