It always came back to this dream, to this moment. Lucky Hawke had tried everything to wrestle control, to bury the memory deep but when sleep claimed him he found himself back on that highway, his hands buried in the bloody tatters of his sister's crushed stomach seconds from death. Lucky clung to her life, using what little knowledge he remembered to keep her from slipping further, but he could not stabilize her. When his magic faded, so would she.

The tears blinded him but he still lifted his head to stare down the Witch of the Wilds and asked the same question he always asked:

"Can you save my sister?"

His hand stretched out to the witch, still warm and wet with blood, singing with the healing spell that sustained Bethany. He remembered how his Mother kept Bethany's bloody head nestled in her lap, stroking her ruined curls.

Her eyes were transfixed on the witch's predatory yellow glare, half in terror, half in hope.

The purple ribbons in the witch's horn-like spiked hair floated gently in the breeze, her taloned armored fingers resting lazily on her hip of her tattered red battledress looking bored.

Carver hovered behind Hawke, his hand on the hilt of his broadsword, glaring the witch down as if she would suddenly transform into a dragon again.

Hawke could hear his heart in his ears, his exhaustion taking him as he struggled to sustain his magic.

But the witch pulled her purple lips in a razor smile already walking away, ready to abandon them on this highway. Her voice clung to the air like the smoking stench of darkspawn corpses that suffocated them, worse than burning bile. "Why would I? You are safe at the moment."

Each step she walked coincided with the beat of his heart, and her figure started to disappear into the bloody red sun setting over the horizon.

"You bitch-" Hawke spat out but stopped when his mother cried out his name. He turned to her, her brown face streaked with muddy tears.

"She's not breathing," his Mother's voice cracked, breaking as Bethany's chest went still.

In his panic Hawke poured his remaining magic into Bethany's regeneration, but though her flesh responded, her heart still refused to beat. He shocked her once. And then twice.

Nothing.

There was no more time for thinking. There was only one way he could think to save her.

Hawke tore himself away from his sister's body and darted after the witch, knowing time was against him.

His brother grappled for him, terrified, screaming, "Lucky, don't!" His grip was strong and he pulled Hawke back to safety.

The world was oddly silent, though his hound bayed in warning.

Hawke's limbs receded into something small and hard for Carver to catch, the yellow light of his transformation blinding his brother. He became a small raven and slipped from Carver's grasp. Lucky flew through the air and threw himself at the witches feet, transforming again to wrap his arms around her ankles to stop her escape.

Pathetic? He didn't care. She was the only one that had the power. He had already failed.

"I'll give you my soul," he offered before she could ask what he was doing. He flinched, expecting to be struck, but instead he felt the witch shift in her armor. He looked up with her with a bleary gaze to see two yellow eyes staring hungrily at him. "That's what you do, isn't it?"

Her deep purple lips twisted into a half-smirk, her deep brown skin looked ageless in spite of the wrinkles. "And why would I need it?"

This was his only card. It had to work. He'd make it work. "How much does a soul go for? What more can I give you?" He clung to her tattered battledress half expecting to attack her in his next breath. He didn't care if it was suicide. He would not lose Bethany.

He waited as she studied him, with an amused expression. "As you are, you are worthless, but…"

She let the pause stagnate until Lucky shook her. "But-" he growled.

All the anger fled from him after he captured her glinting gaze, murderous and gleeful. "Perhaps bound to a new future, you might someday be useful." She took his chin with armor taloned fingers, her grip tight and gaze hollowing and heavy even in memory. "But are you sure you're ready to barter your soul like coin?"

Hawke shivered, feeling the power in her touch. "Will it save Bethany?"

His heart lurched at her predatory smile. "If you accept."

SLAM!

Hawke jerked awake, the heavy trample of footsteps of angry muttering mercenaries filled the empty hallways of the Dwarven's Merchant's Guild. A tall Anders merc with an empty broadsword scabbard slammed his fist into the frame as he passed the doorway, glaring at the Hawke brothers as he passed.

It was not an odd sight to see humans or elves in the Dwarven Merchant's Guild, but unlike other places that accommodated most of the taller kind, this place was built for small folk. The benches were shorter, everything was lower including water fountains and doorknobs. Holo-posters with silent commercials and ads lit up the walls at Hawke's chest, eye level for dwarves. The ceilings were still high and towering and the golden chandeliers probably worth more than the hovel that they stayed in. Security cameras were placed at even intervals facing traffic.

