Chapter Text
Philip returned to the clearing just as the last of the daylight began to fade from the forest.
His pace had slowed considerably by the time the golden glow of the doorway became visible between the trees, though the tightness in his chest had not eased with it. The satchel hung heavily against his side, its strap pulled taut across his shoulder, and beneath the neatly folded travelling coat lay their father’s dagger. Philip could feel its weight with every step, even though the weapon itself barely moved.
It seemed impossible that something concealed so carefully could feel so obvious.
Caleb looked up from where he stood beside Evelyn, one hand raised while Flapjack hopped eagerly between his fingers. Relief crossed his face so openly that Philip almost looked away.
“You returned,” Caleb said, the words quiet but unmistakably pleased.
Philip adjusted the strap of the satchel and forced himself to stand straighter. “I said that I would.”
Evelyn’s gaze dropped briefly towards the bag before returning to his face. If she noticed how tightly he held it, she gave no indication, though Philip suspected she noticed far more than she allowed others to believe.
“Well, then.” She stepped aside and gestured towards the portal with a small sweep of her hand. “Ready?”
Philip looked beyond her. The doorway remained open between the trees, its edges shifting like sunlight trapped beneath water. Shapes moved on the other side, distorted by the golden surface, and every instinct Philip possessed urged him to turn around.
He had been raised on warnings of hidden paths and smiling devils, of temptation disguised as curiosity and evil disguised as wonder. Everything about the portal felt like the beginning of one of those stories.
“No,” he admitted at last. “I am not.”
Evelyn gave him a considering look before nodding. “That is probably the most sensible thing you’ve said to me.”
Philip’s jaw tightened, though Caleb’s quiet laugh softened the insult before it could properly land. His brother stepped towards the doorway with none of Philip’s hesitation, his eyes fixed upon the world beyond as if he had already forgotten how frightened he ought to be.
“I shall go first,” Caleb said. “You may follow when you are ready.”
Before Philip could answer, Caleb stepped through the golden light and disappeared.
The clearing fell strangely quiet.
Philip lurched forward before he could stop himself, his hand moving towards the satchel at his side. “Caleb?”
Evelyn folded her arms. “He’s fine.”
A moment later, Caleb’s voice drifted faintly through the portal. There was no pain in it, nor fear, only wonder so profound that Philip scarcely recognised him.
“Philip,” Caleb called. “You must see this.”
Philip stared at the doorway. Every terrible possibility crowded his thoughts at once. Caleb could be enchanted. He could be standing beneath a spell that made danger appear beautiful. Evelyn could close the passage the moment Philip stepped through, leaving them trapped in a world that had no place for men such as them. He could be walking willingly into the very jaws of damnation.
Behind those fears, quieter and far more dangerous, was curiosity. Philip hated that Caleb had been right about it.
He had always wanted answers. Even as a child, when their parents had warned him against climbing the oldest trees or wandering too near the river after rain, he had been unable to accept that something remained unknown simply because others considered it dangerous. Caleb had teased him for it, then followed behind to ensure he did not break his neck.
Philip closed his fingers around the satchel strap until the leather bit into his palm. Then he stepped through.
The sensation lasted less than a heartbeat.
Warmth swept over him first, followed by the faint pressure of something passing across his skin. His stomach seemed to rise while the ground vanished beneath his feet, and then his boots struck stone.
Philip staggered forward, blinking against the sudden light. For several long seconds, he forgot every warning he had ever been given.
The sky stretched above him in shades he had no words to describe. The light was dimmer than the Human Realm’s evening sun, yet the horizon glowed with strange oranges and violet reds that reflected across distant pools of steaming water. Far beyond the small rise upon which they stood, an enormous skeleton formed the very landscape, its ribs climbing into the air like mountains and its skull resting against the horizon. Figures moved through those streets in every possible shape, their voices carrying faintly through the warm air.
Philip’s breath caught. He had expected fire. He had expected screaming. He had expected the earth itself to recoil from a place inhabited by witches. Instead, he heard distant music and the noise of people finishing their daily work.
“Impossible,” he whispered to himself.
Evelyn stepped through behind him and allowed the portal to close. The golden doorway folded in upon itself until there was nothing left but open air and the dark outline of a tree unlike any that grew in Gravesfield.
