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“Living alone had made me sensitive. When Will was still at the farm, I didn't differentiate the scent of wild fennel from that of slowly ripening blackberries or notice how cloud patterns changed from season to season. I didn't scan the sky to anticipate the weather or feel the air with my fingertips to decide whether to hang washing on the line. Sometimes I thought I might be acquiring some of Willow's talents. When she put up her muzzle into the breeze, her nostrils fluttered as if she were riffling the pages of a book, learning secrets carried on the wind. It seemed to me I sensed almost as much as she did.”

Quote by Louisa Morgan

Book:The Witch's Kind
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The Witch's Kind

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Louisa Morgan

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“His eyes narrowed, and I thought this was the moment he would lose his control, begin to shout at me. Maybe even attack me, as he had done before. He stiffened and took a step forward. Willow growled louder, a wonderfully terrifying sound. She, too, took a step forward, and that stopped Will where he was, as surely as if he had run into a wall. I said with satisfaction, "You're afraid of her." "When did you get a dog? She looks mean." My anger had cooled enough for me to think clear, hard thoughts. To be as cagey as Will himself. I felt as if I had lived multiple lifetimes since I had last seen Will, and I was stronger, tougher, wiser for my experiences. I said in as chilly a tone as I could produce, "This is Willow. She is mean. You want to be careful around her. She'll bite you if you do something she doesn't like, and she never likes anything I don't like." Willow had never bitten a person in her life, but I had told the truth. She wouldn't let Will or anyone else hurt me if she could possibly help it.”

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Book:The Witch's Kind
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“Willow!" I shouted, as I thrust my bare feet into my gardening boots. "Find Emma!" It wasn't a command the dog had ever heard, but Willow was no ordinary dog. Willow was a gift dog, a dog perfectly designed for the Blythe talent. She knew what I needed, and she knew how to follow her instincts. She had brought the baby home in the first place, and she would do all she could to bring her back.”

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Book:The Witch's Kind
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“I moaned, "No!" That seemed to be the signal Willow was waiting for. She broke, bounding away from me, racing down the dock. As she lunged forward, she emitted a sound I had never heard from her, that I had never heard from any dog. It wasn't a bark, or a snarl, or a growl. It was more like the roar of a lion than any sound a dog should make, and it cut through Emma's cries, the gulls' shrieks, the rush of the waves.”

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Book:The Witch's Kind
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“Rachel's voice is fierce. The Commander will send out scouts. We should-" "Oh, he sent out scouts," Willow says. "Five of them. And they were doing a good job of searching the city. Unfortunately for them, all they managed to find was me." "You killed them?" Ian asks. "No. I invited them over for dinner." She smacks his shoulder. "the sun is almost down. By the time the Commander realizes his scouts aren't coming back, it will be too dark to send more. He can't risk us seeing torchlight, and they can't search these ruins without light." "You scare me a little," Ian says, but his voice is full of admiration. Adam steps closer to Willow. "She's good at everything she does." Quinn clears his throat." Maybe we should get back to the problem?" "We can't travel at night," I say. "We need light as well. But we can leave at dawn, and-" "They'll leave at dawn, too," Adam says. "And if they're that close already, there's no way we can outrun them. Not with children and elderly and the wagons." "Which is why we're going to create a barrier between us," I say. "Something they can't cross." Rachel meets my eyes, and her smile is cold and bright. "Fire." I match her smile with one of my own. "Fire. And when the army finally gets past the blaze, we won't be where they expect, because we're leaving the main road behind." "What are we waiting for?" Willow asks. "Let's go burn something down.”

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“As the leaves randomly fell, she contemplated how they sacrificially gave up their essence to sustain new life. Or was it the tree’s sacrifice? Each leaf was a part of Gaia’s play. Their final act: to decompose so a new level of soil could be made, an earthen writing tablet for the next layer of history to be recorded. One generation became the groundwork for the next. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Nothing was exempt, not even the leaves.”

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“By now, at the end of a sloping alley, we had reached the shores of a vast marsh. Some unknown quality in the sparkling water had stained its whole bed a bright yellow. Green leaves, of such a sour brightness as almost poisoned to behold, floated on the surface of the rush-girdled pools. Weeds like tempting veils of mossy velvet grew beneath in vivid contrast with the soil. Alders and willows hung over the margin. From where we stood a half-submerged path of rough stones, threaded by deep swift channels, crossed to the very centre. ("The Basilisk")”

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Book:Terror by Gaslight: More Victorian Tales of Terror
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