Forest Witchcraft Novels & Stories

My wolf was hyper today, overly excited for some reason I didn't seem to understand, it wasn't this excited even while I had sex as a form to tame it's madness, but it got really happy, jumping around when I said I was going out. "Why are you so happy?" I asked my wolf. "I don't know, I have a feeling that something good will happen." It replied, still jumping around. "You're excited over a feeling?" I asked shockingly. "Yes, I feel good for whatever good is coming." It said and I scoffed while walking ahead, I wanted to find out whatever it was that made my wolf this excited,I was getting excited too, and I didn't see anything that deserved this happiness I felt. It was such a long walk to

She was young, mixed, with very strong makeup, gray eyes, dreadlocks and tied a capulana. — We will give a great reward. Nacula: — Many of us who went to those islands never returned! Neither the witches nor the pirates who followed them. Igor: — Why? Jafana: — Our powers are strong, but not to the beyond! We are more seers than sorcerers… Go to Kayndra Island. Igor: — Why Kayndra Island? Àgata interjected: —For unknown reasons, the witches on Kayndra Island have stronger vibrations, capable of unraveling the mystery.

The forest was alive with whispers. A thousand cicadas sang in the heat of the night, and yet beneath their drone came a hum older and darker, a rhythm born not of nature but of ritual. Deep in the thickets, where the moonlight barely reached, a circle of witches stood cloaked in ash-colored robes, their faces painted with soot and bone dust. Tonight was their gathering day, the day when the Ashen Kin renewed their covenant with the spirits and bent their heads to the will of their dead ancestor.

the witch nods, "but this war is a show of wills. I want to show you all I can, make you all fall. Wolves, dragons, vampires, faes." "Faes are a peaceful kind. They never hold arms." "That's where you are wrong," the witch challenges, "The faes hold unknown magic. That alone should be alarming." "Why?" "I'm searching for a power that is far greater." "The ancient power of the wolves is not yours." "It's not yours either." She rises. The witch whispers and slowly makes her way to me. My body shifts from her dark energy. I'm on my knees before she grabs the sides of my temples. My eyes roll back before a gush of wind swirls in my vision. I gasp for air before I'm sucked in.

Those are my last thoughts as the main propeller breaks free and the cabin of the copter shoots forward, sailing directionless through the air towards a wall of stone. And we drop. And drop. There are two main power avenues for witches--nature based and energy based. A rare wolf, like my great-grandmother, is born with both abilities. I’m a potion brewer, a nature witch, not a spell caster. My twin, Hawthorne, has the opposite gifts--he couldn't keep a plant alive to save himself, but he can create a ball of lightning between his fingertips faster than others can think. And there's never been a spell or enchantment he couldn't learn.

He wiped away a tear streaming down her face. I heard noises coming from all corners of the forest. A woman emerged, wearing a black cloak with purple accents. Her eyes were dilated and black, and wolves surrounded her as if they were accompanying her. I felt tension in the air. My father had transformed back into his wolf form, and my mother had a glow in her hands, pointing at the group that threatened them. The mysterious witch in the forest shouted, “It's not the gods you should fear! Let's kill them and put an end to these forbidden fruits!”

Alexander asked his wolf, sleep was so far away from him, "No, the goddess knows what she is doing, and I believe whatsoever the goddess gives, is always right, not to bring us harm, now sleep. We have a long journey ahead of us." His wolf said, as he watched their mate sleep soundly. ¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶ In the thick forest, the forest of the Aragon, where the witches reside, when other creatures were awake, the witches circled around a human, who was about to be used for a deadly ritutal.

A stack of reports awaited on my desk — patrol logs, territory updates, and some other business and political reports. However, just as I was about to sit on my chair, a third presence in my mind paused me. ‘Alpha,’ came, first Gamma's urgent tone. My mood tightened with a rising tension. ‘Hmm.’ I hummed coldly through the connection. ‘Rogue activity increased near the eastern woods… scouts report strange markings carved into trees. Possibly witchcraft.’ Instantly, my jaw tightened at the word, Witchcraft... The word awakens some buried memories with a glimpse of blue flames before my eyes.

And therefore no tree or mound could serve as a portal for the witches. That was why the Witte Wieven were protected. There was always a wind blowing, which was ideal for the fog. There were a number of women in the traditional, long cloaks of the Witte Wieven, their long hair flapping in the wind. They sang and chanted, creating a kind of mist over the Loch that came ashore in shreds. And out of that mist stepped other White Wieven and old whites, high priestesses, who took part in the ceremony where the black magic of the Síde was to be released. They came from different cultures and countries. The cast spells were carried by the wind to the Old Church, near Loch Rannoch.

“You know in this land there are far more creatures than you ever guessed. You’ve been very sheltered in Drimidan.” “I guess I have.” I admitted softly. I wasn’t even sure my parents knew of all the things out there. “There was a time, long ago when the land was predominantly Fey.” “But as Fey darkened some lost their power and became human. Others became twisted and their power darkened to make them other things.” “Like Mathis?” She nodded. “They become what we know as demonic. Or what the people of Drimidan might call a witch or warlock.” I blinked slowly. I’d heard of such things, but they were spoken of in tales that I’d thought were only designed to frighten children.