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Isla bites her lip, staring out over the road where the witch had departed. There’s nothing around her but the sound of the river and wind through the grass.
She decides, after a long moment, that she might as well listen to the witch’s advice. Sure enough, in the spot pointed out, there’s a wide patch of dark plants under the shade of a large willow tree, many of which are distinctly blue with broad leaves like the plants the kid had shown her yesterday. She reaches out to touch one–the stem is rough, and it makes her fingers slightly numb. With a grimace, she pulls her hand back and rubs her fingers to bring the feeling back into them. She’s willing to bet a lot that these plants, whatever they are, are poisonous.
She glances back downstream, looking for wherever Lucian went.
“Lucian?” she calls out. “Lucian!”
