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Chapter 2 – The Wolves and the Crows

Somehow, catching the Daemon had rejuvenated Agatha, giving her some newfound strength to press on and reach her goal. Her grief was pushed firmly from her thoughts, she had no time to wallow when there were lives at stake. Agatha had failed once already and she as not about to do so again if she could help it.

Bottling the Daemon had reminded Agatha of her purpose in the land of Labrainn. Reminding her that more would suffer the same loss she had if she did not act.

The howling of wolves had ceased but Agatha would not feel safe until she had reached the Sanctum. The thought of a ravenous pack of wolves stalking her caused her to move as quickly as her tired body and the thick snow would allow. Every now and then she would stop briefly and consult her map before continuing at a quickened pace, glancing behind her every so often.

Agatha cleared the forest and stepped out into a field; in the distance she could see the dark outline of a building, silhouetted against the waxing moon. For a moment she felt the warm fluttering sensation of hope in her chest. She allowed herself a short respite to catch her breath before she made the last leg of her journey.

Another howl echoed in the darkness, it was much closer than the last, “I am not about to be eaten by a pack of wolves this close to the Sanctum,” Agatha muttered, and ran.

Not long after, the sound of feet thumping off of the ground grew louder and louder behind Agatha, accompanied by the sound of rapid breath and snarling as the pursuing wolves gained on her. Agatha changed course and ran for higher ground; a hill, atop which stood the ghostly remnants of a dead oak tree.

Two crows flew overhead and landed on the oak’s upper branches, looking down at Agatha with their beady black eyes when she reached its base.

One crow cocked its head and muttered to the other, “They run, but only to delay the inevitable, Baril,”

“Delaying the inevitable is all that man does Coran, always trying to influence the will of the gods,” replied the other.

The crow that perched on the upper branch, Coran, turned to Baril and kept one eye on the scene unfolding below, “We can watch the god’s choice from up here. Perhaps they are lenient today?”

Baril had preened his feathers before he answered, “Lenient on one is harsh on the other. When one survives, the other might starve,”

Agatha ignored the conversation above her and caught her breath; the wolves – eight of them in total – formed a half circle formation. As much as it had pained Agatha to stop and face them, she knew they would have outpaced her. Against a united pack, Agatha was less than optimistic, if she were to stand a chance she would have to divide them somehow. She placed her hand on the hilt of her broadsword as the wolves slinked slowly towards her.

“Watch now,” whispered Coran, “Either we will have meat soon or have to find worms later,”

Baril cawed excitedly, “Meat soon! Worms tomorrow!”

“I’m giving you fair warning, wolves of the forest, I am not worth the effort nor the lives you will lose if you come after me,” Agatha hissed, hoping she looked as threatening as she sounded.

The pack leader, the biggest of the black wolves and marked with a white streak that crossed over his left eye looked surprised, “I understood those sounds, how?”

Agatha’s hand gripped the handle of her sword, the wolves remained at a distance, snarling and growling in anticipation, but she knew they would not attack unless she ran or the Alpha gave the command. She willed herself to stand as still as possible, any sudden moves might provoke the wolves into attack.

“I’m not about to explain myself to you, Lupine,” Agatha sneered “If you understand me, then hear this – you and your pack can turn around and stalk some other prey”

The Alpha made a sound similar to guttural laughter crossed with a bark, one of the other wolves spoke “She makes fools of us, Gragol! Let us rip her apart!” she snarled, but Gragol ignored her.

“You think your sting is mightier than our claws? You are outnumbered,” stated Gragol, it was a fact that Agatha could not argue with. Never the less she was not about to show the wolves any hint of fear.

Agatha replied calmly, “I’m giving you a choice – leave or die. You’d best decide quickly,” she drew her sword and held it by her side “I’m in a hurry.”

The wolves looked to their leader expectantly, who looked taken aback at the manner in which he had been spoken to.

“So what if I chose to have my pack tear your screaming soul from your mortal coil?” growled Gragol, baring his teeth in an attempt to scare her.

“Then your clan will soon be missing eight members,” Agatha replied. Gragol snarled and barked – the wolves leapt at Agatha in synchrony.

In one fluid motion, Agatha sliced the ground in front of her with the broad sword and a wall of earth shot up from where she had cut. The attacking wolves yelped loudly as they struck the hardened earthen barrier.

