The witch was first found in the outskirts.
Scampering desperately around the sludges of city garbage bins, sniffling up to each box of rubbish, only to slip to one parallel of the dumpster she last examined, disappointment her reward.
The practice had seemed to be repeated of hours, the tiny figure leaning back, feet leaving the pavement as she lays, cloak a suitable enough mattress.
She's panting, worn from all the running about, creature half her size pattering to her hip.
It's blue ears give a twitch, head of a spiral tilting quizzically down at their queen of dessert, wondering what the matter could have been.
While trying to stimulate the limp body to motion, a groan of belly echoes, making the curious Pyotr leap due to abrupt nature of the sound.
As to serve its majesty, the motif munchkin bustles off, hoping it could find its host some suitable food, just as it had been for the longest time.
A breath comes from the leader when she sits up, tall pink ears- in scale- fold at her condition.
It wouldn't be hard to say it was starvation, and at this rate... She might have to resolve to eating whatever she first spotted that seemed edible.
That range could vary from dirt, to humans- both things she had been dieting from since her last incident. So she struggles back to her nubs, wobbling her way over to the nearest patch of shade she sensed- assuming it was a rubbish pail- snack lusted eyes unable to tell any different.
This can had a nice aroma to it, one of grain, shreds of cheese- her favorite. Surely this was the magical source of... Oops.
The auburn sleeve of the witch that expects to bat at 'metal'... Did not touch the clanky material at all. Rather, it was foldable, rough none the less- denim. The hunched pinkette looks up, dark, beady gaze blinking in doom as she spots iris, white and pupil fixed right back at her.
A sighting- but she was too desperate to fret and escape, this person had something to eat, that loaf in his hands. The white cape tied to his front spoke fond things as well- that this man just so happened to be a baker, hinting that he may have more of the delightful bread.
The witch didn't look natural... But she sure was cute.
Maybe she could coax the goods to their feet.
With the best of her energies, she raises her shoulders, a smile aimed sweetly up to the stranger, forcing bravery to speak at least a bit.
"Wuwo...?"
The problem for the doll-sized magic user was, she did not speak English.
She could speak rune- a language that makes German sound like a summoning of a dark being.
So over the weeks of her time in the earth, she had seen a few things in the media, just enough for a precious creature like her to get by with struggled syllables that sounded similar to its root.
Rather than acting violent, this young sir recovers from the shock of coming across this cartoon-like model, a kneel taking place to put his focus on the witch.
"H-Hi..."
He could barely believe the foot-tall girl was real, yet her tugs upon his pant cuffs told him so.
The indigo tongue the small witch bares comes out to lick her lips, showing her intentions by a needy stare to the bread the chef holds- she was doing the right thing- the feast was getting closer...
It takes him a moment to notice that, a slight gasp falling from him as soon as he does.
"You want this?"
She only recognizes a few words, jumps given towards the cheddar-infused dough, eyes nearly gleaming.
"J-Ja!"
Once knowing her desires, the pedestrian seems to calm, wiggling a heel from one of its curved sides, visible drool slopping from her jaw, landing upon polka-dot scarf below at the pace the bread plopped into her arms.
It doesn't stay there long, gobbled up in ato-seconds.
Feeling like he had done something grand, the entrepreneur grins down at her. Like a mouse, she seemed, plucking the little crumbs from the fibers upon her palms.
"Who are you?"
She stops her picking, in the hot seat.
With her little vocabulary, she would reply,
"Charlotte."
He nods, looking back out to the sidewalk, oblivious to the cheese hunters behind, handing the innocent-seeming witch a second tear, which was accepted with a praising glance.
"I'm Sawyer."
She is positive to remember it, being much more paced with her second clod of bread, golden cheeks too stuffed to grunt in reply as she would have otherwise.
Charlotte takes a heaving gulp, sighing as she flops her head back over to lean upon his hip.
It stays there for some time, just as her breath slows, the baker turning his head toward the witch... Soon finding her in a doze.
He dares not move- it might disturb the small thing, and it would shame him.
So he'd remain in the alley a bit longer, hugging the hooded creature closer to his side, watching the rest of the crowd rush by.