Witch's Marsh prettier and younger but not any better off

pagal, surya remarked with a roll of his eyes, as she ranted and raved even through his splashing. and his splashing was not limited to her pelt. he became disgusted with himself eventually, coated in cold, fetid filth.

ugh, he thought, nose wrinkling. it would take a long dip in the icy waters of whitebark stream to get all this out of his fur, and even then. . .

tail not quite tucked (but close), the yearling retreated from the scene, thoroughly unamused. the words were forgotten but would come back to haunt him in days to come. for now, he didn't believe for a second that the tiny woman had the power to curse.

she was just crazy. living in a bog must do that to you.