“You rush into things,” the old man said with a grim smile, “without consideration for the repercussions, my dear child.”

He peered over his spectacles at her, his kindly face laced with worry that his smile couldn’t quite mask.

Esther made a face. “Could you at least have the decency to stop calling me that?” she snapped as she removed the floral silk scarf from around her head, wisps of hair escaping from her messy bun.

Otwin raised a wrinkled hand. “Force of habit, my dear, force of habit. And besides, you’re clearly not listening to what I’m trying to tell you.”

And with that, he returned to his work, patiently chipping away at the piece of old wood that he was refashioning into goodness knows what.

Infuriating. That’s what it was. He may seem gentile and well-meaning, but all he was doing was undermining everything she said and did. Even now, after all these years, nothing had really changed.

Esther folded her arms, put her nose up, and watched him as the minutes passed in the silence of the tight quarters of his makeshift cabin. It was snug in there, with just enough room for a cluttered bench, a stool, and a second person with their back to the corrugated plastic door.

But to them both, it was ‘le bonheur’ as they said in France. The cabin smelled of hours wiled away, making bits and bobs, of old tools, and reused wood. It was stability, the familiar, the escape, the sanctuary at the end of the garden.

“I think I can fix it. I *know* I can.” she said after several minutes had passed.

“You do?” Otwin said, feigning surprise.

Esther pursed her lips and Otwin chuckled dryly. “Oh well,” he said as he chipped away at the wood, “you have nothing to worry about then. I didn’t know you could predict the future, or fix things you did not know even existed, but two full moons ago.”

Esther narrowed her eyes, opened her mouth to retaliate, but closed it again. “Okay,” she said after a few seconds, “go on then. You’re going to share your wise words of wisdom with me anyway, so we might as well get it over and done with.”

Otwin raised an eyebrow and gave her a sideways glance as he reached for the sandpaper. “Ever heard of that saying, ‘Bull in a china shop’?”

Esther’s mouth fell open in protest, but he continued before she could respond.

“You play with fire, girl. More than fire. Fire cannot raze cities to the ground - valleys, and forests, and civilisations, overground, overground, within and without. Not in the way what *you* play with can - it can do far more that. We both know. And I think you need to consider this - if one person should wield that much power.”

Esther fiddled with the padlock on the bench, her eyes not meeting his. His words were not senseless. She knew that.

She swallowed hard, second guessing whether she was doing the right thing. “And what if I don’t? Where would we all be then?”

Otwin shrugged, slowly chipping away at that wood. Chip, chip, chip.

“I cannot control what you do, child. Your mind is capable of great feats, we know this. But it is also capable of great destruction too. And that is not something you should shrug away. It is something you must consider - for the sake of this realm and all who reside in it.”

Esther put the padlock back down on the counter and looked at the wood that Otwin was chipping away at for a few moments. “I’m going to go make us some dinner.” she said with a sigh, suddenly feeling a heavy weariness.

Otwin simply nodded.

Esther left him chipping away in his cabin, and walked down the white, grey, and pink slabs of the backyard. And as she went back into the house, she wondered what she would make for dinner. That, and if she could save the world, or, as a Otwin quite rightly pointed out, end up bringing it to its knees.