“She won’t wake up.” A harried looking Queen sat on the edge of her daughter’s bed while the royal physician poked, prodded and tested the Princess.
“Anything unusual to report,” he asked.
“Her birthday. Yesterday. She had a lie down after she’d opened her presents.”
“I see.” He peered at the child’s finger. “Something sharp, a sewing kit? Knitting needles?”
“She got a spindle from her godmother. And merino wool.”
“Tried it right away?”
The queen nodded.
“A witch practitioner is what you need.”
The queen frowned. “Magic, what kind of medicine is that?”
“Only a spell cures a spell.”