Fajra stretched enjoying the new limberness, and eased pain. Her body was younger again, and it was a relief. She wasn't as young as she would like to be, but it was enough to make her happy with the stiff pain that had subsided from her body.

The old woman paused, and felt the pull of her magick. There were many that needed her, and one of those was even her soon to be apprentice Amika. Still the croon would not go to her, not until the girl called for her. If she went any sooner than the child wouldn't learn. No, she would go else where, but she would stay close to the girl. She would call eventually just as the old woman had.

Sorting through the pulls she chose one that was less than a half day off from where she was now. There were a few there that could use her even if it took her a bit further than she wanted to be from the foolish child. A little delay in her return to the call wouldn't hurt, might even help that silly love-blind girl.

Destination set firmly in her mind, Fajra readied herself and her ox for the trip. The girl gave her good milk this morning, and so the croon would take it easy on her. They would travel slower, but the beast would know what she was doing for her with her magick heightened intelligence. They knew each other well with the twenty years they had together. Just like her owner the ox should have died by now, but that was a benefit to have a magick user as an owner.

Once the two were ready they set off down the road watching as others would deliberately skirt out of their path. No one wanted to be trampled by an ox, and even fewer wanted to chance angering a witch. It made most of their lives easier, but there were still the moment that the croon wished she could hide away what she was. As much as she loved what she did, and the sights she saw, there was the want to have more power. The thirst for power always leached at her mind. She wanted to rule; she wanted to watch the people bow to her, not just scurry out of her wagon's way.

Fajra pushed the thoughts from her mind. She would would just have to continue on as she was until she could amass enough power to overthrow the current ruler. Even if she didn't find a young one to give her life she could always take it. That was part of being what she was: getting what she wanted at any cost. She would never die, and eventually she would rule.

When she arrived outside the town there was already offerings at a nice place to camp. It seemed with her slow travel word of her coming had spread ahead of her, and now those that needed her welcomed her. The took her ox from the wagon, and groomed the girl better than she had ever been groomed before while others cleaned the outside of her wagon. It was checked over and minor repairs were made. As much as it was a help it mad Fajra sour.

The croon opened her door, and the first entered her wagon. A few coins, and a bottle of a vibrant purple liquid was in the man's hands. He was gone and another replaced him. This one a boy looked at her with longing.

"What?" she snapped at him.

"I am to be sold," he told her plainly.

"So run away." The croon waved her more agile hands trying to shoo him off. There was no way he would have the money to pay for her services if his family was so poor to have to sell him.

"I am offering you my life for an amulet to help my family."

Fajra stopped short, and looked the boy over with a critical eye. He was healthy enough, and rather young. He probably had a long life ahead of him baring any unforeseen accident, or, as it may be, slavery.

And there just where her magick could reach, but only barely, there was potential. It was a potential she could use, and shape. She could take this boy's life, or she could make him into whatever she wanted.

"You would toss away your life so easily for family that would sell you?" the croon sneered. How were so many so pathetic in their love, hope, and faith?

"I volunteered to be sold. I want to help them anyway I can." The boy child was unphased by her hard questions and obvious dislike of his views. He didn't care because this was something he had to do. He loved his family, and he would do anything he could for them even end his life. Death was not preferable to slavery, but death would serve his family much longer.

The croon smiled. Was it really to be her luck to get two souls to shape? It seemed the higher powers were smiling down on her and rewarding her for all her hard years of service. The croon scoffed slightly at this knowing it was nothing more than luck, but she would take what she could get.

"What's your name child?"

"Petro, will you help me?"

He had eager blue eyes, and she could see his intelligence lurking behind them. He would be more pliable than Amika, but more challenging to wipe clean of his silly ideals. He would be strong.

Fajra touched Petro's golden hair that was sloppily cut. His clothes were worn, and filthy. "Tell me, Petro," she cooed, enjoying how the boy resisted his want to move out of her touch, "would you take a slavery of a different type?"

His eyes turned dark and angry, and she saw so much power in there; a fine specimen. "I'll not be your whore," he spat.

The croon cackled at what he thought she wanted. So he wasn't so innocent after all! That would only make this easier and more enjoyable for her. "No, boy, you will join me and learn my art."

Curiosity and hope came over those blue eyes, and she saw that she had him. For magick and all it could do for him he would do anything she asked of him. He might protest, but he would do it all the same. Oh yes, he would be a joy and challenge to break and mold properly, but he would be worth it for the power he could wield.

"You would do that?" he asked softly. He probably didn't want his poor heart and hope broken.

Fajra smiled as she turned away from him, and began making what his family would need to flourish. "You will be beholden to me, and cannot leave until I give you leave. You will follow my every command without hesitation. Do you understand, Petro?"

She could feel his eagerness wafting from him in waves. She turned swiftly, and snagged his arm jerking from the stool. It clattered to the wooden floor, and he let out a startled cry that made her blood sing. She held his hand over the dark dream catcher she had made with the leather of a snake, the hair of a yeti, and the feathers of a phoenix. She held a knife to his palm, and gazed down on his wide scared eyes.

"Are you sure this is what you want, boy?"

A single nod later, and the croon had pierced his skin. His blood rained down on the talisman, and it pulsed with magick as it absorbed his blood.

The croon released him from her impossibly strong grasp. "You are mine now."