The people thought if they believed hard enough, it would rain. They asked her, wished it of her, begged her for it. Although Melinda the healer couldn’t make the skies open, she happily took the credit when it finally poured. But only that one time.
As the next drought persisted, they prepared the stake with plenty of kindling and sun-baked, dry wood. If the witch couldn’t make it rain this time, maybe sacrificing her would.
A slight bit of minor magic later, Melinda escaped with a singed ego and a newfound humility. She would do better in the next town.
Author’s Note: Melinda is a character I’ve visited in my other writing. She’s referred to as a witch by the townsfolk, but I think she’d balk at the label. This is the first time I’ve looked into her early days as a wandering whatever-she-is.