Eye of newt, skin of toad.
It was getting harder to get ingredients. Sure, she could just pop into town and down to Jenkin’s Alchemy & Apocrathereum, but the Mistress wouldn’t approve.
Nothing but the best. Organics only.
So here she was, knee-deep in mud and muck and frog-juices.
What’s the difference between a frog and a toad? Or a newt and a salamander, for that matter? They’re all bloody amphibians! She couldn’t tell, but the Mistress could, on sight.
Better grab a bucket-full.
And she had thought witchcraft would be glamorous.