Agatha sheathed her sword, pulled the Gunwand from its holster and swiftly swapped the bottle containing a cutting of Knotweed with a bottle containing sprigs of Lavender. The sound of loud growls rumbled as the wolves recovered and made their way around the wall.

As soon as each one appeared, Agatha shot them.

A moment was all it took for the shot’s effect to take hold – each wolf she struck was unconscious before they hit the ground. Asleep and quite unharmed, they would awaken in a few hours, at which point she would be long gone.

Agatha counted her shots as the wolves fell around her, “One, two, three…and four, five and six…” she swapped out the bottle with another filled with sprigs of Lavender. The Lavender inside the used bottle was burned to a crisp and smouldering.

One of the wolves is clawed its way over the wall in an attempt to surprise her; Agatha shot it in the nose and the wolf slumped over, precariously balancing on the top of the earth wall.

“Seven” she counted, casting an appraising look over the pack she added, “Where’s the alpha?” her eyes darted from the left side of the wall, then to the right and finally at the top.

The earth wall crumbled, as the enchanted sword’s effect only lasted for a short time. Gragol, the pack leader, stood behind it. He darted over the debris and lunged at her. Agatha quickly sidestepped out of his path, Gragol crashed into the tree and the two crows, Coran and Baril took flight from their perches.

Agatha shot the wolf in the shoulder, dodging his groggily swung retaliation with a backward step. The wolf’s eyes were half closed and his breathing was slow, a long string of saliva hung from his bottom lip as he staggered in her direction growling loudly.

“Stubborn beast, aren’t you?” Agatha muttered with a shake of her head and shot the wolf again. To her disbelief the wolf continued to march towards her, fighting the urge to sleep as the Lavender shot pulsed around his bloodstream.

Gragol slurred, “I’ll…Kill you. You wretched...”

Agatha stood aiming the Gunwand at the wolf deciding whether or not she need to use another shot before the wolf would collapse into a deep sleep like the rest of his pack.

Time was not on her side and so she fired another round.

“…Witch” Gragol murmured before crumpling in front of her.

“Actually, I’m not a Witch – I’m more…Oh, never mind, sleep well” said Agatha, replacing her Gunwand in its holster.

An unfamiliar voice sounded from close by, “Why didn’t you just kill them?”

Agatha frowned and looked around confused, searching for the source of the voice. She looked up at the crows, which had returned to their perch on the tree, and then she looked down to her satchel.

“Is it?” she opened the flap and pulled out the bottle to inspect it.

“What are you looking at?” the pair of red eyes asked impatiently.

Agatha looked unimpressed, “Oh, it is you, and here I was hoping I was finally hearing what the crows were saying,” she turned the bottle in her hands inspecting the base – examining it closely for cracks or deformations in the glass in case the vessel had sustained damage.

“Meaning?” the bottled Daemon sighed.

“I cast a Naturespeak enchantment on myself a few months back, thinking that it would be a useful talent to have. I can hear most animals, but for some reason crows,” she paused and looked up at perched crows again.

“Where!” Baril cawed.

“When!” Coran squawked.

“I only hear a single word from each,” she finished irritably, tilting the bottle back and forth as though mixing a tincture.

“Is it possible for a non-corporeal entity to feel motion sickness?” the bottled Daemon asked, the red eyes became a part of the swirling yellowish mixture that inhabited the bottle.

“Will you stop futzing around with my prison!?” the Daemon snapped, its eyes reformed and stared up at Agatha, “What are you doing anyway? Are you trying to see what I look like? Well tough! No one may look upon me while I’m in this pitiful state.”

Agatha tsked “As if. I’m checking your accommodation, making sure you don’t slither off anywhere.”

The bottled Daemon sounded irritated as it spoke, “I’ll have you know that Daemons don’t slither – we lurk, loom, creep, watch, stalk…and judge.”

Ignoring the Daemons imperious attitude, Agatha finished her inspection, satisfied that the bottle was still intact, “Last thing I need is this thing getting out and causing trouble.”

“Well, whatever you want to call it, you’re not going anywhere,” and that being said, she returned the bottle to its place within the satchel and closed the flap without another word.

“I thought you said this thing was indestructible?” the muffled voice asked suspiciously “You’re making me think otherwise – I’m going to start looking for weak points now!”

