Falls of the Hinterlands I could fight this 'til the end but maybe I don't wanna win

colt snickered a little. "criminal?" he exclaimed with greatly exaggerated indignation. "i prefer to say solo associate." little joke; he chuckled at his own wit a little longer before letting the laugh trail away into a sigh. "don't need many friends, an' don't rightly know much about witches," he admitted in a grunt.
scattered stories, here and there. women who lived in bogs that shifted when you weren't looking, or forest clearings that changed and kept you lost until exposure stole your life. or the vernacular of witch used to describe when a former bedfellow turned on you after her husband found out about ya'lls little liaison, and ratted you right out in hopes he'd kill you dead and therefore leave no evidence she'd ever been unfaithful.
very specific.
colt didn't share this fun tidbit. "how often yew dealt in death?" he asked more soberly of his companion. witches knew things. all kinds of things. things worth trading for, but dying for? killing for? well. he aimed to find out.