:::inspiration from Terry Pratchett's The Wee Free Men
:::could be considered either hero-worship or slight femslashiness--either
way, i don't care
Expectations
Tiffany could be patient, when it suited her. She'd waited out a few years with cheese, with picking up a few tricks here and there, with making good with the new kelda. She'd repaired Wullie's stolen pants a few times. She'd expected nothing but what she'd been offered, with one small exception."We'll see you again," Mrs. Ogg had said. "We." Tiffany had expected a little something of that "we."
A few years of cheese, and then a few years of learning. She'd seen Miss Tick again, of course, but had not yet had a chance to learn that singular hand wave. Her pronunciation had been corrected no less than seven times.
She'd seen Mrs. Ogg again, when midwifery had proved to have a few surprises for which lambing had not prepared her. By the end of that reunion, Tiffany had picked up a bit more knowledge about the activity that came before birthing, and why certain variations of it need never concern the hedgehog.
She'd expected a bit more of that "we."
A few years of learning, and then back to begin a few more of cheese. That had been the plan, anyway. Tiffany had felt eyes on the Chalk when she returned home, had ventured to speak to the kelda about whose eyes those might have been. There really had been no need to ask, but it was better to make sure. She didn't want the question of wishful thinking hanging over her head.
The only thing lacking then, of course, was the excuse.
Tiffany thought that, perhaps, a "thank you" was not out of the question, although she hadn't been entirely certain she could pull it off. When one trains under witches too old to see beyond the bridge of their noses with any clarity, one does not learn how to keep one's face from revealing more than it ought.
Still. She didn't want to appear ungrateful. There was that matter of... respect.
Witches, Tiffany had learned, do not go to the front door. This suited her fine. The back door was hanging open when she'd skirted the strange plans in the garde and there was no question that she'd been sighted long before she'd reached the end of the path, one way or the other. Tiffany was certain she was not entirely unexpected or unwelcome.
She'd expected something more of that "we," but the years had taught her more than magic and more than cheese. They'd taught her where expectation was better put, for one. They'd taught her that nothing comes of nothing, and that good things do not come to those who wait. They come to those who work.
So. Tiffany knocked, fully expecting an answer, but she was still thrilled when one came.
:::fin