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Not again, Molly Prewett thought as she lost her fight with balance and the world upended itself. She laid one arm across her splayed legs to control the shaking, almost grateful she couldn’t focus on the nasty bruise spreading across her backside.
The front of a threadbare robe loomed before her, giving way to red hair and freckles as Arthur bent down, concerned. “Sorry.” He canceled the jinx and held out his hand.
Still unsure of her footing, she let him help her up, though not without grumbling. “Must you always make my legs go weak?”
Arthur, wisely, said nothing.