The spell complete, Brian gathers the remnants of the witches together and together, the group sets them on fire.
The wind picked up, howling around them. The flames leaped higher and they could imagine they heard screaming coming from the center. Shuddering, they kept chanting and singing. The flames engulfed the ash mass, consuming it completely. Nearly thirty minutes later, the last flame dwindled and went out. Nothing was left of the witches, not even a mote of ash, a fleck of metal, a sliver of bone.
The tarp that had held the ashes was as clean as when they laid it down. Experimentally, Brian approached the edge of the tarp, crossing the orange line. The anticipated tingle didn’t come. He felt nothing but sleeping earth once more. Grinning, he walked to the edge of the tarp and picked it up. The ground was whole beneath it. Fresh green grass…
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