I could see the bags underneath his eyes. I could see the tumult inside his eyes.
Dad wanted me to leave immediately the potion was ready.
The witch, an old dumpy lady with wrinkled skin and a bent back, was late with the preparation of the potion. She told my father it would take twelve hours to brew the potion to mask my thought from my mate. It should have been done by five a.m in the morning, but when we got to her smelly room – a cell really – she had still been stirring a stinky liquid in a blackened pot over a green fire.
“I had miscalculated. The potion will take another two hundred and six minutes, Master,” She had said in a croaky voice. My father had simply stormed out of her smelly cell when she announced that.
We came back to see her pouring the entire content of a
