They prep for the excursion buying flasks of water, strapping a pint to their sides, weighing out their costumes. I put on my pointed hat, leathers. My outfit draws my mirror's smile. I promise myself to finally get a bowl of the ever delicious smelling mushroom soup.
Though the witch loves to conjure potions, she attempts making charms, spinning stories, and teaching others. Masters before her watch in earnest of her growth. Some smile, others scowl.
The shrill sound fills the air, followed by squealing of tires. I tune my phone, listening in to the numbers, waiting to hear any news. And I think, what it would be like.
They speak plainly but with a certain authority underlying their words. They watch your eyes and every response. Whatever you say may affect your chances; the rewards for risk are great. "Great. When do we start?"
Crack goes the axe bit into wood, felling another dead giant. The Witch sits crosslegged upon a stump, braiding her hair, and watching the Woodsman. The Witch picks up her axe and makes her way to the Woodsman, a gentle smile on her face. He greets her with a big embrace.
She traced her finger along the tome, trying to make out the words. Ink blots and chicken scratch concealed their knowledge. Her past wont give up secrets so easily. She snaps the book closed with resounding boom through the halls, knowing someone who would.
Pounding the stakes into the earth, you lay your foundations. Chopping wood, you blister your hands if only to give you shelter from the cold. And you can feel it; the storm is coming.
Little messes become inevitable when you become close to people. They change how you are and help you grow. The big messes become tumultuous, crashing worlds down potentially burning those around. Those times, many seek shelter, others run.
The snow comes down and down with no end in sight. Cars have trouble starting and staying on path, but here we see something we don't normally. People in other cars leaving the safety and warmth to help those who cannot get free. Warmth of others isn't necessarily out of reach.
Behind the high countertop, the witch peers over to see if anyone stares back at her. No one. She continues making different potions, all doing the same thing but carrying different flavors. Satisfied, she sells the popular wares and dusts off the particulates sticking to her apron.