Wasn't there supposed to be a ray of light to beam her up to the afterlife or some bullshit like that? Where was she supposed to go?

"The Witch is dead?" shrieked a voice from inside the shrine tent. Probably a Mouse or something. "It can't be. Wait till Nastoya hears – wait till the Wizard hears!"

Hah she wanted the Wizard to hear, to see him squirm like the helpless old fool he was now that his precious scape goat was gone. The Mouse – no not Mouse, more like a Mole or Grite emerged in her line of sight, his paws at either side of his downcast head. She watched him, curious to see the early effects of her death. The Grite whirled around suddenly at the statue.

"Give us guidance!" he said with the tone of a hopeless, angry beggar. "Speak for once!" The storm thundered nearby. Everybody shuddered while the Witch nearly jumped out of her skin. She wasn't used to be so close. "I mean speak in a language we understand." the Grite clarified and was greeted with nothing. The worst of the storm had past.

The Witch found herself thinking of Frex – no wait why does she call him that? He's your Dad, she thought. Remember that now. But what it must be like to outlive your own children! To have them murdered one after the other. Any parent would be devastated, even Frex. Probably. Of course, her death wasn't going to be as hard on him as it was when Nessa died. It was probably going to be like ...like when someone's dog dies ...which was sort of pathetic.

She saw how he recoiled when she said she was a Witch. What was going to happen when he finds out she was also a terrorist? That she killed Madame Morrible and lived like a mad scientist, cooped up in her tower, dehydrating bat corpses and boiling monkey skeletons all for the sake of some hapless cause? God forbid Chistery ever finds his way to Munchkinland. Her father would have a heart attack, die then find her ghost and give her hell for the rest of eternity.

"Find the Wizard's forces and they will protect you." said the Grite scornfully. "That's my advice to you."

"The Wizard's armies will protect us?" snapped Liiir. "The Wizard of Oz is a menace!"

At least she able to teach the boy that.

"Of course." replied the Grite. "A despot, a suzerain – call it what you will. The boss. And you've abetted him in his campaign to wipe out the western resistance."

'Western Resistance', is that what they were calling it? She scoffed, the old hopelessness creeping back to her. She was a washed out activist turned hermit, living in the home of her dead boyfriend,with ambitions to dig up a teenage girl from prison. What in hell kind of resistance was that? That damn Wizard. It's like he's being sarcastic with me, she thought. Rubbing it in and calling it 'resistance'. Plain mockery – it was making her insane!

It made her insane. When she was alive.

"I' not giving myself up to any corps of the Wizard's army." said Liir in a surprisingly even tone. "If there are forces down the eastern side, we'll keep to our plan to veer west, and take our chances through Kumbricia's pass. It'll be a longer route but a safer one."

"Perhaps we'd better get going." said Dorothy.

"You had better go on." snarled the Grite. "I won't join a posse against you nor will I lie to my friends about what I've learned here today."

And I should be going too, thought the Witch. But where was she supposed to go? Up to the Afterlife? Well she had never believed in that sort of religious nonsense. And anyway, if she did get into the afterlife, Nessarose would probably be there to pester her about it, saying 'I told you so!' over and over for eternity until it killed her. Again.

"...you won't reach the river valley before dark." continued the Grite. "Take shelter under a black willow; you'll find a stand of them where the track levels out and circles a bit of highland swamp. You'll be safe there."

"Thank you." said Dorothy earnestly. The Witch rolled her eyes. She wanted to strangle that girl.

"Don't be a fool." agreed Liir. "Thank him for what?"

"You." said the Grite to the Brr. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself. I'd be especially wary if I were you. Animals do not take lightly to traitors. If you were more of a Lion, you'd know that."

"I did nothing!" Brr said, almost whining. "I was locked in the kitchen!"