Witch's Marsh Gypsy Caravan

Spring had not yet arrived. For the remainder of the cold spell, she hunkered in the bypass, leaving just as a whole slew of wolves arrived. She was glad she moved as she did, hurrying as fast as her stiff limbs could take her before she arrived at it: the marsh. Had she known the name, she might have called this an auspicious occasion — Bokht —  but the Chovahani merely knew this marsh as her new home; her new Tserha, her new home.

Božena found a den rather quickly — in a rather dry part of the marsh, moss hung over the entrance like curtains, a fallen log draped over the jutting outcrop, the cavern below nice and dry. The moment the Bebee, the old woman, saw it and settled inside, she knew she wouldn't be keen to leave. Once winter finally ebbed away and spring took over the land, she would make this dry spot of the Marsh her own; her final stop.