The burned woodland suited the witch. She'd scouted out a den for herself earlier in the day, a long-abandoned crevice tucked into smooth, worn stone. Within hours she'd padded the dirt floor with seaside foliage, dotted the perimeter with pretty shells collected from the beach. In one corner rested the wolf skull she'd carried with her for days beyond counting.
Marina was busying herself now with arranging the scant haul of tiny fish she'd managed to pull from the shallows. She laid them out upon a flat stone she'd pushed to sit outside her den, placing them to sit in the slats of sunlight filtering through the dead trees. She hummed idly as she worked, occasionally glancing toward the sky to check the position of the sun. All around her, the forest was quiet.
Marina was busying herself now with arranging the scant haul of tiny fish she'd managed to pull from the shallows. She laid them out upon a flat stone she'd pushed to sit outside her den, placing them to sit in the slats of sunlight filtering through the dead trees. She hummed idly as she worked, occasionally glancing toward the sky to check the position of the sun. All around her, the forest was quiet.
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