The Witch Awakens on Werewolf Night

The Tavern Witch

"Should I just cook and eat my own familiar?"

The Moon Goddess is often depicted as a beautiful huntress with a silver bow, also a guardian of forests and animals. Thus, she grants her followers the magic to form pacts with animals, allowing them to hunt the detestable werewolves and maintain the tranquility of the forests.

For the Moon Witches, a familiar is akin to the silver bow on the Moon Goddess's back. The venom of snakes can be used to concoct paralyzing potions for werewolves; rare white deer can purify werewolf curses; and the common wild cats among witches can sense the presence of magical beings.

As for a big white goose... Amber racked her brain and concluded it might buy its owner about five minutes, perhaps just enough time for an appetizer?

Since that day, Dill has garnered the village's sympathy, with various condolences piling up at her doorstep. Her peers, who usually enjoyed her company, visited, with some getting emotional to the point of tears, as if it was their last farewell to Dill or her last as a human.

"Perrin, what can I do to save this child?"

The red-haired witch, pulling a large cat out of an empty barrel and disdainfully tossing it back to its drunken mistress speaking to an empty oak barrel, was not pleased.

"You're asking a tavern owner. Her answer will always be the same."

As Amber's words fell, the oak mug in her hand once again overflowed with a rich, amber liquid, and the large cat in her lap took the opportunity to lick a few drops from the table.

Both the large and the small, with their drunken blue eyes, made Perrin reminisce about the lush green grapes of the Junic River, their plump bodies soaked in the green of spring and the light of summer, intoxicating just by sight.

Silver-haired Mida may be the village's most beautiful witch, but the magic of a witch lies in her eyes, and Amber possessed the most captivating pair Perrin had ever seen.

Just as she thought this, the "most powerful Witch" leaned forward and thumped her forehead hard on the wooden table, startling the large cat into jumping away.

Perrin, drinking from her wooden mug without a hint of blush from the alcohol, admired her own concoction. Even the most powerful witches couldn't resist falling for her "magic."

Setting down her empty cup, she looked at the now significantly plumper large cat and sighed, "In the blink of an eye, all the little frogs are about to turn sixteen, and my cellar will be half empty again."

Amber, rubbing her reddened forehead and reaching for the mug to drown her sorrows, was suddenly reminded of the matter at hand by Perrin's comment and shook her head to stay clear-headed.

She squinted at the witch before her, the owner of the best cellar in the village, warning herself not to get carried away and offend her.

The celebration of the gods always required the cheer of alcohol. Underneath the village lay cellars enough for a year's festivity, but it wasn't enough. Every young witch had her own barrel of fruit wine, brewed for sixteen years, imbued with powerful blessings and magic, waiting to be opened upon reaching adulthood.

At the age of sixteen, young witches would drink their birthday wine during the prayer ceremony, making a sacred vow to the Goddess, elevating from lowly god-servants to divine messengers, officially embarking on their journey to hunt werewolves.

To brew this special magical wine, the oldest great witch spared no effort to summon Witch Perrin from the distant Junic River. That place was a sacred land of the Nature Goddess, where witches who worshiped the Nature Goddess resided. Perrin, with her unique background, worshiped several goddesses, including the Moon Goddess and the three Nature Goddesses.

"Why do you dislike little Dill so much? Why not leave her to me? My goddesses are much gentler."

The Nature Goddess, overseeing harvest and pleasure, blessed Perrin with the ability to brew exceptional wines. She had taken a liking to Dill, who could turn "food into gold," and had been attempting to convert her for years, playing the role of a temptress.

Amber had warned her countless times; her highness was not as generous as the three goddesses. If in doubt, one could take a day trip to "the Goddess's Garden."

However, as Amber drowned her sorrows, she went along with the banter: "Fine, you can have her if you bring me a werewolf's head."

Without waiting for a response, she rummaged through her clothes and eventually pulled out a small piece of paper: "Before that, hand over my student's birthday gift."

She handed over an aged piece of parchment.

Perrin raised an eyebrow, taking the paper, and with a flick of her sleeve,Amber immediately caught a whiff of fragrance reminiscent of grape wine.

The beautiful red-haired witch often dyed her robes with ripe fruit, her attire now imbued with the lush vibrancy of summer fruit, her sleeves adorned with luscious grapes, and a fall-colored shawl draped over her shoulders.

Even Mida had to admit: the Nature Goddess endowed Perrin with a mature, intoxicating allure.

Perrin glanced at the note, sighed, and used it to brush her shawl. Suddenly, the sable fur sneezed, then slowly stretched out, revealing a small head with gold, brown, and black stripes—a highly rare golden musk cat.

With a flick of its pink tongue, a dainty bronze key landed in its master's open palm.

"Let's go get the wine."

Perrin rarely left the tavern, and Amber guessed she was probably up to her old tricks again. But if Dill was willing, Amber, as her irresponsible teacher, was ready to face the wrath of the Moon Goddess for her sake.

That was all she could do for her now.

