As March of 1447 arrived, the temperature in Black Snake Bay seemed to multiply geometrically every day. By mid-month, even wearing the thinnest linen shirt felt unbearably hot.
Unbuttoning his collar, Horn leaned against the pavilion's column like a bear rubbing against a tree, using the ancient serpent patterns carved into the column to scratch his back, entirely unbothered by the presence of several ladies around him.
Sitting atop a mound by the Ibe River, the hexagonal pavilion cast a long shadow under the blazing sun.
Inside the cool pavilion, sat four witches, making it five if Horn was counted.
The simple pavilion roof was covered with thick green turf and dark red moss, filling the air with the moist scent of wood and a fishy odor from the river.
In the Central County, apart from a few witches who couldn't leave the battlefield, the remaining important ones were all here in this small pavilion, gathered around a round table for an outing.
