Carefully winding through the forest at night, following deer paths and creek beds, had brought us at last to a friendly witch’s farm. The gravel road crunched beneath the claws on my feet as I finally approached the fencing I’d been looking for.
Kyrie had dozed fitfully against my shoulder for most of the journey, occasionally stirring when a particularly rough bit of terrain jostled her despite trying to soften the movents. But she’d grown quieter over the last half hour, her breathing shallow but steady.
This system ability really seed to be helping - she no longer shivered constantly. And she only had a few coughing fits that made pay extra attention to the forest afterwards.
> Because no matter what precautions I’d tried taking, it has still not even been half a day since receiving this news. I’d like to think if there was obvious intent to co after her by a group, Claire would have ntioned before I hid my phone... but what if she tried right after? <
Even in my paranoia, the farm looked much as I rembered from my brief visit. Nice, quiet, modest house with the necessary outbuildings. And the chicken coop behind the fencing with wards carved in each post.
I could hear what I would ntally refer to in more playful tis as ’tasty snacks’ starting to make increasingly agitated noises as I approached. The closer I got to the house, the louder the delicious chickens beca.
Squawking and fluttering in their enclosure like they sensed sothing predatory stalking through their territory. Which, I supposed, they might - even if I have no scent right now.
> Who knows what mystic power she endows them with? I don’t really know how magic genuinely works here. <
A porch light flicked on first as I reached the front gate, then the main house lights. I caught the twitch of a curtain in what I rember to be the front window. Even though I wasn’t staring with predatory thoughts that way anymore, the displeasure of the stupid birds still ruined the stillness of the night.
The front door opened with such a bang that I froze mid-step at the alert stance of the figure. Martha’s short and gray hair could be seen, her pajamas slightly disheveled as pointed directly at us was the unmistakable silhouette of a... ’shotgun’.
"That’s far enough. State your business or turn around and head back where you ca from. These birds are my livelihood, not a free al."
Her voice wasn’t *hesitant* - it was soone who’d dealt with sapient nightti predators before. Of course, I stood perfectly still. Neither turning or talking... acutely aware that I was currently in a form that makes this a bit of a ’catch-22’.
> I doubt howling at her is going to make things any better. Unless - can witches understand howls? I feel like Helene thought they could commune with animals. You don’t know? <
Like before, when I was freaking out on the Composure ability that was not working to help , in my mindscape the two of us are kind of... combined. We remained separate in my soul the other tis I’d ever transford.
I’m not sure what is different. Did I let it in more as I spiraled or did it choose to let itself subsu into to keep sane?
Whatever it is, it is not entirely uncomfortable. And while we are overlapping the sa areas, there is still plenty sense of separation.
Which is why it is easy enough to start shifting back from the large, dangerous beast carrying a big gray bundle. Not exactly the kind of visitor that inspired trust, witch or no.
"Martha Callaway. It’s Citra. The... she-wolf who bought eggs and a chicken from you before you took into town. I need your help."
The shotgun didn’t lower imdiately and there was a long pause as she studied . As I slipped the covers away from the silly wolf which my exploding heartrate and our speech just now did not even wake.
"No, *she* needs your help. I am simply requesting it for her."
With more urgency in my tone, weighed against the circumstances of the late hour... finally, the barrel of the shotgun lowered. Slowly. Before gesturing us forward with one hand.
"I suppose you’d better co up to the house then. Carefully now. Don’t want to spook the girls any more than you already have. They don’t seem to like ward crossers very much after dusk ends."
Nodding, I walked that way without hurry or hesitation. Though her weapon did not sll obviously of silver ammunition even when I reached the steps, that does not an whatever she was confidently aiming was not effective against our kind.
The interior of the woman’s ho was just as clean and lived-in as one would expect. With dried herbs hanging from the kitchen ceiling and the lingering scent of sothing savory that had been cooked earlier. She directed toward a hallway leading to the back of the house.
"Second door on the right. That was my husband’s room before he passed. I keep it clean for my own peace of mind... as well as situations like this. Well, not *exactly* like this."
Everything spotless and obviously cared for, just like she implied. A full-size bed with a hand-sewn quilt, a wooden dresser that also looks like it was hand-carpentered, and curtains that looked like they’d been made from the sa fabric as the bedding.
> I believe she said he was a lawyer, so my first instinct is to guess this was all her work. But people do have hobbies... and I think she would be less attached to things she made *for* him than things he made himself - or treasured from others. <
Settling Kyrie onto the bed as gently as possible, pulling the existing covers up over her... over the blanket of mine for good asure. She stirred slightly from all of this but didn’t wake. I guess sleeping is good?
When I turned around, Mrs. Callaway was standing in the doorway with the weapon now propped against the wall behind her. Her old eyes were studying , as my hand jerked away from white hair, with such obvious curiosity that I could not hold back my own.
"So. Witches... use guns?"
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