“From the inside, I said,” Agatha grunted “Outside is another story, not that it does you much good from in there,”

With a frown, Agatha suddenly wondered why she bothered conversing with the Daemon. Granted, this was the first Daemon that had ever spoken to her, there was no reason for her to converse with such a beastly thing. The thought seemed trivial in comparison to the task at hand, and so she dismissed it.

The bottled Daemon had fallen silent as she made her sprint towards the Sanctum, still a stark silhouette against the moon. It remained silent long enough for Agatha to think it would remain so for the remainder of her journey – then it spoke again.

“Just answer me this, are you one of those crazy Witches who uses Daemons like me in their soup dish, or are you going to exorcise me back to my realm?”

Agatha slowed her pace, panting and catching her breath “Not a Witch…Not crazy…” she placed her hand on her stomach “…But not that you mention it…I’m pretty hungry”

“I knew it” the Daemon groaned and then loudly exclaimed, “I knew it! What a rotten week this has turned out to be! Is this how my existence as a Daemonum Forte is to end? Passing through the filthy squishy innards of a low class life form before crawling back home as a Whisper, disgraced and humiliated. I’ll be a laughing stock…”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, I was kidding!” Agatha snapped impatiently, checking her surroundings and quickened her step once more. The Sanctum was such a short distance way, she could not risk the Daemons caterwauling attracting unwanted attention – much like the wolves she had left sleeping on the hill by the tree.

“The minute I arrive at the sanctum, I’ll pass you over to an exorcist and they’ll send you back to your world. Now shut up,” said Agatha in a harsh whisper.

“Oh,” came a soft reply, “I knew that, I did.”

Agatha rolled her eyes.

The moon had risen until it hung just above the rooftops of the sanctum casting a faint light that illuminated the structure. The snow that had fallen during her journey had formed a thick crust that covered the grounds and let out a muffled crunch under each step she took.

The Sanctum itself was a simple looking building, two stories tall and built from large pieces of carved stone held together with crumbling mortar. The roof was made from a thick layer of thatched reeds that had been slowly creeping off of the beams that supported them. There were thinly framed windows of warped glass that had been added as a means of allowing a few beams of sunlight to illuminate the inner chambers during the daytime; while the pale glow of candlelight would emanate from them during the cold dark winter nights.

Agatha looked dismayed; it had not escaped her notice when she first laid eyes upon the building from afar that there were no signs of candlelight, but she had hoped it was due to the distance. Now that she stood in the Sanctum’s shadow she worried there was no one home.

“It is late, perhaps everyone is resting,” she reasoned, “But this belongs to the Venator Demonum Knights, there should at least be someone standing guard,”

A wide stone staircase led up to an elaborately carved wooden door depicting a Knight fighting with a powerful Daemon. The brass pommels of the clashing swords between that of the Knight and that of the Daemon were the doorknobs, though one of the doors appeared to have been forced open previously by an unknown party.

“What happened here?” she wondered.

Guarding the staircase up to the Sanctum doors were two sculptures depicting Daemons, one was marked ‘Truth’ and the other ‘Lies’. Truth took on the appearance of a ferocious wolf like beast with long fangs and sharp claws, hunched over and squatted. Lies took on a more angelic and beautiful appearance, standing proudly. Both stared out at the dark plains of Labrainn as stone sentinels to welcome Knights and to ward off malevolent forces.

Agatha felt a sense of unease, almost vertigo, as she ascended the stone steps.

She paused at the doors, upon closer inspection it appeared as though something had taken its claws to the woodwork. The fact that the marks were weather worn and appeared to be years old only gave her a brief sense of relief, for what followed quickly on its heels was a sense of dread.

“It must be abandoned, why else would the front door be in such disrepair?” she thought. Agatha had a mind to turn around and travel to the nearest town in the hopes that she might find a Venator Demonum chapel, or better yet the main headquarters.

The latter was several days away on foot – time she felt she did not have.

“I can’t commit to such a long trek without making sure that this place truly is abandoned,” she thought.

“We going in or what?” the Daemon asked suddenly, startling the young woman.

Agatha huffed quietly, ignoring the creature she negotiated her way through the gap between the doors stepping into the darkness.
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If you're interested in reading the full story, please follow the link bellow and purchase a copy for £2.11 as an ebook, or £8.50 as a paper copy, I would greatly appreciate your support;

(www.amazon.co.uk/Witches-Iron-… )

Description
Chapter 2 – The Wolves and the Crows

Somehow, catching the Daemon had rejuvenated Agatha, giving her some newfound strength to press on and reach her goal. Her grief was pushed firmly from her thoughts, she had no time to wallow when there were lives at stake. Agatha had failed once already and she as not about to do so again if she could help it.