"Really? Falling asleep before our big debut?" Carver muttered, shaking his freshly grown out military cut. He didn't share his brother's curls but his hair was starting to wave as it grew out.

Hawke yawned loudly, wiping drool from his mouth and massaging his hound's ears making Boof groan in satisfaction. "Should have grabbed a nap while you could."

Carver rolled his eyes and grunted. "Someone has to be responsible."

"Not it," Hawke blurted.

"Very mature," Carver sighed bitterly.

The dwarven butler read from his tablet, and then squinted at the brothers with an unimpressed look on his face. "The Hawke Company?"

Boof jumped to his feet and Hawke did the same, stretching out his excess energy. "That's us!"

Carver dragged himself to his feet, dwarfing Hawke by about half a foot. His muscles bulged out of his simple leather armor making it look ill-fitted. Everyone said Lucky looked most like their Father but there was a clear resemblance in his rather elfy nose, the spattering of freckles on his cheeks of his dark skin, but his eyes were dark like his Mother's.

Hawke in comparison, barely was taller than the dwarves, though his personality was so big it was easy to forget. He was peacocking in his favorite leather jacket, purple and bright, with white spikes on the collar. His red t-shirt was tucked into his dark skinny jeans, perhaps not the best outfit to wear to an interview, but with all his fancier suits having holes in them, he figured he should wow the Tethras brothers with style instead, which he was confident he had plenty of.

They both walked up to the door but the dwarven butler blocked Hawke's hound from entering the audience room with the flat of his black tablet. He wrinkled his flat nose over his delicately braided mustache disapprovingly. "We cannot have animals in the facility. Please one of you, tie him up outside."

Carver tensed as he looked down at his brother, already shaky with show nerves. He kept his lips in a thin line as he waited to be ordered to take Boof outside but Lucky placed a confident hand on his hound's head flashing a charismatic smile.

"I mean technically we're all animals but Boof here is a full member of the Hawke team. I've already filed his permit and papers with the front desk," Hawke then looked down at his mutt, capturing his attention with a snapped finger. "Show him your I.D."

Before the dwarf could even ask Boof walked up to the man and showed him the shoulder of his armor harness which laminated on the side was a small plastic card with his portrait, tongue lolling out, that read 'SERVICE ANIMAL' and under that in tinier print 'official work license.' It also listed out Hawke's address in Lowtown as well as his phone number

The dwarf stared up at them from his gold-rimmed glasses, even more unimpressed, but raised his arm to allow Boof and the brothers in to see Bartrand Tethras.

—-

"And as you can see with a thorough battle plan and superior people, the Hawke company are not only the right ones for the job, but we'll look good doing it," Hawke finally breathed out, finishing his presentation, without a hitch.

He was relieved that he managed to convince the dwarves to stay for the whole thing. They were getting ready to leave by the time the Hawkes came in and Lucky, always undeterred, just started unpacking his presentation as he went into his spheal about why he was the best candidate for the job and why they'd be an idiot to go to anyone else. His jokes got a few laughs from the younger brother, Varric, but he wasn't the Tethras that Hawke needed to impress. Bartrand had the say on who got hired, and he, unfortunately, was barely even paying attention.

Bartrand picked at his squarish fingernails, not bothering to even look up at the brothers clearly unimpressed by the homemade signs that Hawke brought with him as his 'presentation.' He leaned against the stone carved desks with an irritated look on his face, his hand on his briefcase, ready to leave the audience room. "If you had been listening you wouldn't have wasted my time. The position has been filled by the Hallowmanes."

Carver continued to stand stiffly beside their handmade graphs, trying to act natural, but the high marble walls and geometric stone in-laid patterns made everything cold and gave him a rather dizzying feeling as Bartrand's booming voice echoed through the room.

Bartrand shuffled uncomfortably in the traditional dwarven stone chair, clearly ready to leave but Hawke waved him down, dismissively saying, "Amateurs who believe that superior firepower is all you need to take down a darkspawn horde."

Hawke slapped his much bigger brother on the shoulder with a thwuck causing him to shrink at the sudden spotlight. "Carver, here, is a veteran of the Fifth Blight. He can tell you what a great idea is to bring an arsenal of shiny toys into the Deep Roads. You want darkspawn with guns? Because that's how you get them."

