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Carmel is running for his life, so he makes for the tree with the lowest branches and swings his way out of reach. Moments later the tree twangs like a bowstring as the witch rams it head-on; it sheds pine needles and a raccoon, almost. He grabs the branch next to Carmel.

“Hello,” says Carmel.

“Hello. What was that?”

“A witch,” says Carmel. “She’s very angry because I cut off her hands.”

“I have hands!” says the raccoon. He holds one out to demonstrate.

“Me too!” says Carmel, and they shake hands, hanging there. It seems like the thing to do.