The sounds of the battlefield were deafening - the cacophony of noise made weaker souls reel in senseless confusion, lashing out at friend and foe alike. It wore at the soul, dragged down the sword arm, and slowed reflexes.
Peter found himself with single moment of respite to wipe the blood from his brow, his back pressed up against and supported by one of his comrades. Across the distance, resplendent in her ill-gotten finery as she stood in her carriage, he could see the White Witch. She was aglitter for a moment in the sunlight, but then began to darken as a cloud drew nigh.
The darkness spread over her, faster and faster like an inkblot spreading across paper. It was felt wrong, completely out of place.
The White Witch, sensing too that was something was wrong, looked up. It was too late to even scream before she was crushed beneath a house.
A farm house.
The hush that followed in the wake of her untimely demise was far more deafening than the earlier din from the battlefield. The forces of both good and evil stood shoulder to shoulder in stunned silence.
"What just happened?" the person supporting Peter's back asked.
Another person, off to Peter's left and one who never stepped forth to identify himself, muttered, "Ding dong, the witch is dead."
There was movement at the house. Peter shaded his eyes against the sun and squinted as the house's door swung open. A girl, frazzled brown hair escaping loose from two pigtails, stumbled forth with a little brown dog clutched to her breast.
She stared in dismay at the carnage.
Though Peter was too far away to hear, the girl's first words were immortalized forever: "Toto, I've got the feeling we're not in Kansas anymore."
author's notes: If you would like a continuation or sequel of some sort, you'll need to bug acacia59601. :) She encouraged the crack and now I've left her with the responsibility of finishing it.