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words as necessary.
Asterin answered for the coven. “No. Not
one of us, though I spent some time in a forest
on the other side of the mountains. But never
that far.” Sorrow flickered in the witch’s gold-
flecked black eyes, as if there was more to the
tale than that. Indeed, Sorrel and Vesta, even
Manon, looked with a bit of that sorrow at the
witch.
Manon asked Glennis, the sole Crochan at
this fire under the canopy, “Why do you ask?”
“Curiosity,” the crone said. “None of us
have been, either. We do not dare.”
“For fear of us?” Asterin’s golden hair
shifted as she leaned closer to the fire. She’d
found a strip of leather in the camp to tie
across her brow—not the black she’d worn for
the past century, but a familiar sight, at least.
One thing, it seemed, had not entirely altered.
“For fear of what it will do to us, to see