Williams

A gust of cold air hit my face, compelling me to inhale sharply, while wriggling my nostrils, fighting the strong urge to sneeze.

I watched as Caleb reached out towards my dear daughter Issahil, a knife in his hand. He took her hand from mine and made a small cut on her palm with it.

For some reason I finched when she did. He brought the burning clay pot closer to her, holding her palm over it so that streaks of her blood poured into it.

His lips muttered the spell as he did this and my daughter Issahil repeated his words as soon he ended his. And then...