When they emerged from the wine cellar, dawn was just breaking. The morning mist had not yet dispersed, weaving a thin veil of fog over the surrounding hills, creating a goddess's chamber under their gray skirts, nurturing the forests and wildlife within, which in turn sustained the witch's village, ultimately glorifying the Goddess.

Miler Valley, nestled in the damp lowlands where clouds converged, was lush and verdant year-round. Even if the fog lifted, one could only see the dark, dense ancient woods. And when the fog was thick, it became an isolated island amidst a sea of mist.

The large cat playfully stretched its tongue, as if tasting the salty air from over the mountains; its empathetic master couldn't help but look into the distance, her unformed thoughts gathering and dissipating like clouds.

"Living here for a lifetime wouldn't be so bad."

Perrin's sudden insight was left without a response from Amber, who continued on her own:

"The outside world is too frightening."

Following her gaze, they saw quaint cottages adorned with red camellias and purple morning glories, the flowers cascading down the eaves in a colorful waterfall. Suddenly, a window opened, and a young witch greeted them with a smile from behind the floral curtains.

"How could it compare to a land blessed by the Goddess?" Perrin murmured in praise.

The valley's damp air, the thatched roofs woven with straw and clay to fortify their structure, occasionally nourished by rain and sun, and brushed by sea breezes, appeared like towering, dense floral trees at first glance. Friendly deer and rabbits peeked through windows seeking food, making everything seem as divinely crafted and mythical as the abodes of fairies, untainted by worldly dust.

Passing through floral cottages as if navigating a goddess's labyrinth, they could easily bump into solid green walls if not careful, but finding Dill's house was no challenge.

Like identifying a pot of rejuvenating potion among black iron cauldrons, the exotic, dark-haired girl always found a way to stand out.

A beast's head with a lion's mane and a kirin's neck burst through the camellia bushes, its ferocious pose as if it were still cutting through the waves at the ship's bow, but the paint on its feathered scales was now mottled and peeling. Morning glory vines climbed up the turquoise fish-tail flag, curling into a tender green arc against the blue sky.

The crowded roof left no room for any bird to rest, except for a bare branch that Dill had put to good use, hanging several wooden masks on it. The moss-covered faces still vaguely showed slender eyebrows and long eyes, painted pupils, and ink-dyed hair reflecting Dill's image and the visage of an Easterner.

"How many times have I told you to clear away the junk? You must have sneaked down to the riverbank to haul this back!"

Amber grumbled as she stepped over a cracked blue-and-white porcelain basin filled with murky water and a few yellowing leaves. Perrin, on the other hand, marveled at the sight of what others called a junk house.

The pair stopped in front of the cluttered cottage.

Wind-borne fluff danced around, and the array of bizarrely shaped glass trinkets along the eaves whispered and clinked, making a noisy racket amidst the serene row of flower houses.

From a distance, Dill's cottage resembled an exotic merchant ship stranded in a sea of floral waves.

Amber and Perrin carefully navigated around sharp debris to find the entrance, which was supposed to be a window but was instead cluttered with rusty metal plates bearing indecipherable foreign script. Perrin squinted, glimpsing strange foreign letters enclosed within a square frame, yet the intricate paths inside seemed like a maze, dizzying at a glance.

Ever since Dill learned of her origins from Amber, she became like a magpie, seizing any "Eastern" relic she could find, no matter how tattered. Over time, these items spilled from inside her house to create a veritable mountain outside.

Collecting fragments of her heritage, the girl with dark hair and eyes tried piecing together an image of the "East," seeking to capture a semblance of the distant "homeland" she imagined.

"Where's the goose?" Compared to the neighboring homes, where deer and rabbits played freely, Dill's quiet abode was eerily silent.

Perrin suddenly pointed to the rooftop, noticing smoke rising: "Is she cooking something?"

Frowning, she added, "What child cooks without opening a window, acting all secretive?"

Through the slim window c***k, the tavern keeper's keen nose couldn't resist sniffing: "Smells good... is she making meat stew?"

The atmosphere tensed as the two exchanged knowing looks, each seeing ominous forebodings in the other's eyes. They turned their gaze toward the tightly shut doors and windows...

The cottage door was blown open with a bang.

A sweet, enveloping aroma flooded the room as the black-haired girl stood in front of a cauldron, wielding a large spoon like a weapon. She stared, dumbfounded, at the intruders.

Before Perrin could inspect the contents of the pot, she received a smack straight to the nose from a red webbed foot.

Amber watched as a big white goose flapped and pecked furiously at Perrin's face, showing the fierce determination of making a nest out of her head.

"No, Turnip."

At the sound of her spoon clanging against the cauldron's edge, the goose retracted its wings and waddled back to its owner, leaving the disheveled witch to flee out the door.

Turnip?

The recent scare sobered Amber considerably. She patted her chest to calm her nerves.

Seeing the witch's face turn from red to pale, Dill, precociously sharp, narrowed her eyes.

"You didn't think I was cooking my own familiar, did you?"

Silence fell.