That was rewarded by a small chuckle from the younger beardless dwarf. Hawke and he met eyes once again, his eyes dragging down to the dwarf's red silk shirt split open to reveal a plume of thick chest hair stood proudly on display. He couldn't help but notice the dwarf drew more attention to chest by wearing a rather questionable necklace that looked like a golden cock ring.

Hawke was encouraged by this and he pointed to himself and shook his brother. "We have superior skill, superior smarts and the Grey Warden training that will help you survive several weeks beneath the Deep Roads. The Hawke Company will keep you happy, rich, and best of all, alive."

Bartrand's expression which was already dark just seemed to grow darker, his stress-wrinkles even deeper, his glower even harder. "And what can two corn-eared idiots and a mutt do what 100 highly trained mercenaries can't?"

Carver looked down at his brother, brown freckled skin paling with sweat. He elbowed him, catching Hawke off-guard. "Do something," he whispered loud enough for everyone to hear.

Hawke's face broke out in momentary fury at his brother. Yes, they were desperate but they couldn't look desperate. The tension in the room grew as Boof added his own growling opinion to the fold.

Hawke took a calming breath, placing it on his pup's ears which immediately silenced him and he smiled confidently at the two dwarves.

"Yes our company is small but we are hardly untested. Give us a task, any task, and let us prove our worth to you Messere Tethras."

Varric looked over at Bartrand, his tablet pen touching his chin in thought. "It wouldn't hurt to take them up on that offer. They come with the Red Iron's recommendation. We can afford two more hires."

Bartrand snorted, making his bulbous nose quiver. "And if they were still associated with the Red Iron that might matter. This discussion is over." He gathered all his paperwork into his briefcase. Bartrand passed the brothers as they glared at each other. "Find another meal ticket, Ferelden."

The other dwarf followed closely behind, sparing the brothers one more regretful glance before leaving them alone in the audience room.

Hawke groaned in unison with his dog as he started breaking down the display.

Carver kneeled over the open suitcase, throwing their graphs and posters in.

"Did you have to make us look like idiots?" Hawke glared at his brother.

Carver threw the last poster in and missed. "Who are you calling an idiot? You did most of the talking."

Hawke shoved the fallen poster in and snapped the briefcase closed, still bristling with angry energy. "I did all the talking. This was already a long shot. The least you could have done is say something that helped."

Boof stopped his exploration of his room to try to get Hawke's attention, politely.

Carver stayed slumped, sulking. "It wouldn't have mattered. Who'd hire an elf-blooded Ferelden?"

Hawke picked up the briefcase turning to his brother. "Not that excuse again." He turned towards the door, ready to march out. "Stop thinking about what we have going against us and start thinking about what we have going for us."

Carver rolled his eyes, looking like he wanted to argue, but instead his lips thinned into a line as he followed behind his brother, his footsteps dragging. Boof leaned up to Carver, offering him comfort and Carver petted the hound's ears.

"So what's your next big idea?"

"I'm working on it."

"That's a fancy way of saying nothing."

The brothers stopped in the hallway, Boof shadowing their steps silently. The brothers stared down, being careful not to step on any toes or bump into anyone. The dwarves were a powerful race in Kirkwall, and you showed respect or your reputation would leave you destitute. Or in the Hawke brothers case, remain destitute.

Hawke sighed again as they entered the lobby. Kirkwall Flash Report was covering the shipwrecked qunari dreadnought again. The arrival of the Arishok and his soldiers had made everyone nervous but Hawke had lost interest weeks ago.

"You think Meeran would consider a partnership? If we approach Bartrand-"

Carver scowled. "Give up already. That plan's dead. We're dead."

They flashed their I.D.s at the weapon's check at the front entrance. "We're not dead until they leave without us," Hawke said as a Rivaini guard handed back a small black baton which he strapped to his back and two black pistols which Hawke strapped to his belt.

"You're so pig-headed." Carver was handed a large simple flat broadsword that was almost as tall as him.

"You give up too quickly."

Boof barked, causing both the brothers to look down at the frowning dog.

Hawke laughed and ruffled Boof's ears again. "Fine, fine. We'll stop bickering."

Carver grunted, not deigning to respond.

