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Petra awoke with a start in the depth of the night. The dying embers from the evening's fire cast a hauting glow across the room, leaving the corners black and untouched by the soft orange light. The air felt thick with some all-pervading energy and she knew that few in her party were sleeping peacefully.
Clasping a small pouch in her palm, she wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and slipped silently out of the cottage. Outside, the moon was larger and fuller than she could remember seeing it for a very long time. Small bats flitted about and were caught briefly in its light before disappearing again into the safety of the night. A slight breeze disturbed the trees and made them moan softly to eachother in a steady incantation.
She sniffed the air and, satisfied with her present safety, pulled open the pouch and emptied its contents into her hand. She thumbed through these, removed a thin square of paper and a small case of herbs and spices, replaced the other items, and tied the pouch to her belt. Then, sitting on a large stump a few yards out from the cottage, near the tree line, she rolled the herbs in the paper, licked the edge, and secured it to itself. Replacing the case of herbs, she withdrew a small box of wooden matches and commenced smoking the blend. The smoke had a spicy, sweet flavor that calmed her and she sat back, listening to the sounds of the night around her.
Just to stop you guys from saying anything silly, she's not smoking pot.
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talk is cheap, so i buy every word you said.
scared me half to death, now i'm half dead.
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