Evelyn remained silent, allowing both brothers the time to simply look. She watched Caleb's astonishment, Philip's disbelief, and the way neither of them seemed capable of tearing their eyes away from the world spread out before them.
At last, a small smile touched her face.
"Welcome," she said quietly. "To the Boiling Isles."
Her gaze drifted across the town below before returning to the brothers.
"My home."
Caleb looked towards her, then back to the sprawling city beneath the evening sky. Wonder softened his expression, replacing the fear that had lingered since stepping through the doorway.
"...It is beautiful."
Evelyn's smile widened just enough to betray how much those words meant to her.
Philip said nothing.
He simply continued staring across the valley, unable to reconcile the peaceful town before him with every story he had ever been told.
Caleb stood only a few paces ahead, his face transformed by amazement. He turned slowly as though afraid that looking too quickly might cause the world around him to disappear, and the sight of his expression stirred something painful in Philip’s chest.
Caleb looked happy.
Not relieved or briefly amused, but truly happy in a way Philip had not seen since before their parents died. The wonder in his eyes made him appear younger, almost like the boy who had once carried Philip on his shoulders so he could see over the crowded stalls at harvest festivals.
Philip looked away.
“They know that we are here,” he said, lowering his voice.
Evelyn glanced around them. “Who does?”
“All of them.”
A horned figure in a long apron passed along the road below without looking in their direction. A smaller creature with wings struggled beneath the weight of a basket while an elderly witch opened the door of a nearby cottage and beckoned it inside.
Evelyn watched them for a moment, then returned her attention to Philip. “They really do not.”
“They are pretending not to notice us.”
“Why would they do that?”
“So that we lower our guard.”
Evelyn’s eyes closed briefly, and she rubbed a hand over her face. “You have been here less than one minute.”
“That is sufficient time to recognise a trap.”
Caleb turned from the view, his expression caught somewhere between exasperation and affection. “Philip, no one has approached us. No one has so much as looked in our direction.”
“That proves nothing.”
“It proves that they have other concerns.”
Philip glanced towards the town again. “Or that they are waiting.”
Evelyn let out a slow breath. “This is going to be a very long evening.”
They began along the road as the last light faded across the Isles.
Philip walked between Caleb and Evelyn, though he kept slightly behind them whenever the path narrowed. His hand remained close to the opening of his satchel, and every passing figure became a possible threat. A broad creature with four arms carried crates towards a nearby shop, its tusks curving from beneath its lower lip. A witch with bright green hair sat upon a floating broom while arguing with a merchant over the price of vegetables. Something resembling a small dog trotted past with a second mouth opening along its back, each set of teeth carrying a different stick.
None of them attacked. Most did not notice the brothers at all and those who did merely offered a curious glance before continuing with their evening.
The absence of hostility unsettled Philip more deeply than open aggression might have. He knew what to do with a threat. He understood raised voices, drawn weapons and the dangerous silence that came before violence. Ordinary indifference left him with nothing to resist.
Evelyn had chosen their path carefully. Philip began to realise this when the larger buildings disappeared behind them and the road opened into a quieter district lined with small homes and workshops. She was not taking them towards imposing towers or places where magic might be displayed for its own sake. Instead, she led them through streets where families brought washing inside before nightfall and merchants swept dust from their thresholds.
It was all so painfully familiar.
A woman leaned from an upper window and called for her children to return home. Two young witches chased one another around a fountain until an older sibling caught them both by their collars. A weary shopkeeper turned the sign upon his door and stretched his back before locking up for the evening.
Philip had expected monsters.
He had not expected neighbours.
Caleb remained close beside him, though he did not attempt to force conversation. His brother seemed to understand that every new sight required time, and for once Philip was grateful for the silence. He could feel Caleb watching him occasionally, searching his face for a reaction, but he refused to provide one.
They passed a bakery with wide windows glowing warmly against the gathering dark. The scent drifting from within was unmistakably bread, though mingled with spices Philip did not recognise. An elderly demon stood behind the counter, wrapping a loaf for a tired-looking witch with a sleeping infant against her shoulder.
The demon noticed them through the glass.
Philip’s body went rigid.
For a moment, the two stared at one another. The demon’s eyes moved from Evelyn to Caleb and then finally to Philip, taking in their clothing and unfamiliar faces.
Then it smiled and raised one flour-covered hand in greeting.
Caleb returned the gesture instinctively. Philip did not.
