Like every mom's bedtime story, if the little witch doesn't sleep well, then she waits to be caught and judged by the church. Amber's favorite part of the story was always to call Miss Bobbie along for a live rendition.
The helmet was snapped open, and at the same time, it startled Dill out of her memories.
Short curly blonde hair to suit the white skin, the teenager's eyes are clear olive green, against the bright summer light through a touch of ripe gold and silver-white cold armor, but like from the winter melting snow casting, in the sunlight refracted all the people's cold, but also illuminated that the glowing declining beauty, look at the young girl's eyes ache immensely.
The blonde, blue-eyed, handsome, and courteous young knight was like every young girl's dream man and like Dill's nightmare that had come true not long ago.
Thud, thud, thud—it wasn't a shy fawn tossing under her chest, but a mourning death knell.
"It's sweltering like a furnace in here in the middle of the day."
The teenage knight lustfully waved his sweaty blonde hair, but a broad smile quickly stopped on his lips as the sound of the empty wind taunted his ears, and the pretty lass clutched the great white goose out of sight, slinking away faster than a fawn without a word.
Splash, a splash, exploded at her feet, and Dill ran wildly without looking back, holding Turnip in her arms. Only her limp feet were not quite up to the task, and she was soon panting, touching the trunk of a sturdy tree, and trying to calm the heartbreaking gasps that went out of her.
The sound of knights calling and armor clanking drew closer and closer, and Dill's legs hardened as if they were rooted under the ground.
Get up; she couldn't move half an inch with all her cursing and effort, her brain and limbs quarreling, her body exhausted from the day's toil, sending Dill the most helpless of protests.
In desperation, she put down Turnip. The great white goose could not fly, but at least it could float a long way with its wings spread.
"Go find a creek; live well." Dill sadly said goodbye to Turnip, who would have thought that the touching reunion parted so quickly that she was about to snatch in front of the big white goose to become a roasted dill.
The white goose did not seem to hear, wagging its beautiful buttocks and continuing to follow the little master. That pair of round little bean eyes must also have some kind of magic, and the naive and silly look made the girl feel even more reluctant to let go of her. How could she leave it behind?
Dill picked up her soft, puffy pet as if she were burying it in a cloud. Even the most damaged soul was filled with warm cotton wool, and her heart felt as if it had been saved. Dill, be brave, not only for yourself but also for Turnip and Amber.
The old wound on her arm was still hot, a silent reminder to Dill.
Yes, yes, there must be a way. Calm down, Dill, think carefully; the other party does not look hostile; anyone would be surprised at the sudden fall of a large living person; not to mention that these knights are all educated noble heirs; they will not just catch a random female and say that she is a witch. She should act relaxed and comfortable; turning around and running would be the worst thing to do.
Dill calmed her chest; at least she wasn't smothered in a barrel. A big gulp of fresh air helped with thinking.
Her exotic looks were a double-sided blade; Dill didn't need to worry about breaking in her words; she could even keep them to herself. But a foreigner who does not speak the language does not stay in the harbor and flock with waterfowl, but wanders suspiciously inland, not to mention the fact that she had just come straight out of the sky. As long as this Mr. Knight doesn't have a bad memory, he must be quite familiar with those bedtime stories about witches riding sweeping buckets through the sky.
There are also the clothes on the body; this beautiful silver robe is too conspicuous, almost like it is nailed to the piglet's ear tag. Do not slaughter; we are sorry for the butcher's hand knife.
Thinking of this, the girl immediately grabbed a few handfuls of soil, to the body wildly coated with hate and the land into one; even the turnip that protects the master was also scared by this battle, even beating the wings back, resolutely not letting the beautiful feathers stained with dust.
No, I can't let him see the end of the robe. Dill wanted to tear some holes in the clothes; only her hand had just touched the surface of the robe, and the silk threads under her fingertips automatically collapsed, like the skin of a ripe and peeling fruit, blooming into a crack.
En?
Dill suspected that it was a mistake. She pressed the cracks again, pretending to do the action of repair, the result of the collapse of the silk threads as if the birth of an invisible spider's legs, one by one staggered back to the place, carefully and orderly, and soon it was a piece of complete brand new robe material again!
Helena was right; this was a magical garment.
The silver boots crushed the branches with a click that made Dill's hands shake.
"My lady! Are you there? I didn't mean to scare you; do you understand me?"
The rider sounded like a headless fly but came toward his prey one precise step at a time.
"You left something behind! A wooden chest—it's luggage, isn't it? It fell from the tree as well."
Oya was kind enough to shove not only Dill's goose but her little medicine cabinet along with it, so no wonder it had gotten her high and bruised. The fact that all of the young girl's belongings in Miller's Hollow had disappeared overnight only reinforced in the eyes of the crowd the fact that she had fled without a fight.
But at this point, Dill didn't feel half as angry as she felt her clothes, suddenly a little thankful that Oya had given her a good idea.