Bottling the Daemon had reminded Agatha of her purpose in the land of Labrainn. Reminding her that more would suffer the same loss she had if she did not act.

The howling of wolves had ceased but Agatha would not feel safe until she had reached the Sanctum. The thought of a ravenous pack of wolves stalking her caused her to move as quickly as her tired body and the thick snow would allow. Every now and then she would stop briefly and consult her map before continuing at a quickened pace, glancing behind her every so often.

Agatha cleared the forest and stepped out into a field; in the distance she could see the dark outline of a building, silhouetted against the waxing moon. For a moment she felt the warm fluttering sensation of hope in her chest. She allowed herself a short respite to catch her breath before she made the last leg of her journey.

Another howl echoed in the darkness, it was much closer than the last, “I am not about to be eaten by a pack of wolves this close to the Sanctum,” Agatha muttered, and ran.

Not long after, the sound of feet thumping off of the ground grew louder and louder behind Agatha, accompanied by the sound of rapid breath and snarling as the pursuing wolves gained on her. Agatha changed course and ran for higher ground; a hill, atop which stood the ghostly remnants of a dead oak tree.

Two crows flew overhead and landed on the oak’s upper branches, looking down at Agatha with their beady black eyes when she reached its base.

One crow cocked its head and muttered to the other, “They run, but only to delay the inevitable, Baril,”

“Delaying the inevitable is all that man does Coran, always trying to influence the will of the gods,” replied the other.

The crow that perched on the upper branch, Coran, turned to Baril and kept one eye on the scene unfolding below, “We can watch the god’s choice from up here. Perhaps they are lenient today?”

Baril had preened his feathers before he answered, “Lenient on one is harsh on the other. When one survives, the other might starve,”

Agatha ignored the conversation above her and caught her breath; the wolves – eight of them in total – formed a half circle formation. As much as it had pained Agatha to stop and face them, she knew they would have outpaced her. Against a united pack, Agatha was less than optimistic, if she were to stand a chance she would have to divide them somehow. She placed her hand on the hilt of her broadsword as the wolves slinked slowly towards her.

“Watch now,” whispered Coran, “Either we will have meat soon or have to find worms later,”

Baril cawed excitedly, “Meat soon! Worms tomorrow!”

“I’m giving you fair warning, wolves of the forest, I am not worth the effort nor the lives you will lose if you come after me,” Agatha hissed, hoping she looked as threatening as she sounded.

The pack leader, the biggest of the black wolves and marked with a white streak that crossed over his left eye looked surprised, “I understood those sounds, how?”

Agatha’s hand gripped the handle of her sword, the wolves remained at a distance, snarling and growling in anticipation, but she knew they would not attack unless she ran or the Alpha gave the command. She willed herself to stand as still as possible, any sudden moves might provoke the wolves into attack.

“I’m not about to explain myself to you, Lupine,” Agatha sneered “If you understand me, then hear this – you and your pack can turn around and stalk some other prey”

The Alpha made a sound similar to guttural laughter crossed with a bark, one of the other wolves spoke “She makes fools of us, Gragol! Let us rip her apart!” she snarled, but Gragol ignored her.

“You think your sting is mightier than our claws? You are outnumbered,” stated Gragol, it was a fact that Agatha could not argue with. Never the less she was not about to show the wolves any hint of fear.

Agatha replied calmly, “I’m giving you a choice – leave or die. You’d best decide quickly,” she drew her sword and held it by her side “I’m in a hurry.”

The wolves looked to their leader expectantly, who looked taken aback at the manner in which he had been spoken to.

“So what if I chose to have my pack tear your screaming soul from your mortal coil?” growled Gragol, baring his teeth in an attempt to scare her.

“Then your clan will soon be missing eight members,” Agatha replied. Gragol snarled and barked – the wolves leapt at Agatha in synchrony.

In one fluid motion, Agatha sliced the ground in front of her with the broad sword and a wall of earth shot up from where she had cut. The attacking wolves yelped loudly as they struck the hardened earthen barrier.

