She stomped on every pot in the room. They shattered. She dug through the shards, collecting gold coins. Enough? Enough? It would have to be.
Adjusting her pointed cap, she fled the home, clambering out a window. She was still running when she heard the weapon smith and his wife return to their home and shop. Their angry shouts chased her from the town and into the forest where she found the tree.
“You have it?” The tree’s voice boomed out of the gnarled face coiled into the trunk.
She dropped the coins on a leaf.
The tree seemed to squint, though it was difficult to read emotions on the wooden face. “Is this it?”
“It’s all I could get.”
Now she knew the tree was squinting. And scowling as well. “Bitch, go get my money.”