We headed across the back pasture and then up a steep slope that led up to the mountain meadows between groves of pines. As we plodded along, the village and Grandmother's farmhouse became a bit smaller but we could still hear the sounds of activity in the houses and buildings below. The road out of town and the thicket of woods where our three intruders had hurriedly disappeared into was in plain view below us.
I followed behind Grandmother as she pointed to items and picked them up and put them the bag over her shoulder. There were lichens growing on rocks that she scraped with a pocket knife. There were mushrooms that she gathered up. In some places she gathered tree bark; in some places she picked leaves from bushes. To me it all just looked like things from the forest that your mother never wanted you to bring in the house as it would make a mess. As she gathered items she explained to me what they were.
"These flowers here are 'Wolve's Bane' or 'Monkshood', I have even heard it called 'Devil's Helmet'," she said pointing to a bunch of blue flowers before picking them wearing a pair of gloves for protection and putting several handfuls in in her bag. "I have to wear gloves and be careful – it's a deadly poison and a horrible death if you overdose, however, in small quantities and mixed in the right proportions I have treated old people with heart conditions using it. It's like gunpowder, a little goes a long way and is dangerous as can be in the wrong hands!" She was very informative and patient with my questions.
"This is a little mushroom called the Roman Coin. It looks like about seven of them are here," she said counting the mushrooms on a rotten log at the edge of the meadow. "I make them into a tea. They are good for swollen joints and rheumatism. I have enough here for several months by the looks of things!"
She fished around in the grass, looking for something. Her eyes went wide when she found it. She held up a little brown mushroom that looked like a crumpled folded brown umbrella on a fat stem. She looked at me, "This is Mountain Dwarf. You grind these up into a paste that fights infection. Bacteria hate this after it is ground up and boiled into the paste. Just the thing for cuts or burns," and so it went, on and on.
For a couple of hours she showed me things and she kept putting them in her bag. As the morning progressed into day, the sun made it up into the notch between two mountain peaks in the east and now its rays streamed into the valley promising to warm the land and drive the cold chill away from the land. We made progress up the mountain meadow and into some of the woods to one side of the field. Grandmother was satisfied with both her collection and my flora lesson for the day.
"Let's head down to the flat meadow half way down the slope. There is that stream that we crossed to get up here and I could use a drink. Plus there are some nice stumps to rest on at the edge of that field. The view there is beautiful, you can see all the way across the valley!" We got down to the spot she was speaking of. It was about halfway down the slope from where we turned around and it flattens out into a gradually inclined shelf-like meadow before sloping sharply down to the fields surrounding the little village. In the distance we could see other villages. In fact, just as Grandmother had said, from that meadow we had a view of the whole valley. We stood in a notch where we could see the flat slope of the meadow to one side and a sharp slope to the other side, where the cold stream she had spoken of tumbled down the hills to Oma's farm below before crossing underneath the road. We walked to the stream she spoke of and I bent down to scoop my hat in the water to fetch a drink.
"Here wait, let me get you a cup," Oma said reaching in her bag. She pulled out a clay beer mug and handed it to me while I looked shocked. I had seen her stuffing mushrooms and bark, and flowers, and all what-not's from the field but I didn't think her sack could hold a beer mug. I was puzzled as I scooped up some water for us.
"Don't look so perplexed. This is a sack of holding Stephan. I can put a good deal in here and it still is as heavy as carrying around a feather!" We both took a drink from the mug and then after we had both gulped down our fill from the ice cold stream I picked up the bag.
SURE ENOUGH LIGHT AS A FEATHER.
I would not have known there was anything in it by merely looking at it from the outside.
Oma looked up and scanned the skies while she took the bag and crossed the stream with me. She set the bag down on beside some tree logs that had been cut years before to make rustic benches for anyone wishing to stop and rest coming up or going down the mountainside. Some logs faced the Meadow that gradually sloped away from us and some faced the stream.
