Kara felt as if she were slipping down a huge slide that went on forever. Eventually, she was dropped off at her destination, landing on forest ground that was covered with brown and orange leaves. Just as Kara was realizing that this was a bad idea, the portal began to disappear. She gasped and cried "No, no, no-" but it was too late. The portal had vanished completely in a matter of seconds. Kara looked around and started to sob. Foster was gone. Of course he was. We must have been separated in that portal, she thought. The reality of the situation she was in hit her hard. She was trapped here, in this strange new world, all alone. There was the sound of beating wings, almost like a huge bird. A girl came down from somewhere up above the canopy of trees, a girl with dark, raven colored hair, and luminous green eyes. Her outfit, a short dress, seemed like it was made of black feathers. A belt wrapped around her thin waist. Strapped to it were weapons of all shapes and sizes. They shined unnaturally, the way Shade's sword had. She hovered in front of Kara, seemingly studying her face, then landed right in front of her, her combat boots hitting the vround with a soft thump. She was a fairy-she had to be, she had beautiful wings-but her ears were rounded, human like ones. Two other girls appeared beside her, one with blonde hair and the other with dark red hair like the color of blood. At the sight of Kara, the girls each looked at her with shock. The redhead's eyes narrowed, and she pulled out a knife. The cold, lethal metal was against Kara's throat before she could've had a chance to escape. "Who are you?" she asked in a quiet tone of voice. "And what are you doing here?" 

Foster came out of the portal too quickly. He briefly flew through the air and hit the ground hard, landing on a dirt path. As he stood up, wincing, he noticed Kara wasn't with him. He started to panic, but then calmed himself down. Kara can take care of herself, he thought. No need to worry. Picking up the spell book that had somehow come with him, he brushed dirt off of its cover with his shirt sleeve and decided that he would go and explore his new surroundings. The sky was bleak and gray, no sign of any sun on the horizon. Oak trees were scattered around the area, their branches and trunks stretching up farther than the eye could see. Intricate marks were etched into some of them. That was strange, but Foster didn't take the time to stop and look at them more closely. His glasses had broken from his fall, so a single crack ran across his field of vision. He heard harsh laughter come from the nearby underbrush. Although he was afraid, he mustered up enough courage to go and find out where the noise was coming from. He walked past a few bushes, pushing stray branches out of his way. The laughter grew louder, and more horrible sounding, a cross between choking and dying breaths. It couldn't really even be called laughter anymore. Foster hid behind a tree and watched from where he stood. He could make out three hunched over, misshapen figures that looked sort of like humans nearby. Fear caused Foster to stay back and not go any further. He heard one hissing voice. The thing saying it had long, ratty hair and tattered black robes. "Those horrid fairies, always ruining our fun. They hate those weak Flightless almost more than we do. Why do they prevent us from using our magic on them?" The other creatures around her nodded before another one spoke. "Yeah. What do they have that we don't?" The next one angrily responded. "They can fly, you fool, and their magic surpasses ours." "You speak lies, Rhonda!" The first one retorted. "You know nothing!" Rhonda, the third one who had spoken, had shorter hair and cleaner robes. "Matilda, you know that that is true. Witches were never meant to have stronger powers than their enemy."

The second one piped up. "What can we do to capture more fairies?" Matilda cackled. "Oh, that's easy. We can disguise ourselves as them or their allies so that we can destroy them from within their own ranks. We can then spy on the fairy twerps and report back to Master Hurricane. He'll pay us large quantities of money, Hagia." Hagia nodded. "That sounds good, but the moment we no longer work for him, we'd better make ourselves scarce. He'll obliterate us the minute he no longer requires our services." Rhonda nodded. "That's true. We'd better finish our potion. Hurricane will be very pleased with us." The three giggled maniacally. Foster noticed a distant smell coming from the huge pot that the witches crouched around had become more noticeable and terrible. Smoke rose above the trees. It stank of corpses and rotting food. He held his nose, and backed up farther into the forest. He heard a loud snaps and cringed. He had stepped on a twig, causing it to deafeningly snap in half. The witches immediately heard him. "What was that, Matilda?" one crooned. "I don't know, but it smells like a Flightless." Suddenly Foster was magically lifted and carried through the air. He desperately failed around, trying to get away, but it was to no avail. He was put down on the ground in front of the three witches. They grabbed his arms, helping him to his feet. "A Flightless! Of course. My hunches are always correct." Matilda leaned forward, examining him. Foster immediately tried to run, but didn't get very far before he was surrounded and corralled by the witches. "Our stew could be made so much more powerful with human blood mixed into it," one said, rubbing her hands together eagerly. "I can't wait." "Hold it, Hagia," snapped another. "Our stew can wait. We haven't seen any humans here in ages. Why don't we mess around a bit with a spell?" Her eyes gleamed in the dim light. "That's always been the most fun thing to do with them." "That's a great idea, Rhonda," replied Matilda, her gray hair looking more hideous up close. "We can use him for our plan." Foster was no longer paralyzed with horror, and he spoke. "No! No, please! Leave me alone! Let me go!" The witches ignored his pleas and dragged him, bringing him over past their big pot to a smaller one. They murmured words under their breaths, evil grins plastered upon their faces. Their hands moved about them sinisterly as they threw what looked like some bird of prey's feathers and coarse golden hair into their pot. They stopped murmuring and tied him to a chair with thick, tough ropes, forcing him to drink the greenish mixture they'd concocted despite his various protests. The stuff tasted sickly sweet, with a metallic tang like blood and all the stickiness of honey. After Foster choked it down, he nearly puked, but the ropes prevented him from doing so because of how tightly they were tied around his torso. He swallowed, afraid of what would happen to him. He started to feel like he was being torn limb from limb, his body aching so much that he started to scream. The ropes snapped, and Foster's clothes ripped apart as he grew in size. The witches watched him change, their eyes lit up with evil glee.