To Suffer A Witch

Tall, Dark Stranger

Ugh, sorry it took so long guys. For various reasons, both my time and motivation to write have been unforgivably low. At least I FINALLY got another chapter written for this one though.

I won't spend a bunch of time answering each of the really old comments, but I just wanted to say that I was so happy to hear you guys found this premise interesting. I've reread each of your comments several times by this point. As such, I will leave it on the table for the readers to decide. Do you guys want an eventual lemon in this thing? Or would you rather it stays at it's current rating? Let me know your opinion, and thanks for sticking with me all this time :)

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Even before they had come within sight of Mulch's, Astrid knew that her hunch had been correct. Mostly because she could hear the farmhand, Bucket, from almost a mile down the road. His bellowing sobs sounding more like a wounded animal than a grown man, and Astrid was honestly a little worried that the twins might have done something major.

Then again, that was just Bucket. He was a huge man with a heart of pure gold and the intellectual prowess of a toddler. It was very likely that he was just crying because the yaks were upset. Or maybe because the imminent storm was causing the metal bucket he wore on his head to tighten up. Who's to say, really?

As expected, once they had rounded the bend in the little dirt road, Astrid and Fish caught sight of the first of the tipped yaks. The furry beasts were lying on their sides in the field with their stout legs kicking lazily at the air. Baying and chewing, while making absolutely no effort to right themselves. It was a bit pathetic really. Astrid growled through her teeth as her fists clenched. They didn't have time for this, she thought as she shot another glance upwards towards the angry black clouds swirling overhead - begging the storm to hold off just a little longer.

Speaking of pathetic things... When she dropped her eyes back to the farm, she couldn't help noting that Sheriff Jorgenson was apparently already here - and he had brought his son along. The stalky young man was clad in brown breeches, dark brown boots, and a white shirt and green leather doublet with silver buttons that both looked extremely expensive, but likely weren't. He and his father were standing with a flustered Mulch, a sobbing Bucket, and two of Astrid's least favourite people right now. Ruffnut's dusty bonnet askew and a mixture of dirt smudges and grass stains all over their clothes. They couldn't have looked more guilty if they'd tried.

Just great! How was Astrid supposed to get them away from here without Snotlout seeing her now? To make matters worse, the moment they caught sight of Astrid and Fish the twins both raised their hands in greeting. Huge smiles plastered on their faces - as if they were having the time of their lives. Tuff's chicken even squawking and flapping happily by Tuff's feet.

Following the direction of the twins' gazes, the rest of the group turned to face the newcomers. Snotlout's frown morphing to a leering grin instead as his eyes settled on Astrid. It seemed no matter how many times she pushed the idiot away, both figuratively and literally, he just kept coming back for more. The fact that she was below him in status didn't seem to matter to him either. He remained steadfastly convinced that Astrid was going to profess her undying love for him any day now. Though she did hope that maybe the bruises she left on him last time might be enough to encourage him to keep his hands to himself from now on.

Sheriff Jorgenson, also known as Spitelout, was an imposing mountain of a man. Standing nearly 7 feet tall, with broad shoulders and a burly frame, he was not a man to be messed with. He also had a tendency to be quite reactive, and could likely be pretty violent if the mood struck. As a little girl, Astrid had been convinced that the Sheriff was a werewolf, based on his excesses of both body size and body hair. Of course she quickly grew out of that belief, though she sometimes still questioned how human he really was. Especially those times that she had witnessed him bludgeoning his own head for sport at The Mead Hall.