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Chapter 7-2
Her mother was a witch! Florentine sat on the end of her bed, cross-legged and gazing at the silhouette of swaying tree branches through the window curtains. The air was cool and goose bumps spread along her skin. Her cotton chemise and pantaloons were not enough to keep her warm, yet she delayed reaching for her woollen dressing-gown. The happenings of the evening before filled her thoughts. Rosalie’s stories had sketched around what everyone had sensed; stories of warrior queens, magic, and old women, shifts in time and location, spells, and mystical objects. Thinking on a life time spent in relevant ease in warm Sydney, Florentine cast her mind to her mother’s early life, much harder than could be imagined. Florentine understood about old stories and traditions, had thought that many
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