Page 14 - Folio Only

There, just past the flower garden, now all white for the winter, and the
church's black cemetery, there, sitting in the round bowl of a stone bird bath,
lay a yellow salamander, about twice the length of Amelia's hand. It was curled
round itself, its tail touching its head, and it was moaning, “Mander, mander,
poor mander!” it was saying. “None, none will help me out? Mander, mander,
poor mander. None will help me out?”

“I'll help you out,” said brave Amelia, stepping up to the bird bath. “You
poor thing. How did you get in there?”

“The priest, he lifted me up and put me in here. He said he was going to
set fire to me!”

“Oh, how awful!” said Amelia.

“I know. The coward.”

Amelia carefully put her charcloth into the inside of her left boot, then
reached down to pick up the salamander. Amelia saw it was an old thing, with
crusted eye sockets, and unhealthy-looking brown pocky skin. An old man of a
salamander, not the young girl she thought had been crying. “You...wait...you
aren't diseased, are you?” she asked. “If I touch you, will I get a pocky disease
from you?”

“How would I know? Possibly. Probably. Maybe not. Or, who knows,
touching me might just cure you of whatever ails you. What would that be?
What's ailing you? Let me guess: Trouble sleeping on a tree branch? Fear of
bats? Bad breath?”

“No ailments for me, I don't think. Just frozen fingers and toes. I'm cold
all the time. Here, let me help you out of that bird bath.” Amelia reached into
the stone bird bath to help the poor old thing. But it reared back on its
haunches and screeled like a banshee, hissing at her, scuttling to the far rim,
facing her at all times, his jaw locked into a hiss like a feral cat.

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