Elder Quentin was one of the six head witches of the Primrose coven. The two hundred and eighty-seven-year-old warlock had the power, wealth, and status to remain in significant places of power in the North. He was the oldest after all. He had seen things and he knew things other witches wouldn't have the slightest knowledge of. David held on to the spider rune as Elder Quentin's firstborn led him through the thick tendrils of ivy and roses, making sure they escaped the path where they would encounter more questioning witches. They arrived at the bare porch which was lit up by a lone bulb that illuminated half of the graveled floor a dim yellow. Elder Quentin's son made it to the door giving it a light knock.
"Who is there?" A deep voice inquired from within.
"Father," The son cleared
