The water of its body flew up and landed, and she read the odd, unnatural pattern as it began to reform.Īll these things Wiskeria, the daughter of Belavierr the Stitch Witch, saw. ![]() It was trying to devour a little stone with a hole in the center of it, a natural, if rare piece of geology, and as she watched it glide past, it slipped and splattered onto the ground. She walked to the window and reflected that building a home for strange friends was not always wise.įor, in the lack of cold iron nails or other fittings came a little, natural slime made of water rolling across the windowsill. …But she, Wiskeria, woke up with a tingling in her toes and saw a line of ants marching in a concentric spiral that slowly looped across one of the newly-built walls of her home. Even the new generation hadn’t forgotten that most ancient of magics. That was a very useful trick had picked up, listening to people. Some listened to the wind.Įspecially when an told you that Erin Solstice was coming. They listened to the fates, and some wove threads, others looked into tea or the flights of birds. The very earth muttered it, whispering in toadstool rings, and she felt it in her blood, in her hat-a hat was a very sensitive thing, and hers seemed to shift about on her head more than it should-and the deep ways of her kind. As immutable as belief and mountains, and as fragile as both before will, chance, and magic.Įven so, like belief, like a dream or a mountain, only the most foolish ignored such things, and so she took notice. ![]() There was more than a bit of fate in it, but fate was such a fickle thing.
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