A Traitor Among Witches

The barrel was silent for a moment before a weak response came from the young girl: "I'll think about it."

Oya didn't answer right away, still seeming to ponder the truth or falsehood of her words, but Dill heard from the sound of approaching footsteps that she believed it anyway. She thought it was enough to deal with a little girl.

"Dill ..." Shut up; no calling that name. Dill was suddenly a little glad that Oya couldn't see herself in the barrel, who told her she was really bad at acting.

The young girl scraped her fingernails down the top, her earlier snickering once again dried up by anger, and her fingers stroked the scrape on the top, imagining it to be Oya's face. Her thoughts became more and more brutal in the claustrophobic confines as if she were a wild animal tearing through a cage.

A sudden jerk pushed the keg backward, and Dill managed to get her hands on it in time to keep from hitting a large bag on her head, but the keg rolled down as well, finally hitting the wall and shaking Dill so hard that she was dizzy.

Oya's screams were not at all as sweet as they had been earlier, but Dill had no time to enjoy them as she heard a more familiar voice.

Turnip!

The quacking of the goose was mixed with the woman's screams, and one could imagine how the big, beautiful red beak pecked at the other woman's vitals, one at a time.

Dill struggled to push the top off the lid, but the nails were nailed down so firmly that all she could do was dig hard with her nails into the holes in the lid that were left for breathing.

The opponent was a great witch after all, and she quickly recovered from the sneak attack, only to hear the turnip screaming in agony, and Dill's heart tightened. Then she felt an object touch the ground and crash into the keg, and she now wanted to kill Oya.

Luckily, soon after, the sound of wings flapping slightly soothed the anxious and restless heart.

"Turnip ..."

Just like the moon goddess's three sides of the moon phase, the magic pet also symbolizes the other side of the moon witch's falsehood. Just now, compared to the furious great white goose, Oya is not aware of it.

"Sadly, if your goose was half as tame as you sound, I would consider it, but for now it seems that disobedient beasts must remain in their cages."

Dill heard her slap her clothes hard, but unfortunately, she couldn't see what a mess the other woman had been put into; the pretense of gentleness had long since been shattered. Dill heard the anger evident in her words, and once again, the great white goose proved once more that she was more capable than her master.

"Who would have thought that a white goose could have the courage and ferocity of a golden lion? You are indeed taught by Amber, but sadly, a two-legged one would only look foolish trying to learn to walk on four."

"It's also foolish to anger a lion."

Dill thought of the scorn for Amber in the other woman's words, though she didn't understand why the lazy witch who cuddled a large orange cat in her old age was being called a golden lion. If she made it back alive, she would have to drag Amber in to talk about her legend.Oya didn't have the patience to persuade her any further and could only coldly put down a sentence:

"The blood of the Earth Witch flows in your body, but your eyes are blinded by the Moon Goddess. "You'll have plenty of time to think about it before you get to Junli River, and I'll remind you that my Highness is no match for the Moon God when she's angry."

Think about what? Did you cost me my last chance to say goodbye to Amber? You arrogant bastard.

Oya's departing footsteps stomped on Dill's heart as she silently counted until she was far enough away.

"Turnip. Thank you."

Turnip was prematurely exposed, but the tipped-over keg rolled automatically to the uneven ground, and Dill listened to the wheels turning underneath and looked through the holes to see what was going on outside.

There is only a curtain in the open direction of the carport, hoping that the breeze will flow into the hole. The only thing Oya had done right was to give the turnips back to the dill and the courage and faith back to the Moon Witch.

The moon goddess wished this barrel was harder.

Dill gave a hard sideways turn while yelling, "Turnip! Fly."

The carriage rushed along, just as Dill thought, and no one would have noticed a small barrel rolling off of it.

But how unlucky can a man be when he's unlucky? Drinking water and getting sand stuck in it, eating, and biting into a rock? Dill said it was all trivial.

She had been challenging the bottom line of bad luck today.

The small wooden barrel carrying the sixteen-year-old girl did indeed fly out of the wagon without incident, and Dill couldn't help but burst into a cheer, even mentally saying goodbye to Oya, preferably never to be seen again, and that everything would be fine as long as she didn't get a concussion or throw up in the barrel next.

But Dill wasn't happy for more than a few seconds when the long absence of touching the ground gave her a pang.

Dill stretched her fingers out of the hole; there was no soft turf or solid gray stone, and the swift wind almost cut her fingers.

Oh No!

She hurriedly curled up and prepared herself for the landing from the heights.

Dill certainly wouldn't have done that if she'd known the wagon was heading over the hill; she'd have stayed in the cask all night since she'd been a good girl.

But perhaps the Moon Goddess had not given up on the resourceful little devotee yet. Just when Dill thought she would drop into a barrel of mush, all of a sudden the sound of the wind in the hole disappeared. It sounded like the crack of a branch breaking.

The speed of the barrel's descent rapidly slowed down, but it also began to flip left and right up and down. Inside the dill, it felt like a puppy stuffed into a bag; the turbulent current would soon be the end of her. She can only die to cover her mouth, on the one hand, not to let themselves bite their tongue, and on the other hand, to be afraid of opening their mouth to see blood.

Just as Dill was about to be turned into a barrel of pickles, the barrel's stumbling journey finally came to an end, and the dead branches underneath made a small cracking sound as if reaching some kind of dangerous equilibrium.

Her bad luck had finally come to an end. There was a whole forest under the cliff to cushion the barrel's fall, but Dill still didn't dare to do anything rash; the web of countless branches was quite fragile, and the slightest mistake could lead to a repeat of what had happened earlier in the day.