The demon seemed unbothered. It returned to wrapping the bread while the infant stirred against its mother.
Philip continued walking.
“They are capable of appearing pleasant,” He said after several moments. His voice sounded harsher than he intended, though neither Caleb nor Evelyn challenged him immediately.
Caleb eventually glanced at him. “You believe that every act of kindness is deception?”
“I believe that appearances may be manufactured.”
“Then how shall anyone prove goodness to you?”
Philip’s mouth tightened. “A single evening does not prove anything.”
“No,” Caleb said gently. “It does not.”
The road eventually opened into a busy market square.
Although evening had settled over the town, trade had not yet ended. Merchants called to passing customers from beneath striped awnings while glowing signs turned lazily above the shops. Stalls overflowed with unfamiliar fruits, bottles of brightly coloured liquid and bundles of plants that appeared to whisper when anyone walked too close. The air smelled of hot bread, smoke and something sweet enough to make Philip’s teeth ache.
He remained near Caleb as the crowd thickened.
Every brush of a stranger’s sleeve made him tense. A creature covered in thick blue fur nearly collided with him while carrying an armful of parcels, then muttered a distracted apology without stopping. A witch whose eyes floated several inches above her face paused to ask Evelyn for directions, thanked her and disappeared into the crowd.
No one recognised Philip as an enemy. The thought should have brought relief. Instead, it left him exposed in a way he could not explain.
A burst of laughter rose nearby causing Philip to turn sharply.
A young child ran between the market stalls, chasing what appeared to be a floating purple balloon shaped. Her attention remained fixed entirely upon the object above her head, leaving her unaware of the uneven stones beneath her feet.
She stumbled and Philip instinctively stepped forward, though someone else reached her first.
A broad-shouldered demon carrying two baskets caught the girl beneath one arm before she struck the ground. The movement was so quick and casual that it seemed almost practised. He steadied her carefully, placed both of her feet upon the cobblestones and brushed dust from her sleeve.
“There you are,” The demon said with an easy smile, helping the girl to her feet. “The stones have been waiting all day to trip someone.”
The child giggled and thanked the man as her mother hurried across the square. She apologised breathlessly, but the demon only laughed and assured her that no harm had been done. Within moments he had continued on his way, disappearing into the crowd without asking for payment or praise.
Philip watched until the baskets vanished from sight.
The child returned to chasing her floating toy.
"...Why did that demon help the witch child?"
Evelyn followed his gaze.
"Why wouldn’t he?"
Philip frowned.
"We were taught that witches and demons do not... do that."
"Do what?"
"Help one another."
Evelyn looked at him for a long moment before her expression softened.
"Philip..." she said quietly. "You’ve been told a whole heap of things." Her eyes drifted back towards the market where the witch had already vanished into the evening crowd. "So far, how many of them have turned out to be true?"
Philip did not answer.
"...They are completely different species," he murmured, almost to himself. "Yet they treat one another as equals."
Caleb looked around the bustling square, where witches and demons worked, laughed and walked side by side without a second thought.
"Perhaps," She said quietly, "It’s because we’ve never been taught they are meant to be different."
Philip said nothing.
The square continued around them, indifferent to the crack those words opened inside him. Merchants continued to haggle, children continued to laugh and the mother gathered her daughter’s hand before leading her towards a nearby stall. Nothing about the act had been remarkable to anyone else.
That was what troubled him most.
The demon had helped because a child had fallen. No test of faith had been required, no question asked about family or blood. He had seen someone in danger and moved before cruelty could occur.
Philip thought of Goody Bassett being dragged towards the square while neighbours gathered to watch. He remembered Caleb moving before Philip had caught his sleeve, and the fear that had made him stop his brother.
They moved on before the memory could fully settle.
Evelyn led them away from the market and along a narrower street where workshops remained open despite the hour. Magic appeared everywhere, though rarely in the form Philip had expected. It lifted crates, repaired broken signs and warmed ovens. A woman stood outside her home directing water from a glowing circle towards rows of drooping flowers, while her neighbour used another spell to guide loose roof tiles back into place.
Philip watched every movement.
He had spent years hearing magic described as corruption made visible, an affront to the natural order and proof of allegiance to darker forces. Yet nothing before him resembled the horrors from sermons or whispered stories. Magic appeared to be a tool, no different in purpose from a hammer, needle or plough.
The thought came too easily.