When they exited the automatic glass doors they were hit with the smell of the sea and smog. Two giant dwarven paragon statues guarded the sides of the door leading up to a row of steps that led down to the sidewalk and out into the busy street. Hightown's towers stretched way into the skies and were bright with lights and fluorescent signs. The streets were always busy with cars and people no matter the time of day.

Hightown's occupants were usually dressed up in colorful outfits, some women in modernized Orlesian dresses and men in custom fitted suits that still cost a small fortune in the thrift stores. Fashions changed quickly, though not as quickly as Val Royeaux and only the nobles could afford to keep up with the trends that came out of the Orlesian capital. Most sported jewelry expensive enough to pay their rent for months. The brothers stood out in their much simpler clothes.

Hawke groaned, setting the briefcase on the ground. He was still groggy from lack of sleep and sat down on a bench underneath the dwarven paragon statue. He closed his eyes, leaning back on the cool stone as he let his mind drift off, trying to think. His hound pushed his furry head into his lap, and he massaged Boof's ears causing him to groan happily.

Lucky patted the bench next to him, and Carver reluctantly sat down."Napping again?"

Hawke just focused on stroking his dog's dark blond feathery coat, his piggish snout snuffling happily. "Taking a well deserved break before I go kiss Meeran's ass."

Carver groaned. "Not that again. The bastard dwarf said no."

"Don't worry so much, bro. We get Meeran to partner with us, come back to Bartrand, maybe get the Red Iron to push the Hallowmanes out of a job and put The Hawke Company is on the map."

Boof boofed in agreement between Hawke's legs.

Carver blew his wavy bangs out of his eyes grumpily. "That's a lot of ifs."

"One step at a time, bro."

"This is never going to work." Carver snorted. Then he lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. "After that last templar 'visit' you better be done using magic. You can't slip up again. They're already suspicious 'cause of Dad."

"Aveline cleared me." Hawke sidestepped, committing to no promises.

"For now."

Hawke grinned, his odd mismatched eyes gleaming at his brother in pride. "I passed their "foolproof" tests. They won't look in for a while. So stop wasting time worrying about that and help me think."

He tried to put a reassuring hand on his brother but Carver shrugged it off looking away about to respond but he was oddly silent, looking across the way to the other bench where Varric Tethras, Bartrand's little brother was busy scratching his head with his tablet pen, his reddish brown hair in a messy half ponytail. He had this look of frustrated determination on his face as he wrote a few tentative words on his tablet before erasing them and then muttering to himself.

The brothers looked at each other, knowing that this was a stroke of luck but not how to turn it in their favor.

Hawke was on his feet before he could think, his dog perking up at his packleader's sudden energy. Carver grabbed his spiky shoulder. "You have a plan?"

"I'm just going to talk to him, see if I can't use the ol' Hawke charm." He fluffed up his curls, the streaks of teal still bright against dark brown.

"Does that mean seduce him?" Carver grimaced.

"That might be part of the plan," Hawke shrugged. He really dug the bright gold studs in Varric's ears and he had a rather striking jaw and nice warm brown eyes that reminded him of a warm cup of coffee and that chest hair. Hawke wondered what it would be like to run his fingers through it. Varric seemed to be different from any dwarf he'd ever come across, and from his research he was more interested in writing his novels than attending to the family business. "He vouched for us. I can tell he likes us. Well, me at least."

Carver squeezed his shoulder, several arguments flickering through his dark eyes, but then he took a deep breath and dropped his hand. "Just don't make things worse."

Hawke grinned. "Couldn't possibly. Follow my lead." Hawke took one steadying breath as he picked up the briefcase, before he walked confidently up towards the struggling dwarf, Boof matching his even stride.

Carver lagged behind, dragging his feet behind him.

Varric was still busy writing on his tablet, but when Hawke's shadow began blocking his light he looked up as Hawke said:

"Varric Tethras? I thought I recognized that name. You're the author of Dasher's men. I have to tell you I stayed up all night reading it," Hawke said, though what he left out was that he had a high school book report due the next day but those were unnecessary details.

Varric looked up surprised to see the two half elves blocking his light, and a mischievous knowing grin cracked on his face. "Really? I thought I'd be more known for Viper's nest."

