They call me the Tinker, why? It's anyone's guess really, well, I do fix things.
You may be asking, what things? Many things, old things, new things, broken things, and sad things.
I live alone, on the edge of the woods, by the town. I live alone, but I'm not alone, I have all of the forest around me. It breathes in time with my heart, it sings in the wind and its children keep me company.
My house is old, it had been there long before I moved in, I can still picture the first day I saw it, covered in vines and bits of the forest, it whispered to me that day. What it said though I cannot remember.
I can't remember a lot of things, my brain is old too I guess, I am not. That is the price I pay, I fix things, for a price too. Some call me a witch, yet that is not true, I do not have a broom to ride on, nor a pointy nose with a wart on the end of it. I do not make potions and I do not cackle in the dead of night.
My ride is a child of the forest, a deer, my nose may not be pointed, but my ears are, and the only potions I make are wild strawberry jam and apricot chutney.