He buried it at once.
A bright chirp broke the silence as Flapjack darted from Evelyn’s shoulder. The little cardinal flew through the open doorway of a nearby workshop without hesitation.
“Flapjack,” Evelyn called, though there was little urgency in her voice.
The bird disappeared inside.
Caleb smiled and followed, while Philip remained upon the threshold. The room was warm and crowded with shelves. Small carved animals stood in neat rows, some shaped like birds, others like creatures Philip could not name. Blocks of pale wood rested upon workbenches beside delicate knives and sanding tools.
An elderly witch sat near the back, guiding the hands of two young teenagers as they worked upon unfinished carvings. Flapjack landed directly upon her shoulder.
The witch laughed.
“Well, look who has decided to visit.”
Flapjack chirped proudly and hopped down onto the workbench. One of the teens reached for him, but he danced away with apparent delight before settling beside a carved fox.
The older witch finally noticed the visitors.
Her eyes rested upon Evelyn first, then Caleb. When they reached Philip, they lingered upon his severe clothing and guarded posture.
Philip prepared himself for suspicion. Instead, she smiled.
“Friends of Evelyn’s?”
Evelyn leaned against the doorframe. “Something like that.”
The witch’s smile widened. “Then you are welcome inside. Mind the shavings near the second table. They have a terrible habit of finding their way into boots.”
Caleb entered immediately, his attention caught by the carvings covering the shelves. Philip remained where he was.
The room smelled of wood and oil. Like their father’s hands after a day of work.
Caleb noticed the same thing. His fingers brushed across the edge of a workbench, and the happiness upon his face softened into something more fragile.
“Our father carved,” Caleb said. “Mostly tools and household pieces, though he made toys when he had the time.”
The witch nodded with genuine interest. “Then he understood the patience of it.”
Philip’s gaze fell upon a half-finished bird resting near the window. Its wings remained trapped within rough wood, waiting for someone to free them.
The image was almost identical to the carving in Caleb’s room.
His stomach tightened.
One of the teenagers lifted a small creature from the table proudly and whispered something to it. The carving shivered, then stretched as if waking from sleep. Wooden paws flexed against the workbench while glowing eyes blinked open.
Philip stepped back.
The movement drew everyone’s attention.
Caleb immediately moved towards him. “Philip?”
The small wooden creature yawned and curled itself beside the teenager’s hand. It showed no interest in Philip.
The elderly witch studied him for a long moment, though she did not seem offended. “First time seeing a palisman awakened?”
Philip hesitated. “A… Palisman?”
“It can be startling.”
Her answer held no judgement. That bothered him almost as much as the living carving. He had expected witches to delight in fear. Instead, they noticed it and offered understanding.
Caleb looked towards Flapjack. “He is one of these?”
“One of the finest,” Evelyn said. “Though I would never tell him that. His pride requires no assistance.”
Flapjack puffed his chest at once.
Caleb laughed, and the teenagers joined him. Even Evelyn smiled.
Philip felt the corner of his mouth threaten to move before he forced it still.
They remained only a short while. Caleb asked several questions about the wood and the carving process, while Philip listened from near the door. The answers were ordinary, practical and frustratingly free of anything sinister.
Philip thought of every sermon that described familiars as enslaved spirits. But as he watched Flapjack hop onto Caleb’s shoulder without being summoned he wondered if it was just another lie.
The possibility sat uneasily within him.
By the time they left the workshop, night had fully settled over the Isles. The streets glowed beneath floating lights while the distant horizon shimmered with heat from the sea. Philip had stopped expecting an immediate attack, though his vigilance had not disappeared. He continued to study the rooftops and shadowed alleys, searching for the danger he felt certain must eventually reveal itself.
Nothing did.
Evelyn took them farther from the centre of town, towards a hill overlooking the clustered buildings below. From there, Philip could see hundreds of small lives unfolding at once. Families ate together near open windows. A group of young witches hurried along the road, laughing loudly about something one of them had said. Somewhere in the distance, music began, uneven and cheerful.
Caleb stood beside Evelyn near the edge of the hill while Philip remained several paces behind.
The dagger still rested beneath his coat. He had not reached for it since the market. And that realisation unsettled him.
Evelyn glanced over her shoulder. “You’ve been quiet.”
Philip looked towards the streets below. “I have been observing.”
“And?”
