The wind sprites were the most foul-mouthed of all, especially in the summer, when the ripe flesh of the fruit had soaked up the sun's rays for a whole season, and the juices were so drunk with ecstasy that the sprites fell in love with them, and then they would go wild with song and fun, or to harass any witch they could find.
Even when Amber sealed herself into the deepest cellar in the Vale of Miller, she could still hear the mischievous winds burrowing into the cracks between the stones and the wind sprites crossing the mountains and the rivers, bringing her fallen leaves, frost and snowflakes, dust of doom, and perhaps a seed of a flower.
It was only the light of the full moon that the Great Witch longed for, not this useless garbage, which, of course, may not be entirely useless at times.
Seven tallow candles burned in the cellar with a warm, unquenchable light, and the blonde witch was clad in robes that blended with the darkness, the candlelight reflecting off her long, commissioned hair like glowing gold flowing out of the darkness.
In the endless darkness, she was the only source of light here. She sat alone in the cellar, and her body was only a small piece of corduroy-woven mat from the cold ground. From time to time, a breeze passed through the cracks in the stone around her, the whispering of elves drawn to the witch's powerful magic, just as the night always rose with the stars and the bees and butterflies chattered around the flowers.
Amber opened her palm, and the breeze sent a seed of thorns, which the frost solidified into a black, glistening crystal. The witch melted the frost and snow with a candle, and she smelled it keenly for moss, flowers, and a familiar scent of blood.
The woman raised a pale eyebrow, and she fished a silver needle from the robe she was wearing. Although the young disciple disliked the robe, the witch's robe was her bag of treasures. She let the silver needle burn a hint of the fiery sun's gold in the candle flame, then she didn't hesitate to prick her finger. A drop of blood condensed out, and she dripped the blood onto the seed.
Three of the candles went out quietly, and there were four more to go. This caused some rare uneasiness to rise in Amber; it had been a long time since an omen had appeared that could make her nervous.
A green bud soon sprang up in her palm, like a naughty little green snake, and just climbed and grew up the witch's arm before a flower as colorful as blood bloomed in her palm. It was a rose that died as soon as it bloomed, and the withered stem fell to the ground.
The heavy darkness covered half of the witch's face, and the rose petals on her hands were like dried blood stains, the bright red petals fluttering to the ground.
Rose, her shielding spell was removed. Damn!
The witch pulled up her black robe to cover her panic, and the raised skirt instantly extinguished the four remaining candles.
Amber dragged on her robe and climbed out of the dark contemplative hole It was the deepest part of the cellar, a place all to herself.
A pair of turquoise eyes waited for her in the darkness. Miss Bobbi, a large orange cat, leaped lazily into her owner's arms. Amber was grateful for her company and stroked her gently as she combed her thoughts. Her walk down the long, deep walkways of the cellar was like walking a shuttle line through a cat's eye; darkness had never been a problem for Amber, but she still kept her footsteps light, going so far as to possibly not touch anything around her.
"Ma'am."
The beautiful Milda appeared silently in front of her with a lamp in her hand, wearing a cloak of pure white and gold trim, her long fused silver hair glistening with a pearly luster, like a fairy spirit looking after her own shadow.
At the sight of Amber, she first breathed a sigh of relief and then sighed slightly
"It's almost the full moon." Mida whispered into her ear, "They are restless, some are starting to become agitated, and fewer and fewer of the forest's inhabitants are coming. Bertha wishes to ask for your commandment."
Amber frowned slightly as she gripped the last petal in her hand. The silky touch felt like a dream that could dissipate at any moment.
Yes, it was almost the full moon, and she couldn't afford to be distracted.
She took a deep breath and finally let go of her hand, letting the rose petal slip silently from her palm.
"I know, go check it out."
The two walked companionably, the sound of footsteps in the darkness lasting a long time until a faint light flickered before their eyes and the narrow space opened up at first like a cat's pupil, the rising and falling pleasantries quickly obliterating the sound of the two's footsteps. Amber had not yet seen the sky but had already returned from the void of the underworld to the crowded world of man.
A swamp spirit with green skin and puffy paws brushed past them, leaving wet mud on the ground. Then there was the amusing sight of several small people, less than knee-high, cheerfully rolling away in several oak barrels larger than their bodies, like ants carrying sugar cubes.
The witches were not at all surprised by all this; this was a small dungeon bazaar, the land above was close to the center of the forest, and the forest dwellers, dungeons, dwarf demons, and swamp goblins would come here to trade, the majority of whom were still humans, both men and women, young and old.
The walls were lined with pitted and dried fruits, strings of cured fish and bacon vines hung in curtains of garlic and berries, and even the carpets were wrapped in spices for sale as the inhabitants of the different races traded familiarly amidst the smells of incense and ringworm.
Peren marveled at the ingenuity of the witches' earthly dwellings, but he did not know that this hidden cellar was the most luxurious and bustling place in all of Miller's Hollow and that only true Moon Witches were allowed to pry into its mysteries.
The walls of the dungeon are made of white reef stone from the Ivory Channel, and then coated with layers and layers of shellac. Silver-plated bronze torches as the sacred relics of the Goddess of the Undermoon are erected on the walls of the dungeon, and the cedar wood coated with blubber burns with an unquenchable source of light, which is considered a compensation for the absence of sun, moon, and stars in this place.
The inhabitants of the dungeon worked diligently to create this forest of spices and cured meats and occasionally attracted sea witches from across the mountains and along the shore to travel thousands of miles deeper into the earth, which, in a sense, was also miraculous magic.
The two witches pulled back their cloak hoods and moved noiselessly through the crowd, their emerald cat pupils hidden in the shadows as they watched the words and actions of the humans, not missing any possible gaps.
"Don't touch me!"
A sharp roar fell, and a flying shadow fell heavily to the ground, smashing through the oak barrels stacked in the corner, purple-red liquor exploding like blood all over the place, and the people in the marketplace looked up at the place where the dispute took place.
It was a thin woman with waxy skin, sunken cheeks, and a thin dress that seemed to be draped over a bamboo pole, but a pair of blue eyes that were unusually spirited, even more vibrant than the torches in the cellar.
The man she had just thrown out of the room was several heads taller than her, and managed to get up on the ground, but was unusually afraid to hide behind the others.
The woman was surrounded by faces repeating their fear as she arched nervously, like a nervous animal, her eyes rolling eerily from side to side, her lips subconsciously cracking to the sides, and a hand propped up on her shoulder.
"Rena, dear, aren't you tired?"
Amber gently patted her shoulder. The woman who had been grimacing subconsciously squinted her eyes the moment she saw her as if she had been illuminated by the sun, and then suddenly came to her senses, her entire being disheveled and dejected.
"Lord Amber!"
"My lord!"
"It's Lord Amber!"
The faces around them swayed like ripples, the light, and shadows on the walls like layers of wrinkled waves, and they dropped what they were holding, kneeling reverently on their foreheads and knees, and Milda, who rarely came down here and was seeing this kind of battle for the first time, couldn't help but take a few steps backward.
She knew that the inhabitants of the Underground were devout to the Sorceress; they took care of the village's daily provisions, but at a glance, now they were practically worshipping Amber as if she were a statue of a goddess, and that was not an exaggeration, to say the least. Spices, flowers, and cured meats were piled up around Amber's feet, and she had to pull up her skirts and push her way through the crowd with the scrawny woman in tow.