#bonewitchery

“No.” His head does not lift from the intricate knotwork of the necklace she’d only moments ago shoved back in his hands, glittering starry chips of jet and bone interspersed between the binding and protecting knots. “Hang it around the eaves, if you wish, or put it in a spell bag on your belt if you care not to look at it. It will work no matter where it is. But it cannot be undone, and I won’t take it back.” And you need it, he thinks, the words ready on his lips but for once he stays his tongue, does not let them fall carelessly. She does, in his estimation, need the protection talisman rather badly, but saying so will do no good to convince her. Months it’d taken him to gather the jet, nearly as long to weave the words and spells into the darkened silver of the necklace itself, and all along he’d known he risked her refusing it as too much. Should’ve just left the bloody thing under her pillow, he thinks, aggravated, for her to discover only after he’s left again, but no small amount of witchery can sometimes be found in the giving itself.

RUMORS COULD BE A BITCH. whispers of monstrous activity, strange magic, powerful energy. in theory it weaved a terrifying tale of something dark lurking within the bog. something horrifying and strange. and while wallace was no stranger, he refused to believe there was a problem until he saw it for himself. still, as he ventured further into the bog, he was armed with the one banishment spell he’d been able to learn, a few iron crossbow bolts, and some holy water. if there was anything malicious lurking in the swamp, he’d at least be prepared. though the more he explored, the more discouraged he became. the only thing out here were gnats and mosquitoes. “-----this place is awful!” the sentence ends with a sharp slap to his neck, killing whatever insect had tried to land there. “how can anyone live in a place like this?”

“I don’t like your woods,” she said, casting a sharp glance at the twisted tree limbs, dark and misty. They reminded her of reaching arms, and she was Rabbit clever enough to get out of their hold, that she knew, but they made her uneasy. 

“They’re not friendly,” not like her home with it’s tall straight trees, so many upright and helpful individuals; or even her second home with sprawling lazy oaks and deep rooted cypress. 

But, she was here all the same, she guessed -- she should make the most of it.

Making the most of it apparently involved her twiddling her thumbs while she sat, looking around for conversation starters. What a time for her tongue to fail her.

      He sits, quiet, for what feels like a long moment, as she attentively examines the palm of his hand. Aunt Patience would always fault him for putting faith in this utter nonsense, as she used to call it, rest her soul --- though she had completely missed the point. If he, what he could do, what he witnessed in his dreams, was real --- then why couldn’t this be? Why couldn’t anything and everything? He’s never given any insights too concrete, always as vague and unclear as his dreams, but... it’s better than not knowing anything at all, right? About his future? Fate, destiny --- whatever?

      “Sooo...” he offers after a while, laughing awkwardly - a quiet huffing sound released through his nose, lips pressed hard together - as he tries to find her gaze with his. “See anythin’ interesting there?”

The words are quiet but clear, spoken in a way only witches can, that simple kinship breeding familiarity even among strangers. Every witch is different, he’s found, but one thing binds them all together, whether they be in a coven or alone: magic.

“They call you the Bone Lady. Is this tied to divination or do you simply enjoy collecting such things?”