Curled up in the barrel, Dill did not dare to move, and her ears vaguely heard the croaking goose.
In her mind, Turnip was turning into a cherub and spreading her white wings to greet herself.
A trace of coolness drilled into her nose. Dill reached out to feel and touch the hole for breathing. She inclined her head and leaned over. The moist scent of grass and leaves instantly stuffed her nostrils, and a handful of soothing coldness splashed on her face.
She was alive!
The celebration of her survival delivered a blow to the head, and Dill didn't return to her senses for a long time until the turnip snapped its wings and pecked at the hole at the same time, and she realized she had escaped from danger.
"Wow, Turnip. I'm proud of you."
Dill savored the joy of the aftermath and lightly kissed the small red beak that had gotten stuck in the hole while Turnip was still trying to free her little witch from the wooden cage. Even though its toothed beak and large, magnificent wings were unable to cause any effect, Dill knew that the much-disliked great white goose had always been a hundred times braver than its witch.
"Turnip, that's enough." Dill couldn't afford to have her great white goose hurt again.
She stepped on the bottom of the bucket with both feet, pressed her head against the lid, and began to apply force.
At first, she didn't dare to exert too much force, deeply afraid that if she wasn't careful, she would fall into several pieces with the bucket; besides, with her luck, even if there was water underneath, a man-eating crocodile would still be living there.
Dill's head is straight with sweat; on the one hand, she is afraid; on the other hand, the top cover is firmly nailed; the barrel quality is too hard, and she is afraid not to fall to death; she will first starve to death on the inside.
Sweat mixed with dirt smothered in the small impermeable space, emitting an unpleasant odor, Dill knew she must be a mess now, in the morning Mida had dressed up like a fairy; now she must look like a fugitive, stowaway -
The wilted lily fell noiselessly to the floor, and Dill curled up in the barrel in agony.
Ah, yes, a stowaway, a runaway traitor, taking the liberty of leaving the ceremony without saying goodbye, disappearing without a trace along with one of Juniper's valued guests. She was well aware that she was an ex-convict, a disturbing factor in the eyes of some of the Grand Witches, and Veranica's unfriendly attitude was a reflection of her own lady's heart.
Even if she escaped from the barrel, how would she go back to face a host of witches? What would Amber think? She couldn't stand in her way forever.
Oya was right; she was damned safe in there, herself.
This barrel that had held her captive had turned out to be her only place of safety.
I let out a long sigh.
No wonder Perun sent Oya here. Perun refused to betray Amber before she left, and this wily witch used only a small rub of magic potion, and then she had herself counted to death, which became her meal.
Well now, the girl who wears a witch's robe is wandering outside and may be caught by humans at any time and burned at the stake. She could also choose to go back and be tied into a sack and thrown to the bottom of the river by the ruthless witch.
Even if by some chance she survives her wanderings, when the time comes, the angry goddess will turn the traitor into a delicious white goose, and then she will die not at the hands of knights and witches but on the plates of hungry travelers.
Roasted dill, dill soup—all sorts of wonderful ways to die took turns in the maiden's rich imagination. She had obviously fled from Oya, but she could still hear the other party using that gentle mocking tone, casting a curse on herself: Right, ah, leave the barrel, ah, you stupid girl, I said only Junli River is your home.