#dreaming

The cats of the Witch haven prowl about. They feed well even when it seems no witch is here to feed them. Mostly on song birds that choose tunes that are TOO perky.

That canary doing 'the wheels on the bus' tune died fast

And, should a certain young lady be on the trods at the right time...

well, they might find ann odd silver vine guiding them that was never there before

She gazes at the vine, curious... and a little suspicious. Silver is the color of the trodway and denotes safety, but she's never seen a vine like this, certainly not along this known pathway.

Indeed, yet she is skilled at arts of deception herself. This feels.. real

Reaching out, she delicately touches the vine with a manicured fingertip, kenning it.

It seems to have all the properties OF a trod.

Now this bears further investigation. Does the vine look like something to be climbed? Or simply followed?

Climbedupon, it's wide enough to ride a chariot over.. and even enough a that

And so climb she does, and follow.

The path seems clean and smooth. thee is a newness to this trod.

Not normally one to be incautious, but the promise of something new, something intriguing, something magical, or powerful... one step after the other, along the silver vine.

And then... the great roaring part of the river, dark but as dark annd dangerous as any white water. The Ivy bridge for the first time, arcs. Over the river she goes, and innto the mist

The mist wraps about her...and her voile has shifted

That gives her pause for a moment, as she looks over herself... and touches her head, where a hat now sits. But it does not displease her... somehow, the silver and black gown, with draping arms and flowing waves, makes her feel sorcerous and powerful. The lace that drips off her hat to obscure her face just a touch is delicately wrought with flowers... foxglove nd larkspur, oleander and aconite - all lovely, all deadly.

"My. Now this is something." She looks around her, and asks - seeing no one there, so she asks it of the mist, and the air, and the sky itself. "The dreaming seldom gives gifts without asking in return."

And she sees a cat. Chimerical, of course, silver and black in hues, the fur just that, fur, but there is thing feathered about it in parts. It looks up at her, as if trying to decide what to make of her, before it starts to walk, as if leading, deeper into the haven.

"Hm." It's not that she dislikes cats, mind you, but with her birds, it never seemed practical. In fact, their self sufficient nature appealed to her, unlike the fawning obedience of hounds - they have that in common with her raptors. Feathers? Interesting indeed, and she steps after the cat.

And so it leads her along... and the sorceress sees signs .. circles in the soil, spiral patterns amid the trees. There is a sense of.. not just security here, but pride and curiosity too. this is place where the occult, witchraft is studied! She is sure of it. Mind you, not in a definite way.. there hints of a multitude of traditions as dreamed of.

Mostly, the area is woods, great huge trees like a cathedrel... smaller (But still taller than people) trees... but thee on that side, a marsh of sorts.. over there, a higher dryer hill area

and yes, she sees Cabins.

Each in their own spot. Large for Cabins, but small for manors

Those patterns are not unlike leylines... this swirl in the earth, that whorl in the mist. For a moment her chin trembles. Remembering a time when magic was fresh and new, and she sought, strove, and had all the pages empty before her, begging to be filled with fresh new knowledge. And so the cabin she turns to is not the most luxurious, but nor is it the one with the cobwebs and mysterious shadows, but one in-between... a pleasant looking, lofted affair with large windows, that seems it would be at home alone on a high cliff, with winds blowing in off the mountain, and even wildflowers - scrappy, tenacious things- blooming along the path.

Indeed, as she clambers in, she finds a note at the door

“The witch of the field.” She muses. While she has certainly been called a witch before, though seldom dared to her face, it was not in such a context. Has she really thought of herself as a witch? Perhaps not in such a word. Cauldrons and cackling are not her style, and a broomstick seems like it might be undignified (though, to fly?). Then again, the White Witch of Narnia DID always feel like deeply sympathetic character to her. “If this place would name me a witch, so be it.”

And there is a cauldron in here. it feels a bit like a huntinng lodge, one for a huntress.. but this is a place for a predator of sorts. Interesting, a tea set is here too. That seems a bit different from the theme, but there's a courtesy involved.

The note has led her justly so far, so she tries out the other guidance, calling out for the book. "Book, tell me more of this place."

At first, there is no response. .She checks the note again.. oh dear, the extra Ooos were deliberate weren't they?

A finger taps at the note, and she shakes her head a bit. She should KNOW to read the spell precisely... and she calls, ahem. "Boooook!"

And a book appears , appropriately, on a shelf, a grimoire of some sort, and it speaks in a voice that is honey to the ears I exist to serve. Welcome, Witch. My you are no novice

She passes over and examines the book. "Are you a spellbook, or a bespelled book, or a witch bespelled into a book, perhaps?

I am created to serve and teach, flip through my pages and see for yourself, though you're advanced beyond the primer for novice witches I lean towards , you may still find much of use yes, a very alluring voice of the masculine variety. More important are the contents. Yes, she's easily surpassed much of this, but there are starts to some arts here she has not yet mastered. Further, the realms! Now there is an area any one could stand to advance in. How to affect beasts, how to spread the area of influence, how to delay a spell, how to even affect mortal machinery.

"Who created you?" She asks, though she is already carefully paging through the book, a touch covetously, a touch hungrily. Oh yes, this is delightful.

THAT makes her eyes widen. One that even a proud noble must respect. She carefully pages through the book, seeking. "Do you have guides on how to unweave spells have been created?"