"Something isn't right."
Royle muttered a curse as he stumbled through the brush, unable to use his arms for balance because they were tied behind his back. Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to agree to accompany the witches back to the shack bound and restrained, but they had refused to come otherwise.
Sha'ka paused, observing her pebble closely. Ferma, a short round witch, huffed and pulled at her skirt. Royle gritted his teeth. Though he couldn't blame her for having trouble—her slightly heavyset size had slowed their journey through the woods—his patience was running thin. Every second the woman wasted trying to catch her breath by halting the group was another second lost.
"What isn't right?" Ferma asked, scratching at her sweaty scalp.
Sha'ka shook her head. "Brin is moving. We mus
