“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 it had been the quickest way to get them to follow him.
Sha’ka paused, observing her pebble closely. A witch, a head shorter than Sha’ka, huffed and pulled at her skirt. Royle grit 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?” The rounded witch asked, scratching at her sweaty
