Another Short Legend of Ratik

        Now the folk of Ratik are a hearty, rowdy lot and in the days before they had Euroz hordes to test their mettle, they brawled with the Fruztii to the north.  In those youngest days of Ratik, the area around the Timberway Forest was known as the Debateable Land for border reavers were always passing through, Ratikan stealing from Frutzii and Frutzii from Ratikan.  Here in a house called Niffliternit lived a widow who had fallen on hard times.  Her husband had passed on in one of the raids and she was sore pressed to feed her bairn.
She did posess a fine swine but one night as Velnius began to stretch his icy talons over the land, she determined to sell so she might buy food for herself and her babe.  Lo and behold that very morn, she went into the barn only to find the hog on his back gasping as if to breathe his last. As she lay down weeping, an old woman dressed in green finery approached from the woodlands, leaning on a cane and inquired about the lass' troubles. After the young woman had explained her plight, the old woman remarked that it was naught compared to her own difficulties, but that she might be able to save the swine.
Rashly, the lass promised the old woman anything if only she would help the pig live to see the market.  The crone gave a wry smile and went to the animal, speaking all manner of queer words and, dipping her finger in a bottle she had pulled from her belt sack, rubbed a rose-scented liquid over the animals ears, tail, and hocks.  No sooner had she done this than the beast was good as new and jumped up running about his pen looking for feed.
        So pleased was the young mother that she'd completely forgotten her quick words until the haughty lady demanded her payment:  the bairn. 
Suddenly, the maid's world came to a halt; no matter how much she begged or prayed, no matter what she offered, even herself, the woman would hear none of it.  When she returned in three days time, she said, the child was to be hers unless the mother could guess her name.  Such were the laws of the fairy folk.  For three days and two nights the woman sat cradling her bairn, filled with dread awaiting the old fey's return.  On the night before her child was to be surrendered, there came a knock at the door.  The lass, despite her plight was kind-hearted and opened the portal.  Out of the night stumbled a man broad of shoulder, nearly frozen with Velnius' bite.  As he warmed himself by the fire, he related a strange tale that he wasn't sure if it was just the North Wind whispering in his ear.  There in the midst of the forest, oblivious to the wind and cold, sat an old crone dressed in green finery humming to herself as she spun pine needles into fine cloth.  Every so often, she would let out a hearty laugh and say "She'll never guess my name, she'll never guess my name, she'll never know that twas old Maggity Mug who came".
Before the warrior could approach her and ask for help, a tremendous gust of wind blew him more than a league, depositing him on the young mother's doorstep.  With this tale, the lass let out an excited holler, and embraced the stranger, for now she and her babe were safe.
        The next morning, the woman waited for the hag with the warrior at her side. Suspiciously, the old fairy approached and said that even by force of arms the babe might not be saved. 
"Aye," replied the bonny lass, "but by thy own name Maggity Mug, our deals done!" 
The old fey was put in such a rage by the foiling of her scheme that she flew straight up in the air, out of sight and never troubled the lass and her bairn again.
        Those who meet a stately old woman , garbed in green and carrying a cane, under the boughs of the Timberway, are warned to be polite to her, for her mood is most foul these days.  But never, no matter how dire their need, strike a bargain, for the price is too high.