For something totally different, the 4th page of a fantasy piece that I play with from time to time, whenever the characters insist. It may some day develop into a full-blown sword & sorcery type thing, with a touch of humor.
“And what do we tell the priests, then? When we come back with no head in that sack?”
“For the love of all that’s holy!” The woman — who may or may not have been the witch — pushed herself off the stone, and flipped her head to send her black hair cascading off her face. She sat back on her heels and glared from Gareth, to Duncan, and back again. “Take them a sack of ashes, and tell them I destroyed myself in flame rather than lose my head.”
Gareth blinked. “You could do that?”
She turned her deep blue gaze to Duncan. “Thicker than stone,” she said.
She stood, and Gareth skipped backwards as she brushed the dirt and grass from the skirt of the plain, homespun shift she wore. She rolled her shoulders back as though working out a kink.
“What’s your tale, then?” Duncan asked. “Are you the witch?”
“He thinks so,” with a jerk of a thumb over her shoulder at Gareth.
“The priests—“ Gareth began.
“Are lechers and liars.”
Gareth closed his mouth with an audible clack of teeth.