The night was dark and completely devoid of light on the night of the new moon that fell on All Hallows Eve. The once-booming carnival was all neatly packed up and would be heading to warmer climates on the morrow across the English Channel. They'd stay overseas until Spring, before making their way back across the channel and returning to their homeland again. They were called Snowbirds by those overseas as they came from the north and returned every year like migrating birds.
At the edge of the carnival is a small, old tent that will magically pack itself before departure into the old rickety wagon that is half-hidden behind the tent. A sturdy large bay horse snorts and blows his hair out of its eyes as it alertly raises its head and peers into the darkness letting out an unease whicker. The bay's companion a painted-colored mare raises her head from chewing grass and intently raises her ears, before uneasily pawing at the ground with her hoof.
Inside the old, tattered tent a wild-haired elderly Gypsy smokes tobacco from her pipe as she packs the last of her things into their boxes. A loud cracking sound causes her to whirl around causing the beads on her shawl to mystically ring out. "Confound it," she rasped with irk as her yellow-tinted eyes aged from vice narrowed further. With a loud grunt, she bends down and picks up a fallen teacup from the ground from where it had slipped off its perch.
Madam O'Germanova gnarled, spotted hands curl around the cup before she halts stiffly as she sees the tea leaves sitting at the bottom of her cup in the form of a blade. "Bad luck," she spat as she hastily removed her smoking pipe from her mouth and set it onto the nearest table.
Madam O'Germanova uncovers the birdcage as a low throbbing cry is heard from the Augurey named Polly. The thin, mournfully looking greenish-black bird lets out another shriek and impatiently snaps its beak at the old fortuneteller.
"Smell," Madam O'Germanova barked as she shoved the broken teacup in front of Polly's beak. The Augurey lets out a rattling shriek and darts back in a corner of its cage hissing warily. Its wings were drawn out in protection as it violently hissed at the teacup.
"I thought as much," Madam O'Germanova hurriedly said as she reached into a semi-open drawer next to the cage and removed a piece of semi-rotting meat. Tossing the meat to Polly, she covers the cage up and tosses the teacup into a nearby drawer.
Wrapping her shawl firmly around herself, Madam O'Germanova grabs her cloak from a hook and removes an enchanted key-like artifact from her cloak. Stepping out from her tent, she says, "Close," and turns the key as if locking a front door. The tent whirls as it packs itself up, into a box, and lands onto the prepared wagon.
Madam O'Germanova clicks her tongue at her two steeds, who whine and neigh at her in unease. "Shh, we're going now, my dears," she rasped as she untied them from their loose post and led them to the old wagon carriage. The two horses nervously stop their feet as they peer into the darkness. Sitting them in place, she turns the magical key-like artifact as reigns and harnesses magically fly out from the wagon and whirl about the two horses.
Ready for departure, Madam O'Germanova climbs onto the wagon driving seat and puts her feet up. Pocketing the key, she lets out a puff from her tobacco pipe clenched between her lips. "Shh, we're going, my turtling pair of doves," she grumbled soothing the horses as she flicked the reigns at them to start.
The pair of horses eagerly crane forward and with a loud rattle the old, rickety wagon begins to move forward with great speed despite its age. The old wagon of Madam O'Germanova though ancient had plenty of charms and runes inscribed upon it. Old, yes, but very well protected it, that old wagon had safely seen her through every conceivable danger that had come her way. She'd outrun many magical beasts and dangers including those from wizard and man alike.
The packed carnival was easily left in the distance as Madam O'Germanova straightforwardly navigated the dark roads despite the lack of moonlight. She had powerful runes crafted into the wagon itself by an old African shaman made from the hunters of the Tebo, (an ash-colored magical warthog that can turn itself invisible), who used its strong hide for protective shields and clothing. She'd paid an outrageous price for the rune, but it had been well worth the price. That crafty, old shaman knew his craft and had even extended the power of the rune to the creatures that pulled her wagon. Her horses were always surefooted even at night as a result and could clearly see the road before them despite the lack of moonlight.
Feeling some of the unease leave her old bones, Madam O'Germanova slowed down the pace of the pulling pair, and eased them down to a trot, before a firm walk. Unable to tell the time without the moonlight, she glances up at the starry sky where even the stars seem dim that night. Midnight was not a long way off, but if she got past that hour, she would be safe, her intuition told her so.
Flicking the reins again, Madam O'Germanova sent the wagon horses to a brisk trot again. She'd slow down the pace if the terrain got rough, but for the time being, she wanted to put some distance between the carnival and her.
Letting out another puff of smoke, Madam O'Germanova tucks the shawl around her body to keep warm. She was getting much to old be traveling on a rickety wagon, her bones weren't what they used to be. Her children had been asking her for years to settle down and come stay with them, but she had wanderlust and yearned to see the world. And she had, oh what marvelous sights, she had beheld with her eyes.
The sheltered wizards and witches of the world did not know of the incredible marvels this world held. Oh, what adventures, she had, had. Yes, even terrible dangers survived, but what is life without both good and bad? What a dull life that would be. For she had no regrets nor qualms having chosen her path long ago. She considered herself fortunate to have been able to do so for so long and for so many years.
Madam O'Germanova pensively lets out another cloud of smoke with a sheen of mist in her eyes. Still, she was old, and perhaps it was time to at least retire to the hearth. So be it, this would be her final voyage and upon her return to the village, she'd pass her wagon onto her great-granddaughter, who had inherited her wanderlust. And finally, she'd settle down and rest by the hearth tended to by all of her children and grandchildren. It was a good ending for one such as her for not all adventures retire and much less live to such a ripe old age.