Agatha sheathed her sword, pulled the Gunwand from its holster and swiftly swapped the bottle containing a cutting of Knotweed with a bottle containing sprigs of Lavender. The sound of loud growls rumbled as the wolves recovered and made their way around the wall.

As soon as each one appeared, Agatha shot them.

A moment was all it took for the shot’s effect to take hold – each wolf she struck was unconscious before they hit the ground. Asleep and quite unharmed, they would awaken in a few hours, at which point she would be long gone.

Agatha counted her shots as the wolves fell around her, “One, two, three…and four, five and six…” she swapped out the bottle with another filled with sprigs of Lavender. The Lavender inside the used bottle was burned to a crisp and smouldering.

One of the wolves is clawed its way over the wall in an attempt to surprise her; Agatha shot it in the nose and the wolf slumped over, precariously balancing on the top of the earth wall.

“Seven” she counted, casting an appraising look over the pack she added, “Where’s the alpha?” her eyes darted from the left side of the wall, then to the right and finally at the top.

The earth wall crumbled, as the enchanted sword’s effect only lasted for a short time. Gragol, the pack leader, stood behind it. He darted over the debris and lunged at her. Agatha quickly sidestepped out of his path, Gragol crashed into the tree and the two crows, Coran and Baril took flight from their perches.

Agatha shot the wolf in the shoulder, dodging his groggily swung retaliation with a backward step. The wolf’s eyes were half closed and his breathing was slow, a long string of saliva hung from his bottom lip as he staggered in her direction growling loudly.

“Stubborn beast, aren’t you?” Agatha muttered with a shake of her head and shot the wolf again. To her disbelief the wolf continued to march towards her, fighting the urge to sleep as the Lavender shot pulsed around his bloodstream.

Gragol slurred, “I’ll…Kill you. You wretched...”

Agatha stood aiming the Gunwand at the wolf deciding whether or not she need to use another shot before the wolf would collapse into a deep sleep like the rest of his pack.

Time was not on her side and so she fired another round.

“…Witch” Gragol murmured before crumpling in front of her.

“Actually, I’m not a Witch – I’m more…Oh, never mind, sleep well” said Agatha, replacing her Gunwand in its holster.

An unfamiliar voice sounded from close by, “Why didn’t you just kill them?”

Agatha frowned and looked around confused, searching for the source of the voice. She looked up at the crows, which had returned to their perch on the tree, and then she looked down to her satchel.

“Is it?” she opened the flap and pulled out the bottle to inspect it.

“What are you looking at?” the pair of red eyes asked impatiently.

Agatha looked unimpressed, “Oh, it is you, and here I was hoping I was finally hearing what the crows were saying,” she turned the bottle in her hands inspecting the base – examining it closely for cracks or deformations in the glass in case the vessel had sustained damage.

“Meaning?” the bottled Daemon sighed.

“I cast a Naturespeak enchantment on myself a few months back, thinking that it would be a useful talent to have. I can hear most animals, but for some reason crows,” she paused and looked up at perched crows again.

“Where!” Baril cawed.

“When!” Coran squawked.

“I only hear a single word from each,” she finished irritably, tilting the bottle back and forth as though mixing a tincture.

“Is it possible for a non-corporeal entity to feel motion sickness?” the bottled Daemon asked, the red eyes became a part of the swirling yellowish mixture that inhabited the bottle.

“Will you stop futzing around with my prison!?” the Daemon snapped, its eyes reformed and stared up at Agatha, “What are you doing anyway? Are you trying to see what I look like? Well tough! No one may look upon me while I’m in this pitiful state.”

Agatha tsked “As if. I’m checking your accommodation, making sure you don’t slither off anywhere.”

The bottled Daemon sounded irritated as it spoke, “I’ll have you know that Daemons don’t slither – we lurk, loom, creep, watch, stalk…and judge.”

Ignoring the Daemons imperious attitude, Agatha finished her inspection, satisfied that the bottle was still intact, “Last thing I need is this thing getting out and causing trouble.”

“Well, whatever you want to call it, you’re not going anywhere,” and that being said, she returned the bottle to its place within the satchel and closed the flap without another word.

“I thought you said this thing was indestructible?” the muffled voice asked suspiciously “You’re making me think otherwise – I’m going to start looking for weak points now!”

