Little Stone:
"This event already happened." the cat answered in a voice equally as low as Shawn's, but with a purring, feline pitch.
"See the how the mist is blue? That is not the result of an event that is ongoing." Little Stone concluded.
And then, just as suddenly, Shawn saw that the mist surrounding the witches brew had turned a deep, burgundy red. Tendrils of smoke brushed themselves across the image, obscuring it at first and then erasing it. The smoke tendrils, Shawn could tell, as if they were speaking to his mind, were now showing him something ongoing.
"The stew has responded to your desire." Little Stone explained in a whisper as if not to disturb the witche's brew and its work.
"It will show us what is happening now...."
As the smoke cleared, Shawn saw Bobby and Ralph sitting Indian-style against the backdrop of an orange, rock outcrop. A cliff soared above them, the mountain that Shawn had climbed to get to Little Stone's tent far, far above them.
Their faces were dirty. Ralph had purple bruises and a few scratches on his face. The image turned crisper still, like a Polaroid picture coming into focus just after shooting out of the bottom of a camera.
Bobby had a rag stuffed in his mouth and sported a large scratch that was bleeding on the side of his face. His hands were bound behind his back.
In front of them, Mr. Clayton pranced around the bottom of the cliff where Shawn had left both Ralph and Bobby just a few hundred yards away. He did a little jig, wooden legs and arms all loose and uncoordinated with malicious glee.