The bundle of herbs was tossed into the cauldron with haste as Matilda was afraid of approaching demons. She had been a good witch all of her life, and never made harmful spells, much to the dismay of their wishes.
She pulled her arms around tighter as the brumal wind whipped at her cloak. She glanced back at the small lean-to where she stayed temporarily. Stoking the glowing firewood helped dispel the dreary night, but it would take an hour more for the herbs to make her safe once again. Matilda retired to the shelter for a cup of chamomile tea while waiting.