Chasing the Past

She’s turning to leave when she sees it. Something she knows.
“Edera?”
Witch drops to her knees, wiping blood from a too familiar face.
Lizard watches.
“You knew her?”
“I… yes.” One eye stares, a clear, cool blue, the other dark metal smeared with grease. Neither see.
“Merchant’s kid. When the caravans came to the Hollow, we’d… play. Sometimes.” A ragged, bloody hole mars the girl’s forehead.
Witch put it there.
“So,” Lizard says. “They took the people, dead or alive. They did… this to them, somehow. Quickly too. Someone’s making an army.”
Witch closes Edera’s eye.
“We done here?”