Watch that man rattle his bones

Astrid stared right before her. One Wight was especially close - that probably was the one following the camelid - but her own burdens weren't that far either. As he seemed to make up his mind, she chopped another branch before it caught her horn.

"Thank you, but follow quickly ! Safety is also for you."

The right corner of her mouth stretched upwards in an almost imperceptible smirk. That, she thought, did not sound like a witchfinder at all. Good. Maybe they would be able to work together then.

As soon as she felt his presence draw away, she called back her sword stuck in what could have been a wood heart and made her escape towards the small shack. She slammed the door behind her at a Wight's roots and, resting her head against it for a few seconds, she let out a sigh of relief. What a hell of a ride. 

Astrid surveyed the room ; the camelid stood somewhere on the right near ancient bookshelves full of dusty, large books. Withered herbs hung here and there on the apparent beams or surrounding windows ; lavander, sage or wheat if she got it right, which reminded her of her own past home back in Erast, when her mother would cover the kitchen in herbs and flowers. But that was not the time for that.

She wanted to ask for the camelid's name, but an eerie silence drowned the room and Astrid felt like she shouldn't break it - that and she didn't want to risk scaring him with a sudden move or noise. She had to admit it, she did look like the offensive type after all, and an advertent eye may even catch the first signs of corruption on her face. She better not try her luck.

Instead, she went for a small shelf on the left that caught her attention. A small, vintage sickle laid bare in a bouquet of wheat on a handmade and rather elaborate shrine. That clearly hadn't been used for centuries, yet one could feel the amount of love and care put into that craft. Astrid wondered if that was originally meant for Grace, as villagers used to for Wheat Day in her childhood hometown. A small book seemed to confirm it - half hidden behind the wheat, Astrid could read Green Magicks for the Agricultural Mage on its green, leathered cover. That hit way too close to home, quite literally ; Astrid didn't resist the urge and reached for it.

On the inside cover stood Property of Morgause Irving. A cursive, hasty writing expelled rituals and spells to grow and care for seedling page after page. It was so familiar she could almost hear the well-known farmer accent and expressions that warmed her young days. That clearly was a homemade book, not an Order one, and that made all its charm. Astrid went for a dog-eared page with a tender gaze, only to discover a spell named Helping Hands. It was meant to help people working fields by creating magical pumpkin-headed assistants made of sticks. Of course, Astrid realized. That's why I couldn't feel their blood, there's none. Maybe using the spell would break the curse ?

She read the spell aloud to taste its words and was about to share her discovery with her ally when a deep voice cut her short.

"Do you know where you are ?"

Astrid's attention snapped back to the room. A taller, older deer loomed over the camelid. With her long worn hantlers and brown cloak, she had a powerful yet mysterious aura, making it impossible to figure out if she would be of help or a threat. One thing was sure, though : she belonged there like a fish in water, and they were two intruders.

"I.... I do not know. I would assume... this must be your home? I'm sorry for barging in without your permission."  He did his best to show he wasn't a threat, Astrid could tell, and he flicked a glance towards her. The book still in hand, Astrid let her sword rest against the small shrine, careful not to make any sudden move. Then she joined her ally at his side in silent support. Up close, she could catch the familiar smell of burning wood and the ghost of thorns between the creases of the witch's face. Corruption, as clear as Astrid's own crystals. Her mood dropped a bit at that - no one deserved the pain those thorns may inflict.

"My apologies, we were looking for shelter from the Blight Wights. I am Astrid." She sent a sympathetic smile the camelid's way in lieu of greetings before she looked back and held the book to the deer. "And I assume you are the writer, Morgause Irving ?"