Words for Wednesday - Unicorn Farm - The Beginning 3

In April Messymimi is supplying us with prompts at her Meanderings.
This week's prompts are:

gaze
dogs
brave
decisive
wrench 
tempt

and/or

bad
shake
scribble
flower
afternoon
camp

I did not use all the prompts today. Maybe some of them will fit later. 
I continue the story about Susan's first visit to Unicorn Farm. To allay any confusion - I hope - the chapters will be captioned with the words: Unicorn Farm-The Beginning 1 - ..

Without thinking, she walked slowly past the lilac bush, beneath a huge, old weeping willow and on to the fields of the old farm. A low, buzzing sound, almost like a gnat, made Susan's ears itch, she shook her head to get rid of the sound, and it stopped. She looked up. The air had become clean and crisp and she noticed an old man sitting on a log.

Thoughts flew through Susan's head. It was probably the very kind of man her parents had always warned her against. He had long, grey hair gathered in a ponytail, his tanned, wrinkled face looked like it was carved in wood and his chin was covered with dense, white stubble. Susan looked a little closer. He was old, she could tell what with all the wrinkles and his grey-white hair. But he did not look old and tired. Susan wasn't quite sure she would be able to outrun him if he turned out to be dangerous, maybe even one of those bad men mom always warned her about. Susan was not certain she knew what a bad man looked like except for not being nice. But she always imagined someone a bit like her great uncle Tom; squarish and sweaty, who always wanted a kiss and gave her nasty sweets. The man on the log didn't look like Uncle Tom at all. Most of all he looked like a sheriff or cowboy hero from a movie. An old scar ran from his right temple down the neck and disappeared behind the collar of his blue and white striped shirt. He sat playing with a beautiful branch and hummed to himself. Susan was about to turn around and leave, when he looked up at her. His mouth and eyes smiled warmly as he got up from the tree trunk and said: "Welcome!"
The hand he extended toward Susan was great as a bear paw. It wasn't too clean, and the nails were frayed and worn, but Susan couldn't help smiling in return and extend her hand: "Good day, my name is Susan," she said, making a clumsy attempt at a curtsy. It was not really in to curtsey any more, but her grandmother had always wanted Susan to, when greeting older people.
The man smiled even broader, bowed formally and answered: "My name is Gilvi, and you'd better sit down." Gilvi pointed at the log, he had gotten up from, and they sat down. Gilvi and Susan sat for a while on the log. Gilvi was twiddling his stick between his fingers, making strange scribblings in the air.

"Who are you, Susan?" Gilvi finally asked and waited patiently for her answer.
Susan thought hard before answering: "I'm Susan. I'm 13 years old, not particularly brave or good at anything but reading. My mother says I'm a dreamer and my classmates mostly think I'm boring ..." Scared by her own honesty, she stopped.
"Do you think you are something special?" asked Gilvi.
"Something special ... No," Susan replied, shaking her head. "Different, maybe. I don't much care about new clothes, bands, make up or horses, and I like playing with boys better than giggling at them. Maybe I'm a little ... weird?"
"I have to tell you that you are more different than you think," Gilvi said meeting her enquiring gaze with a pair of steady blue eyes. "Do you remember what happened an afternoon just a few weeks before the summer holidays. Think. You were alone in an empty classroom; we don't have to talk about the reason why. And you found an old, green book on a shelf?"

"Yes," Susan whispered, "I remember. That book looked interesting, but also a little scary. It felt different ... strange when I picked it up. At first I didn't even think I could read it. It was written in Faroese or Icelandic, I think." Susan looked up at Gilvi, who nodded.
"Strange. I can't remember what it was all about. I just remember being very happy, almost overwhelmingly happy to be able to read it. I wanted to tell it to my teacher. Uh ... we had ... we were learning the other Nordic languages. First we had to read a Norwegian poem, then something in Swedish ... and one of the girls was a Swede. She teased our teacher by reading aloud better than her. Then there were some very short texts in Icelandic and Faroese. We were told we didn't have to read those. I tried anyway, but I couldn't. And now I was standing there in that classroom reading Icelandic ... But I completely forgot to tell her, I actually totally forgot all about it. Until right now. "
"Yes!" Gilvi replied in a decisive voice, "and if you had not met me or any of my friends, you might never have remembered it. It was a test. You're a witch, Susan! "
"I am a WHAT!" Susan spoke loud from sheer surprise. "I'm not an old crone with a warty nose, or something like that!"
"No, you are not," Gilvi said, almost smiling, "but do you think witches are born old, maybe?"
Susan was completely silent, Gilvi just stood waiting, watching the clouds and playing with his stick.
"And you. What are you?" Susan finally asked.
"I'm a wizard. Just look at this!" Gilvi said. He swung his stick, which Susan realized, had to be a magic wand, and then the grass around her was covered with flower buds. They grew and opened, grew, wilted, and became ripe strawberries before Susan's eyes. Gilvi bent down and picked some berries. He put some into Susan's open mouth, and she had to close it.
"Yes!" Susan said, when she had eaten the tasty berries. "You're a wizard."
"Indeed I am," replied Gilvi smiling, "and today I'm a happy one." With another twist of his wand, he made golden leaves fall around them. "But come on. The others are waiting for us. It will be a pleasant summer."