Hawke had a look of absolute adoration on his face as he bowed his head slightly. Boof emphasized the gesture with a little bow of his own. "I'm sorry I didn't realize you wrote more, but I'll have to pick up a copy." Lucky put a hand over his chest as he outstretched his hand, "I don't mean to be so forward but can I shake your hand? It seemed inappropriate at the meeting."

Varric responded with a good-natured grin, more dazzling up close. He tucked the pen behind his ear and stood up, taking Hawke's hand. "Always happy to meet a fan."

Carver stood awkwardly behind Hawke, looking more like a tense bodyguard and he jumped when Hawke suddenly put his hand on his shoulder. "As you've heard I'm Lucky Hawke, and this is my brother Carver."

Varric had a flicker of disbelief in his eyes. Still, he was happy enough to play along for the moment. "And what can I do for you fellows? Autograph? Picture?"

"Neither."

"Both."

Carver and Hawke spoke at the same time and then exchanged glares.

Varric's smirk remained amused. "So what'll it be?"

Hawke popped open the briefcase Carver was still carrying, fished out a pamphlet and handed it to Varric. It was an extra copy of the battle strategy formations that Hawke and Carver had put together and Hawke felt a swell of victory when Varric opened the book and started reading again.

"You know you weren't too bad in there. If it wasn't just the two of you, Bartrand might have reconsidered. You two seem like solid bodyguards."

"Three," Hawke placed a firm hand on the top of his dog's head. "Boof, introduce yourself."

Boof stepped forward and sat down extending his paw with a lolling tongue, his long feathery tail wagging happily.

Varric looked dubious. "Charmed, Dog."

"Boof," the dog barked argumentatively. Boof kept his paw outstretched until Varric reached over and shook it tentatively with his free hand.

The dog licked Varric's glove and then trotted back to Hawke happily leaning against his leg.

Hawke scratched his ears fondly. "Good manners, Boof."

Varric closed the open book in his hand and took out a real pen from his front jacket pocket and signed the front of the plans with a neat practiced signature. "You make quite a team." He handed the plans back to Hawke, Boof following the movement with his head.

"We aim to impress."

Varric chuckled. "Well you've certainly made an impression."

Lucky then slapped on his most dazzling smile. "Actually, I noticed you were writing. I don't suppose I could get some spoilers."

Varric shook his head quickly. "Nope. It's not ready for anyone else's eyes," he seemed hesitant for anyone to look at his tablet. He frowned, putting his pen back into his front pocket. "Honestly I've written nothing but crap lately." He scratched the back of his head. "Sorry to disappoint, fellas, but I've actually been considering retiring from writing. The inspiration isn't there anymore."

Hawke shook his head. "My family's full of artists and they can make things I'd see in museums and they'd still moan that it was crap. Artists are always hard on themselves," he glanced over at his brother who suddenly looked wistful. "I'm sure what you wrote is not as bad as you think."

Varric snorted. "I'm not an artist. I'm a businessman who sometimes writes novels."

"Nonsense," Hawke waved the packet. "When Varlan used that tusket leg to win the duel against Narkel and win the noblewoman's heart in one fell swoop it was pure cinema. It should have been a movie." He gestured with his autographed pamphlet mimicking the stabs. "What's Viper's nest about? A carta den?"

Varric looked embarrassed. "Actually it's about a elven bard assassin in Orlais but they do get mixed up with a noble surface dwarf house that employs them."

Hawke raised an eyebrow in true interest. "Now I have to read it. Though I have to ask, why not a dwarven hero? I don't think I've read another modern dwarven hero since Dasher's Men."

Varric winced. "Because dwarven heroes don't sell," he said flatly.

Carver slapped the back of Lucky's head. "Do you need to pry so much?"

Varric held up his hands in peace. "No it's alright. I am bitter that Viper's Nest is literally a repackaged outline of parts of my Darktown Deals serial and it was a smash hit while the dwarf serial barely paid for the printing, but alas, that's why I'm not an artist. I'm a sellout and I'm quite happy to repackage the story to get more coin." His voice was so chipper it seemed false and the smile on his face too practiced.

Yes, Hawke was buttering Varric up to get an in, but the acceptance in his voice made him angry. So he had to poke more. He put a casual hand on Varric's shoulder. "And yet instead of making a human hero, you make an elf. Are you sure you've given up?"

Varric looked at Hawke's hand and then at Hawke, noting the many nicks and cuts on his there, a slow grin forming on his face. "You give one hell of a pep talk."