“And one evening cannot overturn a lifetime of evidence.”
Evelyn’s expression tightened. “Evidence?”
“The disappearances. The sickness. Crops failing without reason. People who speak curses and then find their enemies dead.”
“People say a lot of things when they’re frightened.”
“They testify under oath.”
“So did the people who accused Goodwife Knapp.” Caleb pointed out.
Philip wanted to defend the trial. The familiar words rose automatically. ‘Goodwife Knapp had been examined lawfully. Witnesses had spoken. The minister had considered the evidence. Justice required difficult choices.’
The sentences felt hollow before he even spoke them.
“She was condemned according to the laws of our town,” Philip said at last.
Evelyn’s gaze hardened. “That doesn’t make it right.”
“You know nothing of our laws.”
“I know she is going to die.”
Philip’s fingers curled around the satchel strap. “You cannot know whether she is innocent.”
“Neither can you.”
The answer landed with more force than anger would have.
Caleb stepped between them before Philip could respond. He did not place himself fully in Evelyn’s path, but his presence softened the confrontation.
“We did not come here to argue the trial,” Caleb said. His voice remained calm, though sorrow weighed upon it. “Philip agreed to see this place. He has done so.”
Evelyn looked ready to object, then released a breath and turned away. Philip watched Caleb. His brother had defended him. Not his beliefs, perhaps, but his right to reach his own conclusion.
Caleb approached carefully. “Have you seen enough?”
Philip looked again towards the town.
A witch stood beneath a streetlamp trying to coax a stubborn animal into moving. Two children leaned from an upper window while their father attempted to pull them back inside. A couple walked arm in arm along the road, speaking too quietly for Philip to hear.
Everything was peaceful. More peaceful, perhaps, than Gravesfield had been in months.
“For today,” Philip said.
Caleb nodded.
Evelyn opened the portal without further argument. The familiar golden light appeared beside the twisted tree, illuminating the grass and casting long shadows across the hill.
Before Caleb could step through, Evelyn touched his sleeve.
“You can come back,” she said. Her voice was quieter than usual. “Both of you.”
Caleb smiled. “Thank you.”
Philip remained silent. He did not accept the invitation but he did not reject it either.
The Human Realm felt cold when they returned.
The forest had grown dark, and the air held the damp chill of approaching morning. Philip stepped away from the portal as quickly as dignity allowed, relief washing through him when familiar soil pressed beneath his boots. The trees were ordinary. The stars were where they belonged. Somewhere beyond the woods, Gravesfield waited beneath the same sky that had watched over him since childhood.
The portal closed behind them.
For the first time all evening, Philip’s shoulders lowered.
Evelyn and Flapjack remained on the other side.
The dagger remained hidden.
Nothing had followed them home.
Caleb looked towards the place where the doorway had been. Longing crossed his face so openly that Philip felt an unexpected stab of fear.
“You wish to return,” Philip said.
Caleb did not deny it. “Yes.”
“You scarcely know her.”
“I know more than I did yesterday.”
“That is not the same as knowing someone.”
“No.” Caleb looked towards him. “It is how knowing someone begins.”
Philip turned away and the pair walked home in silence.
The path through the forest had never seemed so narrow. Branches caught at Philip’s coat, and familiar roots rose beneath his boots. Gravesfield’s lights eventually appeared between the trees, small and distant.
Relief should have strengthened with every step.
Instead, Philip found himself remembering the warm bakery window and the demon who had raised one flour-covered hand in greeting. He thought of the workshop, of Flapjack dancing between carved animals, and of the child caught before she struck the stones.
“They laughed,” he said suddenly.
Caleb slowed beside him. “Who?”
“The children.”
Philip stared towards the town.
“They laughed exactly as ours do.”
Caleb’s face softened, though he did not smile. “They are children.”
“Yes.”
The answer came more quietly than Philip intended.
Their house welcomed them with darkness and silence. Philip placed the satchel beside his bed without removing the dagger, while Caleb set the recovered leather bag upon the chair and stood for a time staring at the unfinished bird upon the windowsill.
They prepared for sleep without speaking, though sleep itself remained beyond reach.
Philip lay beneath his blanket and listened to Caleb’s breathing in the darkness. He could tell from its rhythm that his brother was awake, just as Caleb likely knew the same of him. The room felt smaller than it had the previous night.
