At least you’re useful now, thought Granny. Better a tree than a wizard, eh?

It’s not such a bad life, thought the tree. Sun. Fresh air. Time to think. Bees, too, in the spring.

There was something lascivious about the way the tree said “bees” that quite put Granny, who had several hives, off the idea of honey. It was like being reminded that eggs were unborn chickens.

I’ve come about the girl, Esk, she hissed.

A promising child, thought the tree, I’m watching her with interest. She likes apples, too.

You beast, said Granny, shocked.

What did I say? Pardon me for not breathing, I’m sure.

Granny sidled closer to the trunk.

You must let her go, she thought. The magic is starting to come through.

Already? I’m impressed, said the tree.

It’s the wrong sort of magic! screeched Granny. It’s wizard magic, not women’s magic! She doesn’t know what it is yet, but it killed a dozen wolves tonight!

Great! said the tree. Granny hooted with rage.

Great? Supposing she had been arguing with her brothers, and lost her temper, eh?

The tree shrugged. Snowflakes cascaded from its branches.

Then you must train her, it said.

Train? What do I know from training wizards!

Then send her to university.

She’s female! hooted Granny, bouncing up and down on her branch.

Well? Who says women can’t be wizards?

Granny hesitated. The tree might as well have asked why fish couldn’t be birds. She drew a deep breath, and started to speak. And stopped. She knew a cutting, incisive, withering and above all a self-evident answer existed. It was just that, to her extreme annoyance, she couldn’t quite bring it to mind.

Women have never been wizards. It’s against nature. You might as well say that witches can be men.