and
center.
The snowflakes hit the burning forest
ground, the flames sizzling under the onslaught, but unfortunately
the wind also fanned them outwards, pushing them further into the
forest.
Oh no, bad move.
Yes, the blizzard was cold and the snow was
thick, but wind and fire don’t mix!
It also made visibility low. The snow was
that blanketing that it was hard to see beyond a meter or two.
Stop blizzard.
The second she finished, the blizzard
abated, errant snowflakes drifting around her until they settled on
the ground by her feet.
Way to go, Witch Hunter. She'd made things
much worse with her carelessly chosen spell.
She bit her lip hard and took a shifting
breath.
“Don't stop, Witch Hunter; get the witch
before she can set the whole place alight.”
Henrietta let his words catapult her
forward.
She had no clue what she was meant to write,
and as Brick had given her little guidance, her only option was to
learn by trying.
How about help me? It was worth a try.
As she dashed through the trees, her heels
clicking along the rock-laden ground, she tugged her wand up.
Just in time, she stopped herself. It seemed
like a very open spell. It felt like an invitation to anyone and
anything. She shivered as she realized the witch could take it as
an invitation to help itself to Henrietta, or something equally as
horrible.
But Henrietta had to do something, so she
snapped up her wand again and wrote water. Once again a tidal wave
rushed out, but it didn't rush far enough to extinguish every spot
fire.
Plus, as the witch darted through the trees,
wherever the creature ran, she set the place alight, her flaming
body licking against the dry leaves and twigs. The witch kept
shooting off fireballs, too, most of them zipping off course and
traveling deep into the forest.
Brick was right, she had to end this. She
had to stop the witch before she could hurt anyone.
So Henrietta wrote the next word she could
think of.
Frost.
It was an odd spell to pin her hopes on, and
as she finished writing it, she began to regret it. She didn't have
the time to waste on useless spells.
As frost shot out from a symbol at her feet
and covered the forest, she noticed something. Not only did it damp
down the fire – it protected the forest from any more sparks.
The frost she’d conjured wasn’t ordinary. It
wasn’t a light smattering of frozen water droplets over leaves and
bark; it was deep and thick. It covered the ground, trees,
branches, and foliage in a casing of frozen water. It was like an
armor against the fire. As the sparks floated through the forest,
and fireballs kept cracking her way, they no longer ate into the
dry wood, but glanced off the ground, coming to rest and sizzling
and steaming like a match thrown on the snow.
The witch shrieked.
Henrietta could hear it closer now; the
keening cry couldn’t be more than several meters to her left.
She changed direction, her jacket flattening
over her legs but never tripping her up.
Frost ball.
A whirl of frost crystals erupted around
her, twisting until they balled together and shot forward.
If frost had worked so well to contain the
fire, then perhaps it would work on the witch too.
Henrietta could now see the creature rushing
through the forest. Like the one from last night, she had the
appearance of a thin and glum young woman. She had sallow, large,
round eyes. She was wearing the remnants of a summer dress, but it
was just so many rags against her pale skin. She had long unkempt
hair, and she wore no shoes.
As Henrietta sprung towards it, she
struggled to latch hold of a plan. She couldn’t write hole again
and have a void form in the forest floor. It would leave a massive
section of barren land devoid of trees and life.
But how else could she get rid of that
witch?
Henrietta darted to the side and wrote wall,
that familiar magical wall forming in front of her just as a
fireball slammed her way.
She twisted and wrote frost, a thick blanket
of frost covering
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley