A cry of fiery outrage and suspicion burst from the rabble. There is was a snap of the wood from the man with the grim look as broke the wand over his knee like a naughty child had stolen a loaf of bread.
In the blink of an eye an explosion of purple light from the chair pushed the townsfolk down onto their backs. Then ball of light shimmered away into the dark of the night
Shouts of accusations came from other shady members of the crowd in beer tainted and pointed crooked dirt encrusted fingers. The grim faced man shooed away their baseless fears for he had his God at his side and the filthy witch’s wand and grimoire. At least he thought. He searched the ground quickly scanning the dock and got down on his hands and knees and peered through the gaps of the pier. The dark water sloshed in the darkness.
It was gone the wand and the spell book he padded his coat pocket. An amulet of protection around his neck wasn't he enough to stop the witch. His blood boiled in righteous fury at the sound of fading running steps. Pushing through the dispersing crowd. He couldn't wiggle easily through as the thief. One of the drunk accusers poked him the ribs and without a thought he turned and threw a punch. The accuser retaliated and hit back. A fight began to emerge spitting out like sparks from a crackling fire.
Far above the witch floated in a breeze of velvet smoothness. Her eyes now purple saw another layer of the town. A thick oily clung to the building and seemed to soak the streets themselves. The townsfolks themselves cloaked in it like heavy leather coats, shirts, dresses and hats with dazzling masks of red sparkles covering their faces and hearts. Yet in a wind felt not in their world blew her away. She saw glimpses of pale hopeful blue among a few people. Looking down as the crow flies she was pushed over her the grand courtyard. Her scared tree was pouring out pale blue bubbles of energy protecting it and her from the dark cloud that was enveloping the town. She reached out to grab branch but her hand phased through it. The other worldly breeze picked her up and blew her harder away from the town towards the coast. In the far distance with the fading light of the moo she saw the black goo oozing from a gash in the heart of their fields of grain, fruit and vegetables. Blackened and dying with painful sorrow.
Then as sudden as her dunk into the water she was pulled down and fast. Her long purple ghost astral hair whipped around her. With each fee she descend the weight grew in her chest and head it was spreading. She awoke in a grasp of breath and rose in a bed of hay on the back of a wagon. Naked barring a soft blanket clutching in her hand was her grimoire. Looking up at her with a man's face filled with hope and surprise in his dark brown eyes. His hands clasped together in the fashion of the old religion. Sheepishly he scuffled his short black hair and handed back her wand. The witch kissed his cheek and her eyes caught a fading look at the town's plague. Her heart burned with a promise she clenched her fist and her wand fused back together. With a snap of the reins the wagon was on the move.