Phoenix Maplewood What if the witches wrote the book

The birdsong that had once blessed their ears now faded to make way for the creatures of the dark as the two neared the tree line. "Settling down for the night certainly sounds like a good idea," he breathed. Normally, an expedition of many hours would be a manageable feat. Perhaps his lack of agility was the cause of his exhaustion. Either way, he found himself leaning against the trunk of a sturdy tree, letting himself slide down the rough bark until he was nestled amongst the dead matter that littered the forest floor. "I think I will be able to travel the remaining distance alone," he spoke with confidence, unsure of how to begin since journeying to the willows was not on his agenda. If he was to ignore his mission, then perhaps things would go a little differently yet sometimes you have to make rational decisions. "The plains ahead look easy enough to navigate."