#pertolero

"Really, Bri?" Tiffany’s face was pale, except for the fever-spots of exertion on her cheeks. Her voice was a little pleading, a little resigned, and very, very tired. "I don’t want to spend the night here. On the ground, in the dirt…" She shuddered. "And I’m all for nature, but when I’m asleep? Darling, must we?"

"Oh, Tiff." Bridget looked every bit as miserable as her friend, all the more so because she knew how Tiffany hated to get dirty. But she had blisters, and she was stiff with sweat, and since she flat-out refused to take her heels off even in these dire straits, her entire body was stiff and aching from the walk. “We’ll get out of here in the morning. I promise. We’re witches, after all, and good ones at that. But I don’t see what else we can do. We can’t keep walking forever.” Taking Tiffany’s arm with a little squeeze, she forced a smile. “Come on. We’ll set something up in the trees, away from the mud. Hammocks. It’s hardly ideal, but we’ll endure.”

Tiffany sniffed, pulling out a handkerchief and dabbing delicately at her eyes. “How can you be so calm at a time like this?”

When she embraced her friend, Bridget was careful not to hold too tight - the heat and humidity were punishing enough already, without getting too close - but she squeezed Tiffany’s shoulder lightly, reassuringly. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” she said, but some of her customary certainty was gone. “Why panic? We’re two competent young ladies, and by tomorrow evening this whole ghastly affair will be in the past. We’ll look back on it and laugh, and just imagine how impressed your suitors will be when you get back.” Pulling away, she touched her hair self-consciously - the humidity and heat were damaging the effect of her relaxing potion, and the tight frizz of her black curls was coming back. “In twenty-four hours, darling, the only thing we’ll have to worry about is whether anyone photographs us before I’ve had a chance to fix my hair.”