StoryFen

Pashar had not yet appeared, but Dorothy set forth upon her return with no thought of danger or delay. It was now high noon, and the sun making itself felt disagreeably, she pushed back the hood of her red cloak as she entered the wood, the cool wind coming refreshingly about her bared head while she walked slowly along with downcast eyes, musing over this last prophecy of Moll Pitcher. "Aha, Little Red Ridinghood, have you been, or are you going, to see your grandmother?" Dorothy's heart throbbed tumultuously for …