Spring 1846 – The Sky, Black With Wings, From Horizon to Horizon

The topknot of the tallest of the men barely came above my knee. They fanned out, forming a circle around me. Each man carried a stone tipped spear, the points of which were now pointed at me. 

I sighed. Then winced. I was far from healed. “Have you no manners?” I snapped.

The little man directly in front of me waved his spear point uncomfortably close to my eyes. “We are showing you the only kind of hospitality a witch deserves,” he hissed.