Timothy the Tanner

Timothy nodded slowly at what his boy had said.

Timothy, the tanner, looked as evil as I thought he was. With thinning brown hair which hung around his face in greasy strands. And small beady eyes which seemed sunk into his thin face. His jaw led to a pointed chin and his lips were thin. He constantly licked them as if nervous all the time. He was short and thin and always smelled of onions.

He was looking from me to Triana then back and forth.

He suddenly stalked toward us, and we both tensed.

He caught Triana’s arm and dragged her further into the trees, pulling her behind a wide trunk and talking to her in a hushed voice.

“What’s happening.” I looked at Uriah.

“He’s finding out if she’s a witch!” Uriah said. Sitting on the log. “Pa can tell. He questions them and then he knows if we should go tell Mathis, we has witches.”

“Why are you in these woods at night?” I asked him.

“Looking for witches.” He asserted confident