The knight followed the messy footprints on the ground; there was a huge tree with three people surrounding it in front of him. He took a step forward; his foot seemed to have stepped on something, and he reached out. A red thread drew out of the withered leaves, attached to a string of knots below. The peculiar rope ornamentation gave birth to a pair of beautiful wings, like a butterfly that desperately wanted to lift its wings.
The knight subconsciously closed his palms and opened them again as he tsked in wonder, catching the rope ornament and playing with it for a long time before carefully stowing it away on his own.
"Miss?" He spoke so softly that he could hear the crunching of fallen leaves, lest he disturb another dodging and running butterfly.
He stepped over the jutting roots and reached behind the trunk.
Dill closed her eyes and stiffened, wanting to become one with the tree.
Dill, you're fine; it's just an act! Yes, you're playing a game now—a game of werewolves. To hide the witch card in your hand, you have to play your part in disguise.
Now, it's dawn. Open your eyes, villagers.
"So it is you." The young knight gave a relaxed smile, seemingly relieved that the young girl didn't turn and run away again.
Everything had happened so quickly before, and it was only then that he was able to take a good look at the girl who had fallen from the sky.
"This must be yours."
The knight was beyond certain, stepping forward and wanting to hand over the carved wooden box to the girl himself, but out of the corner of his eye, he caught a keen glimpse of an imposing white vapor. He subconsciously took a few steps back to avoid a large white goose with drumming wings.
The young girl hastily accepted the wooden box and quickly retreated to a safe distance with Turnip.
It turned out that this goose had an owner; the knight was no longer hungry enough to eat this goose, and now he was even more afraid to approach hastily.
He cautiously probed: "Do you understand the common language? How did you appear in such a place?"
You can do it. You can do it.
Dill carried the medicine chest on her back, mentally smoothed out the lines over and over again, brought herself into character, and read them in an odd accent:
"Your Honorable Sir, would you like to buy some medicine?"
The lie was the salty sea air that always made Dill's nose allergic.
It was her defense against Oya and the reason she was unbeatable at werewolf kills, and it was even more terrifying when she drew Silver Knights who could just decapitate her. Often, less than three games down the line, the Silver Sword decimated countless witch cards.
From time to time, Veranica mocked her for having a sensitive dog's nose just like the church's lackeys. It was not true; Dill herself hid too many secrets; perhaps she was a great mystery, and that's why she was sensitive to the truth and falsehood of others.
Now the roles were switched, and the game became a real hunt. Dill hung her head and touched the delicate pattern of the wooden case as if doing so would soothe the scalding tattoo on her skin; at this point, it was hot as a kiss.
The gods still gave Dill room to breathe; the silver knight in front of her had a courteous demeanor and spoke even more, incredibly slowly, trying hard to communicate with a girl from a foreign land for fear of accidentally scaring her.
The knight's name was Musha. Holzog, who only just turned seventeen in the Holy Church and was ordained as a silver knight. He is young and promising, but under tough and dazzling silver armor, he is still just a boy with passion and ideals. Or else he would not be easily dazzled by the lovely girl and not find the slightest abnormality.
He said he sprained his hand and also thoughtfully added some gestures of comparison.
Dill seemed to understand and nodded. Just the good silver armor on the body shook her eyes, and she couldn't help but use her fingers to compare the price. After all, as a local Eastern Shore person, if not every cent, it is easy to call for suspicion A.
The teenage knight did not start to doubt, he straight removed the arm armor and pulled up the sleeves, revealing the skin exquisite white, but at the same time, the curves were beautiful and rich in strength, which indeed is the heart of the cultivation of the noble son.
Dill subconsciously looked at the sword on his waist; perhaps without using a sword, he could hang a half-assed witch like her with his arm alone.
"It was probably crushed by a heavy object that fell from the sky." He carefully glanced at the young girl, who leaned forward to check, unsure if she was listening.
Dill had felt a little guilty; after all, she had somewhat expected the other party to be injured to the point of not being able to lift her sword, so when she heard the knight's words, she first froze before she had the hindsight to savor that there was something in the other party's words.
She immediately utilized the topic, slurred her words, and feigned anger: "My lord, you ... you are too rude!"
The young girl quickly and sharply picked up her small medicine cabinet, her goose in her arms, turned her head, and was about to sneak away, when another large, silver-welded hand snatched at her and blocked the way.
"I meant the chest, miss." The handsome blonde knight smiled narrowly.
Dill's face heated as she failed to escape. The owner of the chest was her, and the knight's clear blue eyes were unshadowed, not seeing the slightest hint of accusation, but Dill knew she was afraid she wouldn't be able to walk away; after all, this walk would be a hit-and-run.
The big white goose, Turnip, struggled uneasily in her arms, and Dill didn't dare let go of it lest the other one stomp on the Knight's innocent and harmless face.