2 Huh. The Witch s Ridge. An Unexpected Guest

LANGORIA AND “SURVIVAL GUIDE IN THE WORLD OF MAGIC: FOR MOLES, WITCHES, AND OTHER MISFITS” by Mila Rada.
Chapter 2.

Huh (Hooh). The Witch’s Ridge. An Unexpected Guest.


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Frustrated, the little one slid down and, with an annoyed sigh, opened the door, sticking her head outside. Her form darkened, and she spoke in a cursed tongue.


The branches block the sky, dark as night,
The roots raise the earth — the bosom holds tight,
The stench from the swamp spreads o'er the land — sleep, oh earth,
What entered my house unbidden shall not find me, in its dearth.

The tree weeps, the branches bow, sap thick with grief,
Who stands at my door? A shadow or a thief?
No sight of the sky, no sun; in the gloom, you’ll find,
Only hands, black hands — the witches' dances bind.

Moans and whispers, shadows everywhere,
The uninvited guest dances in despair.
Where did you come from, and where will you go? No borders to find,
Unseen black faces gather, in shadows they wind,
Dancing, rejoicing, in the dead of night.
Black shadows — black servants guard my door,
Black witches braid this day with sorrowful lore,
They'll sink into the earth, taking you too,
Stealing the last breath, as the night swallows you.



"Blackened," muttered Ilangoria, as the windows, doors, and secret passageways vanished independently. And as if answering the dark tongue, pushing through the damp earth and rotting leaves, the forest witches — once petrified — awoke and crawled out of their burrows, stretching their stiff bodies from sleep.

"Can you smell someone? Fay forest creatures or wicked entities?"
“Have you buried your braids to shelter moles, and now you're too afraid to wake them?” the little girl grumbled, hiding among the burdock leaves.

But the dead only grunted, cracking their decaying knuckles, shaking clumps of earth out of their moldy, damp ears and nostrils, and didn’t hurry.

"So quiet… And my nose hasn’t caught anything. You’re no use!" Ilangoria cursed, and like a clever forest rat, she began digging a new burrow, focused and important.

"There are boulders and stones; dig to the right," the fattest of the witches politely suggested, snorting and chuckling.

"Only your bodies still gaze outward,
While your feet have long since rotted in the dark.
If you don't serve this world well,
The shadow world will soon claim you, hark!
So come on, help out — I’m not the only one,
Guarding our home, until the job is done!" Ilangoria replied, cursing them.

"Even with feet in the dark, the witch enjoys your bark," said the thinnest, oldest of the witches, rustling like a pile of dry leaves, and they all burst into loud laughter.

"Ugh, black tribe!" grumbled Ilangoria, watching as each witch busied herself with her tasks. Digging a new tunnel to the house, she disappeared inside.


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