The cylinders sit brewing their concoctions and potions. The witch waits nearby, taking in the sounds of a bustling city tavern. Music, lights, merriment. Different, but beautiful.
It was time to leave, into a different world. But she knew the huntsman's cabin would remain. She raises her hands, casting a blessing on the surrounding forest. The trees grow tall and green. Bushes glisten with wild berries.
The woodsman brings the witch into his world, showing her skills, survival, and ways forgotten. He watches on quietly as she attempts to construct one of the walls to the cabin, instructing only when needed. His heart swells and nods.
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.
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.
A bowl of soup later, the witch feels satisfied but still cannot shake the incessant cough. She visits the bees but they keep their distance, telling her to go home.
The Witch's familiars help in ways unseen by others, providing support, offering helping paws, or just being cuddly. Sometimes they block progress contorting their bodies across the keys hindering the magics inside.
The warrior drew her sword and raised her shield, readying for battle. Puzzled, the witch cocked her head, lowering her hand offered in help.