Every time Philip closed his eyes, the Demon Realm returned. Not as a place of horror, but as a collection of ordinary moments. None of it fit within the world Philip understood.
He searched for explanations. Perhaps Evelyn had chosen only those who supported her deception. Perhaps every creature they had seen had been warned in advance. Perhaps witches were capable of kindness towards one another while remaining dangerous to humans.
The arguments grew weaker each time he repeated them.
Near dawn, Philip turned towards the wall and tried to pray.
The familiar words would not settle.
The church bell rang before sunrise.
Its first toll broke through the fragile quiet of the house. The second dragged Philip fully upright. By the third, Caleb was already out of bed.
Neither brother asked the reason.
The hanging.
For several moments they remained on opposite sides of the room, looking at one another through the grey morning light. Caleb’s face had gone pale.
“So soon,” he said.
Philip lowered his gaze. “The sentence was set for this morning.”
Caleb dressed without another word and Philip did the same.
Outside, Gravesfield had already begun moving towards the square.
Families emerged from their homes wrapped in heavy coats, their breaths clouding the air. Children ran ahead while parents called for them to slow down. A man carried a loaf of bread beneath one arm as though he were travelling to a market rather than an execution.
Someone laughed and the sound followed Philip all the way to the square.
A crowd had gathered beneath the gallows. The wooden platform rose above them, newly repaired and darkened by the damp morning air. Two ropes hung from the beam.
Goodwife Knapp stood beneath one.
Goody Bassett stood beneath the other.
Their wrists were bound.
Both women looked impossibly small.
Philip stopped at the edge of the crowd. Caleb remained beside him, close enough that their sleeves touched, though neither acknowledged it.
The minister began to speak.
His voice carried across the square with practised strength. He spoke of corruption, protection and righteous judgement. He spoke of evil hiding beneath familiar faces and warned the town that mercy towards wickedness endangered every innocent soul.
Philip had heard such words all his life.
He had believed them but that morning, they sounded different.
His eyes remained fixed upon Goodwife Knapp.
She looked older than she had during the trial. Her hair had been pinned carelessly beneath a plain cap, and a dark bruise marked one side of her face. Someone had struck her since Philip last saw her.
Philip remembered the Demon Realm. The comparison came without permission.
A demon had seen someone falling and reached out.
Gravesfield had seen two women falling and gathered to watch.
The minister finished his prayer and the crowd grew still.
Goodwife Knapp lifted her head and searched the faces before her. Her gaze moved across neighbours who had borrowed from her pantry, accepted herbs from her garden and once trusted her with their children.
The executioner placed a hood over her head. Goody Bassett began to sob, the sound muffled by the cloth pulled across her face.
Someone in the crowd told her to be silent.
Caleb moved to turn away.
Philip’s hand caught his sleeve instinctively.
The same movement as before. The same fear.
Caleb turned towards him, grief and fury burning in his eyes.
Philip could not tell him to stop.
He could not tell him the law must be obeyed or that the women had been condemned fairly. The words no longer came.
His grip loosened.
Caleb looked towards the platform again.
There was nowhere to go. No way through the crowd. No time to escape the cruelty.
The lever was pulled and the platform fell.
A cheer rose around them.
Philip heard the ropes snap taut.
Someone applauded. Another voice praised God. The sound of celebration spread through the square while two bodies swayed above it.
Caleb went completely still and Philip’s hand fell from his sleeve.
He stared at Goodwife Knapp’s feet as they turned slowly above the platform. Yesterday, he had crossed into another realm expecting to find monsters. He had watched witches argue over bread, teach children and help strangers.
That morning, he stood among humans. Among neighbours. Among people who knew the names of the women they had killed. Amongst people who rejoiced in their death.
The minister continued speaking, but Philip no longer heard him.
His certainty had not vanished. It remained inside him, built from years of fear, scripture and whispered warnings. Yet something had opened beneath it, a fracture too deep to ignore.
If witches were capable of kindness, then the stories were incomplete. If a lawful trial could condemn an innocent woman, then law alone did not make an act righteous. If Gravesfield could cheer while two frightened women died, then evil did not always arrive through a golden doorway.
Philip looked towards Caleb. His brother’s eyes remained fixed upon the gallows, though tears shone openly upon his face.
For the first time in days, Philip stepped closer causing their shoulders to touch.
Above them, the bells of Gravesfield began to ring, declaring the town safe once more.