Oh no, it's not only bizarre again - he's starting to suspect things are not going to stop being bizarre any time soon - but also ethically complicated. He was really hoping there was some kind of simple reason for all this... He sighs and takes another moment to firmly push the bafflement back. He really does want to be fair about whatever it was that happened.

"Should I assume it was one of those, " he pauses to search for words, "complicated spirals that start with someone not liking someone a little and keeps slowly getting worse until one of them... get electrocuted... or is there something else I should know about why all of it happened?"

"Well, I did mention I'm a witch. I also made a habit of interfering with them bullying the other children."

"I have many questions about how you're a witch, but I'm trying to deal with one thing at a time!" He wasn't shouting at her, just frustrated, but still immediately looks to see if she seems scared by the raised voice. She's still a young child no matter how bizarre and serious she is.

Her level stare appears no different from usual. After a moment, she says, "That's fair."

"I'm sorry. You're just... very confusing. Are all Americans like this?"

"No, I'm almost this strange and off-putting to normal Americans."

"Bogu dzięki,"* he mutters to himself. At least he's not alone in feeling outclassed by an eleven-year-old girl.

"Just please don't tell anyone you're a witch. Especially the priest."

*"Thank God"

"What's in it for me?"

That gets her a new and different variety of incomprehending look! "Most people don't... like getting thrown down the stairs...? Or burned and drowned, or whatever they most recently did to witches..." He should really stop babbling and focus on something sensible and useful in this conversation, but he's having trouble making his brain cooperate. Maybe it's the witchcraft.

"Don't you think life is dull without a little mortal terror now and then?"

A quiet laugh. "I spent half my life in the army, so you got me there." Still a concerning preference in a young girl, but he has trouble judging other people's life choices, these days.

But there's judgment and there's judgment. He grows serious again, and after a thoughtful moment stops walking so he can look at her properly. "All right. If you tell someone you're a witch, because you want some mortal terror in your life, and they give you the thing you want, I don't think it's fair to hurt them for it."

"Isn't self-defense the most classic of fair reasons to hurt someone?"

"Is it really self-defense if you made it all happen on purpose? I think that's just starting a fight."

She considers this line of reasoning.

"Hmm. I think... that would be reasonable if I wasn't a witch. Then the only reason I was saying so would be to start the fight. But I am a witch, and I think it would be cowardly of me to lie about it if anyone asks, just so they don't try to burn me at the stake."

What is this conversation? How did they get here?? But her answer is honorable and he can't disagree with it.

"I think..." he answers carefully, "you're a child and a girl, and it would be just fine for you to lie so people don't burn you at the stake. But if you don't want to lie, it would be wrong for me to tell you you should." Although he very much hopes things aren't going to get to the point of any burning. "So... don't tell people you're a witch for no reason, because that's starting a fight, here. But if someone asks, do what you think is honorable. ...And please try not to kill anyone."

He didn't even notice when he started to seriously take under consideration that she could kill people. Maybe she can't, and she's just read a lot of books about people who could. But when he tries leaning on that explanation too hard, he feels like he's lying to himself.

"Being a child and a girl is no reason to be a coward. But... all right, that's fair. I can do those things."

"Thank you." He gives her a deep nod, nearly a bow, acknowledgment of a genuine favor from someone deserving of respect.

Then takes a long breath to clear his head, and smiles. "Now we should maybe stop having this impossible conversation on the side of the road." He starts walking again. "It's only a few more minutes to my house. Are you hungry?"

When he nods, she returns it; when he smiles, she doesn't quite smile back, but she makes a slightly less grave expression, maybe.

When he starts walking, she follows; when he asks if she's hungry, she shrugs slightly. "I could tolerate a meal."

He hopes she decided he's someone she can get along with. He likes her already.

The yard is fenced off from the road. He points out the various features as they pass them - orchard, vegetable garden, potato cellar, chicken coop, "and a few minutes into that wood is the riverbank, be careful, it's easy to miss" - unlocks the door and does the same through the house. It's old - not the really old wooden sort, but the brick sort someone built by hand maybe before the war, with a big archaic wood-burning stove in the kitchen and a fireplace in the living room. That's all there is downstairs besides the entry hall and the bathroom, and upstairs has three bedrooms, one larger one in the middle and two smaller ones on each end of the hallway. "Pick whichever one of those you want - not much difference, but this one has a west window," and a larger bed that folds into a couch, a tiny desk, and a big wooden wardrobe, "and this one north," and a smaller proper bed, bigger table, and a long chest of drawers. All the walls are white, all the furniture is various shades of wood-brown, and the concept of purposeful decoration is clearly alien to this house.

Well. It's better than the orphanage, on a number of levels. She walks back and forth between the two rooms a few times and then picks the one with less bed and more desk.

"All right. We'll have to get you some things later, and for now I'll start lunch - it should be about an hour. Come down to talk if you want, or rest or look around."  She might have more questions - he certainly does - but she also might want a while of peace and quiet in a room with no other humans in it. It's probably been a long time since she's had that.

He did leave a fire under the stove, so cooking is not as long a process as it could be, but boiling water that way still takes a while even if he's not doing anything complicated. There's boiled potatoes, boiled green beans, some sort of meat stew, and tea. The concept of asking about people's food preferences also appears to be alien to this house, or possibly to the entire surrounding culture, not that she has many data points to rely on.

The first—no, all right, first she'll find and use the bathroom. The second thing she does is meticulously go over everything in her room to see what's there and what isn't. In particular she's looking for things to write with and on; a typewriter would be too much to hope for, but a notebook seems conceivable.

Regardless of her results, her inspection is completed about three-quarters of the way into that hour, and then she goes downstairs to see how lunch is coming along. Her expectations have been set very low by the orphanage, but it does not seem like he will exceed them by much of a margin.

The drawer under the bed contains sheets. The chest of drawers contains a very random but neatly folded assortment of clearly hand-me-down children's clothes in a variety of sizes, some rather worn toys and a surprisingly large and varied box of wooden blocks, and indeed a few thin notebooks and pencils and a couple of mostly-filled early school exercise books. The wall next to the bed is warm to the touch - it's above the kitchen stove, if she thinks through the layout of the house.

"How is everything? Not America, I know." He likes his house well enough, but there's no point in pretending other places aren't better than this.

"Adequate. I presume I am allowed to use the notebooks?"

The bare adjective makes him wince slightly, although it's entirely fair. "Of course you are. We should sort through the clothes and see if there's enough you can wear - I can buy some if there isn't. What else... We'll have to figure something out about school..."