“From the inside, I said,” Agatha grunted “Outside is another story, not that it does you much good from in there,”

With a frown, Agatha suddenly wondered why she bothered conversing with the Daemon. Granted, this was the first Daemon that had ever spoken to her, there was no reason for her to converse with such a beastly thing. The thought seemed trivial in comparison to the task at hand, and so she dismissed it.

The bottled Daemon had fallen silent as she made her sprint towards the Sanctum, still a stark silhouette against the moon. It remained silent long enough for Agatha to think it would remain so for the remainder of her journey – then it spoke again.

“Just answer me this, are you one of those crazy Witches who uses Daemons like me in their soup dish, or are you going to exorcise me back to my realm?”

Agatha slowed her pace, panting and catching her breath “Not a Witch…Not crazy…” she placed her hand on her stomach “…But not that you mention it…I’m pretty hungry”

“I knew it” the Daemon groaned and then loudly exclaimed, “I knew it! What a rotten week this has turned out to be! Is this how my existence as a Daemonum Forte is to end? Passing through the filthy squishy innards of a low class life form before crawling back home as a Whisper, disgraced and humiliated. I’ll be a laughing stock…”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, I was kidding!” Agatha snapped impatiently, checking her surroundings and quickened her step once more. The Sanctum was such a short distance way, she could not risk the Daemons caterwauling attracting unwanted attention – much like the wolves she had left sleeping on the hill by the tree.

“The minute I arrive at the sanctum, I’ll pass you over to an exorcist and they’ll send you back to your world. Now shut up,” said Agatha in a harsh whisper.

“Oh,” came a soft reply, “I knew that, I did.”

Agatha rolled her eyes.

The moon had risen until it hung just above the rooftops of the sanctum casting a faint light that illuminated the structure. The snow that had fallen during her journey had formed a thick crust that covered the grounds and let out a muffled crunch under each step she took.

The Sanctum itself was a simple looking building, two stories tall and built from large pieces of carved stone held together with crumbling mortar. The roof was made from a thick layer of thatched reeds that had been slowly creeping off of the beams that supported them. There were thinly framed windows of warped glass that had been added as a means of allowing a few beams of sunlight to illuminate the inner chambers during the daytime; while the pale glow of candlelight would emanate from them during the cold dark winter nights.

Agatha looked dismayed; it had not escaped her notice when she first laid eyes upon the building from afar that there were no signs of candlelight, but she had hoped it was due to the distance. Now that she stood in the Sanctum’s shadow she worried there was no one home.

“It is late, perhaps everyone is resting,” she reasoned, “But this belongs to the Venator Demonum Knights, there should at least be someone standing guard,”

A wide stone staircase led up to an elaborately carved wooden door depicting a Knight fighting with a powerful Daemon. The brass pommels of the clashing swords between that of the Knight and that of the Daemon were the doorknobs, though one of the doors appeared to have been forced open previously by an unknown party.

“What happened here?” she wondered.

Guarding the staircase up to the Sanctum doors were two sculptures depicting Daemons, one was marked ‘Truth’ and the other ‘Lies’. Truth took on the appearance of a ferocious wolf like beast with long fangs and sharp claws, hunched over and squatted. Lies took on a more angelic and beautiful appearance, standing proudly. Both stared out at the dark plains of Labrainn as stone sentinels to welcome Knights and to ward off malevolent forces.

Agatha felt a sense of unease, almost vertigo, as she ascended the stone steps.

She paused at the doors, upon closer inspection it appeared as though something had taken its claws to the woodwork. The fact that the marks were weather worn and appeared to be years old only gave her a brief sense of relief, for what followed quickly on its heels was a sense of dread.

“It must be abandoned, why else would the front door be in such disrepair?” she thought. Agatha had a mind to turn around and travel to the nearest town in the hopes that she might find a Venator Demonum chapel, or better yet the main headquarters.

The latter was several days away on foot – time she felt she did not have.

“I can’t commit to such a long trek without making sure that this place truly is abandoned,” she thought.

“We going in or what?” the Daemon asked suddenly, startling the young woman.

Agatha huffed quietly, ignoring the creature she negotiated her way through the gap between the doors stepping into the darkness.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If you're interested in reading the full story, please follow the link bellow and purchase a copy for £2.11 as an ebook, or £8.50 as a paper copy, I would greatly appreciate your support;

(www.amazon.co.uk/Witches-Iron-… )