Mira dropped the yoke at the well. She rubbed aching shoulders. Be worse trudging home with four full buckets. Ducking into the shade, Mira jumped at the man seated cross-legged inside. 

“I’m sorry, good sir,” Mira stammered. “You need help drawing water?”

“No, Mira,” a gentle voice said.

Mira felt uneasy. He knows me?

Then, he floated upwards.

“I’m the well daemon,” he said. “For your kindness, you have weightless water forever. Go, your buckets are filled.”

He vanished. Mira blinked. Must be the sun.

But her buckets were full. The yoke felt light as a shawl. 

Mira left, smiling.