I’m sure my face is beat red, in part from the exertion of our finger wrestling and in part from my not being able to move an 88-year-old lady’s little finger a millimeter. My whole hand shook like crazy. But did hers? Not a bit. Embarrassing to say the least.
“Good,” Anna says, nodding her approval when we finally call the truce.
“Good?” I nearly cry out, massaging my poor finger. “I didn’t move you a bit.”
“But you held your own,” she said, seeming to think this is really worthy, “and you were not writing in pain, either.”
“That was probably more due to you than me,” I argue with a pout.
Anna smiles wryly. “Probably.”
“So what did that tell you? Could you feel Magic in me yet?”
“Oh yes, yes indeed,” she says proudly. “You’re a natural. It won’t be long before…” She trails off, noticing a butterfly has landed on her medicine bag. Read the rest of this entry