Shit. I just realized I used almost the same wording to talk about my new climb in two consecutive posts. How lame! My apologies. Here's a lil something a bit more interesting.

A long time ago there lived an old witch. Her ramshackle cottage crouched in a clearing in the woods protected by a strong and ancient magic. The witch had long since given up on luring succulent children, and instead just gathered roots and nuts, and lived out her remaining days in solitude.
But she was very lonely.
One day, a knight errant strolled along a faint path in the woods. As it happens, it was the very path the old hag used to get to her clearing. The knight saw no sign of the magic-hidden clearing, and he continued on his way, head nodding in exhaustion.
The witch, stooped and tired from a morning of gathering, noticed the wandering man-at-arms. Ah ha, she though, here is an opportunity for some company. She shucked her sack of roots and herbs and rubbed her hands together to warm up for a spell. Closing her eyes and muttering, she extended her arms.
Her creature lumbered onto the path, nearly tripping the knight's horse. The stallion reared, and the knight grabbed wildly at the reins, startled from his doze. He dropped his lance as the magical creature growled and slobbered, rows of teeth flashing in the dim forest light. The creature leapt up and dragged the knight from the saddle, clawing and gnashing at his throat. After a struggle, the knight managed to sink his dagger deep into the beast's heart. But he was badly wounded and lay bleeding on the soft forest floor as the beast's body melted into a rancid puddle.
Gasping for breath, the knight tried to remount the horse, but couldn't gain his feet. At that moment, the witch appeared before him.
"Good sir knight," she murmured, "stir not, lest ye worsen the injury."
He groaned.
The witch selected a particular root and chewed it, as she gently untied the knight's breastplate and moved aside his blood-stained tunic. She caught her breath. The creature had caused more damage than she'd planned. A sweat broke out on the knight's forehead and he mumbled incoherently, eyes flickering in febrile heat. The witch cursed her clumsiness and gently stuffed some of the chewed root into each puncture. After a moment, the knight's brow smoothed, and he slept.
The witch used magic to transport the man to her shack and laid him on the bed.
For many days, the witch treated the wounded man as he balanced on the knife edge of death. She constantly berated her over exuberance.
Finally one day, the fever broke. The knight managed to eat solid food. And though he was grateful, he refused to stay, for he had important business to attend to. Saddened and angered, the old witch stalked into the woods. When the knight strode outside, he was unable to find a path leading out of the clearing. His horse was gone. His armour lay against the hut, rusted through.
"Egad! How many days have I lain here?"
The witch appeared at his side. "Days, bold knight? Ha! Time knows not such boundaries in this place."
"Then you seek to imprison me here?"
A hurt look crossed her face. "Imprison? Nay. Enchant perhaps." She smiled coyly and sidled up to him, holding his gaze. His eyes lost focus, and he suddenly saw her as a beautiful maiden. She grasped his hand and led him inside. Heart aflutter, he let her push him onto the bed. She peeled of her dress and straddled the knight. He stared up at her, utterly lovestruck, as she pulled aside his tunic and eased onto him. Knowing the spell would soon break, she rocked furiously until he could contain himself no more and burst with a soft cry.
She pulled a dagger from the pillow, thrust it into his throat, and dismounted. With a sad sigh, she built up the fire and prepared the spit.

The End.