Copyright September 2012, Sofia Bane
“You’re going to visit the witch?” my mother frowned at me. “Why?”
“Because nobody else does,” I answered as I continued to fill my wicker basket. Under the fruit and muffins, I had hidden a spellbook. I had much I wanted to learn.
My mother seemed resigned to the flighty peculiarity of her only daughter. “Scarlet,” she sighed. “Be safe, be well. And be back before sundown.” She gave me a significant look.
“Yes, Mum.” I threw on my cloak, clasping it at my throat, and took my basket with me as I left.
But the woods were perplexing, probably filled with old magic, and seemed to twist in on themselves. Even my compass had been thrown off by the residual magic, spinning uselessly. Soon I found myself very, very lost.