Forest Magick

 



Farsinger was unusually insistent. "I saw it glowing. It's magicked, I tell ya."

She hopped on Ulrich's shoulder and pecked him gently on the neck. "Pick it up. It may be lucky."

"Or it may turn me into a worm," Ulrich growled, his pagan sensibilities and his Oma's old stories had him on alert.

"Then I'll have a nice breakfast," Farsinger cawed, laughing. "Or it may bring some luck. Pick it up."

"It's just a stick," Ulrich said with a dismissive wave.

"I think you're scared," Farsinger said with a raven growl of derision.

And that sealed it. Ulrich picked up the stick.

Except it wasn't a stick.


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