[Hansel & Gretel: Witch Hunters] "Not So Different From One Another" (PG)
Author's Note: Written for 
fic_promptly's Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters, Mina, how did she become a good witch. Warning for witchy weirdness.
"Don't ever go near the humans' dwellings," her mother and her aunts had warned her. "They are horrible creatures, though they look as harmless as lambs. They don't know how to discipline their young: they let them loose instead of chaining them and letting their covens eat them when they're naughty. And they know no magic: can't curse their enemies, they have to resort to something called 'war' to defend their holdings.
From time to time, she heard her aunts threatening their young, "I'll make you look human and give you to the humans, they'll be cruel to you: they'll let you live to regret that you ever crossed us."
The young female listened, shocked and surprised, barely able to believe any of these things she heard. Always an inquisitive sort, she had to see it for herself. And so, one daytime, while her hearth mates and kin slept, she slipped out of the coven dwelling and flew over the tops of the trees to one of the larger clearings in the forest.
She made herself invisible -- a spell as easy to a witch as breathing is to a human -- and perched herself on the thatched roof of a dwelling, watching the humans as they came and went, bustling about below her.
How strange they looked, with their hair-covered heads and their plain faces, generally smooth, though some of the males had tufts of well-trimmed hair about their mouths and jaws. Not a horn or a wart or a spine to be seen (well, a few warts here and there, but too few to speak of). The lined faces of a few humans reminded her of some of her aunts, but not quite the same. She wondered at first if they had Witch blood -- it happened that some of her kind played with some humans -- but she soon realized that these humans merely had more winters to their lives than the smoother-skinned humans.
She could have sat there watching them all day, but she had to return to the grotto, before the rest of the coven awakened and her absence discovered. She came away, promising to herself to return and watch them again.
Any time that she could slip away from the grotto or her coven mates when they had ranged afield, she returned to the human village to watch the inhabitants going about their business, planting things, tending animals, exchanging goods for little bits of shiny metal or for other goods. She found they, too, had a taste for meat and plants, though without magic, they had to husband them from young to maturity.
Such a slower paced life, without the mad pace of life in the coven. She once found them dancing on the green in the middle of the village, not to draw down the moon nor to move the stars or raise power, but for the sheer joy of moving freely and with delight.
But such explorations cannot go long undiscovered. One day at noon, as she sat on the roof of a church, listening to the songs inside -- such strange, rich melodies, so unlike the chanting and croaking of her coven -- she felt a shadow blot out the sunlight and a claw grip her shoulder. She looked up into the toothy face of one of her aunts.
"So this is where you go when you think we cannot see?" her aunt leered.
"I came but to watch the humans," the youngling replied.
Her aunt growled in her throat, tossing her antlered head in derision. "You came nut to watch the humans. And so you have found what dull creatures they are."
"They may live quiet lives, but they are so tranquil, so different from ours," the youngling replied.
Her aunt narrowed the pupils of her eyes. "You are grown soft, child. You have let them bewitch you with their sheer ordinaryness. You are your mother's offspring: she, too, found the humans fascinating pets, and so we ended her."
"What is so wrong with finding the humans fascinating?" the youngling asked.
"They are prey, you are predator: it would be as a prey animal growing fond of the plants on which it feeds," her aunt replied, scoffing.
"There are other things on which we may feed," the youngling replied.
"Enough!" her aunt snarled, rising up. "If you are so fond of them, then be one of them." She raised a claw, extending it toward the youngling. A blast of energy burst from her aunt's talons. The youngling felt the world turn upside down around her before all went black...
. . . Out of the darkness, she heard soft voices murmuring like a distant brook over stone. Opening her eyes, she gazed up at a cluster of human faces gathered about her, as she lay on something soft, a layer of soft, warm things covering her. "Where...?" she croaked.
"Don't try to talk, you were badly beaten," said a she human with a round, gentle face and eyes like the clear daylit sky. "We found you near the church: it looks like robbers found you, but they had enough heart to leave you where you would be found."
A smaller he human with a yellow mane about its head bounded close to where the youngling lay. "Is she awake? What's her name?"
"Seppi, leave the girl alone: she's been beaten and she needs her rest," the she human said.
"But Mutti, she has to have a name," the human called Seppi said.
"My name... I don't remember," the wild girl said.
"We'll call you Mina: you look like a Mina," Seppi said.
"She probably has a name and a family of her own," Mutti said. "She just can't remember them."
"No. No name, no family," Mina said, rolling her head on the soft thing under her head. "Family is... gone."
"The robbers must've killed her family," a tall, gruff-voiced he human with a ruff of hair about his jaw said. The other humans made soft sounds, looking at her with damp eyes; silvery water dripped from the eyes of one of the she humans.
