“We can’t harm her too much or she won’t have the energy to snap us back home,” I caution Willow in a whisper as we are closing in on her.

The rosy smell that once encapsulated her immediate area has been replaced with the same pungent smell that was evident in the pasture. Her long black hair is messy with leaves poking from within. Dizzy from the smell, she might have tripped over a pile of dried leaves. 

Snip! Snip! Snip! Snip! 

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