I had the bottle I had the well I had the population and the cold interest in consequences.
So simple: tip it in, see what happens. But it would have been too obvious. I was not interested in being caught.
It gnawed at me, for all my polished indifference, the knowledge of the power I wielded but could not use
Then one day strangers came, rolling into the village in their painted caravans
And I wasted not one second. As soon as the moon was full I crept out through the villagers' suspicious mutterings, unseen by the baleful glances cast at the foreign shapes and colours - forgotten, in all my oddness, in the wake of this new devilry.
It was the work of a moment, a soft sound like summer's rain then back to the shadows to wait.
And now, riding past the lynch-mob's clumsy justice, circled by merry crows, briefly entranced by a burnt-out caravan