"Achh! This sun is going to make this a hot one today!" Oma said fanning herself. "I want some sun. Let's get out of these things of ours and let it give us a nice warm baking! You are too white anyway for a boy your age!" We took a minute to remove our things. We seemed to be the only ones up on the mountain, or more closer to the truth, it felt like we were the only ones in Germany! Up there on the mountain with the sun beaming down upon us I was dazzled by the green and the colors of the spring flowers. It was perfect post card weather!
It was then after I removed my last bits of clothing that I turned and looked at Oma naked and smiling. She had changed herself into young woman again and she was eyeing me in a very mischievous fashion with a grin of a fox who had found the hen house door open and the farmer out for the day! We sat down on a log bench facing the meadow while Oma tapped the cup of water from the stream and handed it to me. It was now full of beer. We passed the mug back and forth between each other and when it was almost gone again, she tapped it again refilling it. We sat naked passing the mug between us and then she would repeat the tapping and refilling. It was not long before the beer had its way with us both and we were laughing and telling bawdy jokes between the two of us like two old soldiers on leave! It was then that I had a question.
"Oma, what about your tattoos? Why did they not move when you fucked the two soldiers and the woman down in the house?"
"Oh that's a good question! You are keen to pay attention! You see, ..when we magic folk are making magic as opposed to just having a good fuck, rub, or lick, it's then that the markings on our bodies ripple and shake and show things. Some things are from the past, some are from our dreams, some from the future. Magnus used to fuck me and Tante Magda absolutely rotten so that he could read our backs and maybe divine a little piece of the future. It was said in the valley that he was extremely good at cards and dicing and well, you can imagine why! He would always come back from town smelling of schnapps and with full pockets! He was using a sort of divination spell. You can make all kinds of magic and get markings to move – either on yourself or on the other magical person you are diddling with!" Oma tapped her beer stein and filled it with more beer and took another long gulp. Her hand found its way down to her hairy patch between her legs and she was giving her drunk old/young body a proper frigging while we spoke now.
"What about the lightning? Last night there was lightning when we fucked and this morning when I fucked you in the barn. How come there was no lightning when you fucked those three people and you all came?" I was pretty drunk now myself but enjoying the sight of her frigging herself and at the same time administering a new lesson for her star pupil. Her fingers ran faster on her clitty and she raised a foot up onto the bench to tease my cock to life with it. My schwanze didn't need much teasing; I still had not cum after witnessing Oma's interrogation technique on the three hapless intruders.
"Another good question! You see, when we make a magic, our incantation or sex spell or fuck chant or whatever not only creates magic, it excites molecules in the air. It is like walking across a rug on a cold dry day. If there is a cloud nearby and there is enough potential energy – kaboom! Huge lightning strikes and thunderclaps are the result. You just have to be saying your magic or having a spell that you are trying to create to make it happen while you frig or fuck or diddle. The three intruders and I were fucking and yes, and I was using magic on them and you with my mind, but we were not creating anything other than some nice strong orgasms. I have to say I like those just as much, but of course the whole sky firework display thing- with lighting and thunder, is possible with the right application of powers during sex or
even
masturbation.
Tante Magda and I and Magnus used to play a naughty game in the fields up high on this mountain over on the other side. We would sit naked in a field on a rock or a stump and diddle ourselves, masturbating hard and chanting. When we would come it would pull a lightning bolt down from the sky. We would try to see who could come closest to a target in the distance; a rock, a dead tree, a mound- top, a fence,... anything.
Magnus even scared two woodcutters half to death at a distance of about a kilometer with a well-aimed bolt that landed right in front of the two men. They dropped their tools and raced down the mountain never seeing Magnus up on a hill laughing at them. It was a mean trick and Magda scolded him for it! I thought it was funny too but I didn't let Magda see my face when I saw how cross she was. It took a solid three hours of us sweet talking, kissing apologies, fucking, and eating her cunny to calm her down! Making up creates some good sex, but oh,.... where was I? Oh yes, even you can do this thing with your cockie' and your hand!"
"I can? How?"
"Grab your toy soldier and I'll show you!" She turned to the west and looked out over the meadow and at a puffy cumulus cloud up the valley that had been raining recently down onto the plains beyond the mountains. Her hand diddled her cunny and she rocked her pelvis against it on the log bench with her legs wide concentrating.
