To Kill A Kettle Witch (Novel Of The Mist-Torn Witches) - Plot & Excerpts
Before that, I had few attractions that any of my people might value. I was short with wide hips and a stocky build. I was considered somewhat bad-tempered. My face was pleasing enough and my hair was a dark, rich brown, but I couldn’t sing and I certainly couldn’t dance. I did tell a good story. Even so long ago, I remember those times as if they were yesterday, traveling through each year with my father, mother, and younger sister, Alondra. There were five wagons in our caravan, and my uncle, Gaelan, was the leader of our group. He and his family lived in the largest of the wagons, and his eldest son, Griffin—who was one year my senior—was fated to be our next leader when his father passed. I never trusted Griffin. He’d always struck me as someone who would do what best served himself, but tradition is tradition, and the Ayres were led by the eldest male, followed by the son of the eldest male. Who was I to question tradition?
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