[sub]They stood a mere stones throw from one another now. The Waxing Circle Witch had edged closer and closer to the Forest intruder, tip toeing as if the ground were awash with rose thorns and flame. As Nora watched the Sorceress from between narrowed eyes, she barely blinked when the laugh tumbled across the forest floor toward her. It rolled through the dirt, sullied and cynical, lacking the honey of joy and devoid of any real emotion. Save for its pointed hysteria, the laugh rang vacuous, scattering hibernating birds in the canopies. Fractured, exposing. A laughter laced with a private joke Nora couldn’t possibly understand. 

“[i]Apologies, people saying ‘my kind’, showing anger to me… I never really get used to it.[/i]”

Nora scoffed. Her slender brows threaded together, a cavernous lightning bolt of a wrinkle appearing between the two, disapproval whetting her pores. Rose petalled pink ironed into white as she pressed both lips together, whistling breaths sharply inhaled through flared nostrils. 

“[i]No, I’m quite sure you’re a stranger to disdain for your kind, Sorceress[/i]” the Witch said coolly. “[i]Your Kingdoms in snow globes and bell jars are very well immune to resentment from us lowly Lear-ned Magic Users… A design fault, I’m sure. Nothing purposeful, right? Just Nature’s Natural Order - keeping Born and Lear-ned apart. ”[/i]

Sarcasm sharp and piercing protruded from Nora’s syllables like pincushions. The needle-pointed observations of Society’s failures would surely glide off the Sorceress’ duck-feathered back. How could she possibly understand the impact of marginalised Witches from her ivory tower? She’d surely lived a life of abundance, wrapped in cotton clouds, blinkered to the goings on beyond those walls. It remained unclear as to what, exactly, had lead her here. What disaster had forced her out from beneath velvet sheets and shining chandeliers? 

“… [i]For starters, more people should. Witchwood is lovely in the autumn, you know.[/i]”

The red-heads hand gestured to the fallen golden leaves in moonlight, the spindled branches, the shedding bramble. Nora’s eyes flickered. 

“[i]Witchwood’s autumnal beauty is a secret best kept between those that protect it,”[/i] the Witch snubbed. 

Despite Nora’s guarded hostility, despite her hesitancy, the Sorceress sported a smile. She was either immune to the disapproval or ignoring it completely. Still, the smile pinched at the Sorceresses cheeks. Perhaps it was smug. Perhaps, like her explosive laughter, it was empty. But the Witch sensed that there was much more hidden behind the veil of strawberry blonde. It was so small coincidence she happened upon Witchwood at night. She’d not simply taken a wrong turn and wandered these winding, undisturbed dirt tracks. 

[i]“… I am a political prisoner… They don’t exactly tell you. Very dangerous people just come for you in the middle of the night. No courts, no appeals to the local lord or lady, just the end of life as you knew it.”[/i]

As she spoke, Nora beckoned for the Shadows to retreat, to rest on their laurels. A political prisoner was undoubtedly far more concerned with remaining hidden than disposing of a disgruntled Woodland Witch. It would be unwise of this Sorceress to waste energy unnecessarily, risking exposure. She was outnumbered, after all. Despite her apparent power, the Waxing Circle rested just a 10 minute jaunt away, collectively wielding the magic of many practiced years. Besides, there were bigger battles this woman was fighting. The one within the most prominent. 

[i] “I don’t know if you could stop me, please don’t make me find out…”[/i]

Nora lifted her dainty chin, defiant and challenging.

“[i]Your threats are wasted here, Sorceress[/i]” she hissed, voice hitched with warning. Her darkened eyes flickered with the flint of something other than suspicion. “[i]Spare me them, even when they’re wolves dressed in wool, I don’t fear you. Lest you forget. The borders were laid down for a reason. It is my right to ask you why you trespass in my garden. Forgive me if I didn’t assume you were merely admiring the autumnal scenery…”[/i]

The horse tossed its mane, hooves shuffling on mulch. The whisper of a smile twitched at the corners of Nora’s lips.

“[i]Besides. An enemy of my enemy is my friend.”[/i]

Once again, the wind whistled through the trees and with it, it tossed fallen leaves like confetti. Those flecks of amber whipped and danced around them both, twirling and pirouetting on the breeze. The Sorceress was right about one thing - Witchwood was indeed a marvel in autumn. 

  [/sub]