Phoenix Maplewood What if the witches wrote the book

While Arch worried at the last of the berry juice- which had grown sticky as it dried- Starbuck fought off sleep. You give yourself no credit, she told him, yawning. The weight of his head on her shoulder was a comforting pressure that only pushed her closer to sleep. All seems darker at night. In the morning, we will discuss, she agreed. The moment she laid her head down and her eyes closed, she was asleep. Again she heard the whisper of the willow, even though he was far away.