Exton

The combined camps are quiet, too quiet. Ob can tell where the sentries are, but only because the rare movement gives them away. He talks to the shift leader and slips out of camp. Two archers follow, keeping watch as he takes to the skies.

What passes for dawn is not far off. It is that time of night where his current coloring was perfect. Gliding on the air currents brought him over the enemy tents. There was little movement, their sentries watching anywhere but overhead. Movement by the mouth of the cave attracts his attention.

Ob catches an upwards thermal, drifting high over the side of the cliff. An old woman is stirring something over a fire. Not the red-head, but a twisted crone. Ob has a quick image of Fea, but forces it away before the Mer Cronigh appears. There is a feel of dark and twisted magic. Whatever this woman was brewing would not be good.

He drifts a little lower and sees the woman stiffen. She straightens up slowly, looking around. Her hands begin to move, weaving a spell. Ob feels her seeking a target. He is nearly overhead when she looks up. Her eyes narrow and a small smile curves her lips. Power surges, directed by her hands. Ob opens his wings wide, bracing for the thrust of power. It hits him square in the chest, pouring in a rush through his form. He roars and the woman cackles. Her cackles turn to screams as the spell rebounds, crackling around her.

The energy clears, leaving behind the acrid smell of burnt hair and scorched flesh. Ob pumps his wings, gaining height, as a creature cautiously climbs the side of the hill to poke at the smoldering pile. It waits beside the mound until what can only be Morgan appears, screaming to remove the useless thing. The creature picks up the body of the witch and stuffs it between his jaws to crawl back down. Ob seeks for the feel of her magic, but it is gone. He soars away, hearing the shouts of "fire breathing dragon" from Morgan's troops.

Ob strolls through the tents seeking his own place to rest, singing softly.

Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old Witch? The Wicked Witch!
Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead.
Wake up - sleepy head, rub your eyes, get out of bed.
Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead. 
She's gone where the goblins go,
Below - below - below. 
Yo-ho, let's open up and sing and ring the bells out.

Ding Dong' the merry-oh, sing it high, sing it low.
Let them know
The Wicked Witch is dead!