Welcome to Witch Hazel's Chop Shop

With Barnabas at her side once again things were looking up for Hazel. She'd seen neither hide nor hair of any pursuers and her companion assured her he'd taken care of them before coming for her. He'd also come bearing instructions. Hazel was to establish herself in these lands. With the temple demolished back home it was up to those who survived to rebuild. They were to be like the many heads of hydra; where one was cut two more were to spring in its place. Hazel was no exception. It was, according to Barnabas, a blessing they had been scattered. Those that survived were now far flung. Like seeds on the breeze they had been sent far and wide to take root and grow.

Presently Hazel was waiting out the winter in the best place she could think of. This Fern Gulley as it was called was home to a wealth of plant life the likes of which Hazel had only experienced in the gardens back home. Even now with the ground barren and the plants dormant this seemed the perfect place to take refuge. Perhaps it was even the place she'd set up shop. It seemed right, but more thought was needed.

She lay in the hollow of a fallen log. The top and sides of it protected her from the gently falling snow and sizzling in front of her was a small fire whose warmth radiated into the log. On her back was Barnabas who kneaded at her tired muscles with practiced hands. Hazel was warm and cozy, troubled only by the heat of her first season. There was nothing on her agenda for the day so she intended to take it easy, let the snow fall and the fire warm her.