Hawke shrugged, his voice taking a more suggestive tone. "The inspiration is still there. You'll see. All you need is a few good stories to liven your imagination. Believe me, I've got some good ones to tell. Let me buy you a drink, Varric and let's…talk."

Varric responded with a cocky grin of his own, as he shoved his hands into his pockets allowing Hawke's touch. "Well being a mage I bet you see all sorts of weird shit."

Hawke's jaw dropped along with the pamphlet in his hand, scattering some of the pages. Suddenly there was a hand on Hawke's shoulder trying to drag him away.

"We got to go," Carver's voice was in absolute panic.

Hawke stumbled a few steps, succumbing to his larger brother's strength, but he twisted Carver's wrist out of the grip and turned sheepishly towards the dwarf, trying to look innocent.

"Ok, I admit. I don't have the upper hand here." He released his brother's wrist, silently telling him to keep calm. Carver bristled, his eyes darting around for listening ears or faces turned in their direction.

"You never did." Varric grinned, looking much more relaxed and in control. "So talk straight with me. You want in. I get it, but it's not really negotiable. Bartrand will change his mind when mountains start bowing."

"Then I just gotta be an earthquake," Hawke straightened out his outfit with a cocky grin on his own, shrugging nonchalantly. "Besides I think we're still talking because we can help each other."

Varric chuckled, mimicking the shrug, his hands still in his snug jeans. "I like interesting people and interesting conversations. I've heard a thing or two and got curious."

Hawke's grin widened, as heat crept up his cheeks. Perhaps seduction wasn't off the table after all.

Varric looked away, frowning sympathetically. "If I'm being honest, I think you're just what we need, but I'm not interested in the headache of crossing my brother." He looked back up to the brothers with a friendlier grin. "But I'm sure smart guys like you will land on your feet. I could put in a friendly word with some contacts."

Hawke was undeterred. He slid a finger down the dwarf's leather coat suggestively. "Varric, Varric, Varric. You're obviously the brains of the operation." He winked. "I'm the cream of the crop, the fittest of fit. I'll outpace your brawny guards and I'm willing to protect you whenever, wherever."

Varric raised an eyebrow. "I see your reputation is not wrong."

"Unfortunately," Carver spat.

Lucky's grin widened in spite of Carver's jab. "Well then you must have also heard I don't disappoint."

Varric chuckled. "I'm sure you're capable. But you're not quite pretty enough for me to cross my brother."

Lucky pouted, genuinely put out about that as Carver grimaced in the background.

Carver put a hand on Lucky's shoulder, pulling him back. "We should go," he repeated, willing his brother to listen.

But Lucky's father always said, when the Maker closes the window, break the glass. "No, I think we should make a bet."

Varric raised an eyebrow. "Why would I bet with you?"

Carver looked at Hawke confused.

Hawke put a friendly hand on Varric's shoulder. "If the story is not inside of you, you need to seek it out. I say if I don't take you on the best adventure of your life 'The Hawke Company' will owe you one free job. Anything you ask."

Varric met Hawke's gaze with a smirk. "You sure? Never know what I might ask."

Hawke let his gaze drop to Varric's thick chest hair as a cheeky grin split his face. "I could make some suggestions."

Carver groaned behind him. "Maker, have some standards."

"I assure you, I am the highest." Varric scoffed, putting a hand mockingly on his chest, knowing Hawke was now shamelessly looking. "Besides, you're not going to win that bet. You might be a mage but some spooky Fade shit is not going to impress me."

Hawke dragged his eyes away to absent-mindedly pick off a speck of dirt from his armor. "Oh, I was thinking more about taking you to meet the Witch of the Wilds."

He expected a reaction from Varric but not for him to start laughing hysterically. He wiped one of his eyes as if a tear was there and said, "Oh, you Fereldens and your Witch of the Wilds. You really had me going for a moment."

Carver gritted his teeth, grabbing Hawke's ear and yanking him backwards. "What are you thinking? Mom-"

Lucky jabbed him in the throat, disarming Carver and cutting off his response. "Will thank me later."

This time Varric looked suspicious but also intrigued.

Then Lucky stuck out his hand, a devilish grin on his face as Carver grabbed his throat gasping. "So? Want to meet a Witch?"