The people of the mountain are sparse, tiny huddled hamlets and isolated livestock farmers; they need each other, love and hate each other, in the way that subsistence communities must. And they need you, love and hate you, because you're one of them, and not one of them: you are one of the witches of the mountains.
You are one of a handful of overworked, alienated, vital people, one foot in the Here, one planted in the Else. They might call you and your peers a coven, were you somewhere more cosmopolitan. As it is, you are who you are, and whatever comes, you will have to be sufficient: une galére des sorcières.
You are one of a handful of overworked, alienated, vital people, one foot in the Here, one planted in the Else. They might call you and your peers a coven, were you somewhere more cosmopolitan. As it is, you are who you are, and whatever comes, you will have to be sufficient: une galére des sorcières.
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