Phoenix Maplewood What if the witches wrote the book

Beneath his silken fur, he could feel the little grey woman's breath come in long strides. Feeling every tremor that possessed her tiny frame, it startled him when her body vibrated with speach. "My inside are definitely awake," he mumbled in between a few lethargic breaths. "Not so sure about my outsides." With mock amusement, he let his plumed tassel buff the ground beside their hunched forms. Luckily it hadn't rained. "There are things I should tell you before we... or I... make a move."