They would have been better equipped to react if Vladisa had told them that he had met the witch Baba Roga and, in that same instant, her skull-and-bones hut on its one giant chickenleg had come tearing down the hillside after him.
As I ate my dinner I was able to look up whenever I liked and see the oak table, the gleaming plate with its chickenleg and baked potato, the glowing silverware, and my reflection looking up alertly, like someone whose attention has been called to an important matter.
