THE WITCH IN A WOLF’S SKIN
Azaria’s POV
The night was quiet.
Too quiet.
Not even the wind dared to breath.
I paced along home, my boots scrunching on the wet street. The academy lights dimmed behind me and they were exchanged by the eerie silence of eternal quietude.
But the silence wasn’t empty.
It pulsed.
At each step the hairs stood up on my neck. I got the feeling, the feeling that somebody was watching me. Shadows moved just a second too late. I appeared to be going slowly with reference to my movements in the window of a shop in which I was reflected, slower than I travelled.
And then the buzz.
It wasn't physical, not all the way anyway, but it was buzzing down my back, a twinge of knowledge that would not subside. The strongest of my power, which of late had become volatile, pranced beneath my skin like a warning on the verge of being ignited.
I was not by myself.
But on my third turn the street was deserted.
I grumbled, "just keep walking. Don’t show fear.”
That’s what Killian