Mutti's eyes grew soft as well and she put a hand, rough but tender, on Mina's shoulder. "We'll be family to you." And she knew this she human could do that.
fic_promptly's Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters, Mina, how did she become a good witch. Warning for witchy weirdness.
"Don't ever go near the humans' dwellings," her mother and her aunts had warned her. "They are horrible creatures, though they look as harmless as lambs. They don't know how to discipline their young: they let them loose instead of chaining them and letting their covens eat them when they're naughty. And they know no magic: can't curse their enemies, they have to resort to something called 'war' to defend their holdings.
From time to time, she heard her aunts threatening their young, "I'll make you look human and give you to the humans, they'll be cruel to you: they'll let you live to regret that you ever crossed us."
The young female listened, shocked and surprised, barely able to believe any of these things she heard. Always an inquisitive sort, she had to see it for herself. And so, one daytime, while her hearth mates and kin slept, she slipped out of the coven dwelling and flew over the tops of the trees to one of the larger clearings in the forest.
She made herself invisible -- a spell as easy to a witch as breathing is to a human -- and perched herself on the thatched roof of a dwelling, watching the humans as they came and went, bustling about below her.
How strange they looked, with their hair-covered heads and their plain faces, generally smooth, though some of the males had tufts of well-trimmed hair about their mouths and jaws. Not a horn or a wart or a spine to be seen (well, a few warts here and there, but too few to speak of). The lined faces of a few humans reminded her of some of her aunts, but not quite the same. She wondered at first if they had Witch blood -- it happened that some of her kind played with some humans -- but she soon realized that these humans merely had more winters to their lives than the smoother-skinned humans.
She could have sat there watching them all day, but she had to return to the grotto, before the rest of the coven awakened and her absence discovered. She came away, promising to herself to return and watch them again.
Any time that she could slip away from the grotto or her coven mates when they had ranged afield, she returned to the human village to watch the inhabitants going about their business, planting things, tending animals, exchanging goods for little bits of shiny metal or for other goods. She found they, too, had a taste for meat and plants, though without magic, they had to husband them from young to maturity.
Such a slower paced life, without the mad pace of life in the coven. She once found them dancing on the green in the middle of the village, not to draw down the moon nor to move the stars or raise power, but for the sheer joy of moving freely and with delight.
But such explorations cannot go long undiscovered. One day at noon, as she sat on the roof of a church, listening to the songs inside -- such strange, rich melodies, so unlike the chanting and croaking of her coven -- she felt a shadow blot out the sunlight and a claw grip her shoulder. She looked up into the toothy face of one of her aunts.
"So this is where you go when you think we cannot see?" her aunt leered.
"I came but to watch the humans," the youngling replied.
Her aunt growled in her throat, tossing her antlered head in derision. "You came nut to watch the humans. And so you have found what dull creatures they are."
"They may live quiet lives, but they are so tranquil, so different from ours," the youngling replied.
Her aunt narrowed the pupils of her eyes. "You are grown soft, child. You have let them bewitch you with their sheer ordinaryness. You are your mother's offspring: she, too, found the humans fascinating pets, and so we ended her."
"What is so wrong with finding the humans fascinating?" the youngling asked.
"They are prey, you are predator: it would be as a prey animal growing fond of the plants on which it feeds," her aunt replied, scoffing.
"There are other things on which we may feed," the youngling replied.
"Enough!" her aunt snarled, rising up. "If you are so fond of them, then be one of them." She raised a claw, extending it toward the youngling. A blast of energy burst from her aunt's talons. The youngling felt the world turn upside down around her before all went black...
. . . Out of the darkness, she heard soft voices murmuring like a distant brook over stone. Opening her eyes, she gazed up at a cluster of human faces gathered about her, as she lay on something soft, a layer of soft, warm things covering her. "Where...?" she croaked.
"Don't try to talk, you were badly beaten," said a she human with a round, gentle face and eyes like the clear daylit sky. "We found you near the church: it looks like robbers found you, but they had enough heart to leave you where you would be found."
A smaller he human with a yellow mane about its head bounded close to where the youngling lay. "Is she awake? What's her name?"
"Seppi, leave the girl alone: she's been beaten and she needs her rest," the she human said.
"But Mutti, she has to have a name," the human called Seppi said.
"My name... I don't remember," the wild girl said.
"We'll call you Mina: you look like a Mina," Seppi said.
"She probably has a name and a family of her own," Mutti said. "She just can't remember them."
"No. No name, no family," Mina said, rolling her head on the soft thing under her head. "Family is... gone."
"The robbers must've killed her family," a tall, gruff-voiced he human with a ruff of hair about his jaw said. The other humans made soft sounds, looking at her with damp eyes; silvery water dripped from the eyes of one of the she humans.
Mutti's eyes grew soft as well and she put a hand, rough but tender, on Mina's shoulder. "We'll be family to you." And she knew this she human could do that.