Phoenix Maplewood What if the witches wrote the book

Little time skip to morning

Night creatures emerged from the brush as the two slept, going about their tasks as moonlight bathed the forest in a brilliant patchwork of silvers and greys. An owl hooted a short distance away, its cry a piercing melody in the darkness, but did not wake the pair from their weary slumber.

Arch woke to an uncomfortable squirming in his stomach. It was still early; the ghostly pre-dawn light was only just tickling the horizon. Perhaps it was his nerves that had lifted him from unconsciousness yet Starbuck deserved his trust. With a quiet sigh, he did not lift his head from her back, instead relishing the comfort whilst he could as he waited for her to wake.