Following her hypnotic release of bewildered Clementine Holt, Peggy Powler left the rotund woman's establishment of
clay porringers and vases and quietly ambled down a corridor of leaf-shorn beech and alder that bordered her property.
The leaf-strewn ground showed signs of rabbit, a workman's boot and the small paw-marks of an inquisitive fox, but
no larger imprint of a fleeing upright wolf who'd lost his woollen tunic. A lonesome crow complained of the picayune
spell-worker invading his roosting place and leaving his perch still swaying, he flew off to see what smaller creatures
may have taken the option of being carrion instead of enduring the stark season around Willowsgate.
It wasn't long before Peggy passed close to Percy Pumice's farm and took the belief that he and his family may have
been the original settlers of the forest-cleared acreages that would eventually welcome a retired affluent community
wishing to find tranquility in their twilight years. The dark stain where his oxen were butchered could still be seen as
the little peripatetic sorceress neared the fence around the corral and with it, a fellow securing a loose rail with the
aid of some nails.
"Fair travels, Missie..." Farmer Pumice said around the mouthful of rusty tacks and continuing his toil, added "...If yer'
looking for work, I'm sorry to say I'm all out of frollis to pay a fair wage". The Last Witch of Underhill installed her best
greeting smile and with a straightening of her hat, stepped nearer to the man coming dangerously close to bruising his
thumb with the hammer.
"Nay me-good man, Ah' was curious of yon spatter near the post..." Peggy remarked and rubbed her hands together
to indicate the current temperature was also a subject they could blather about. "...Ah'm not from around here, but it
looks like summit' came te' a dark end there in the mud" she perked with a glance towards his farmhouse. Farmer
Pumice's words were true in regards of low income, the cordial conjurer could see that his family home had seen
better days and she guessed the eudemonia his well-heeled neighbours daily experienced hadn't quite leaked over
to the hammering man's mode of living.
"Whey, Ah'd have thought the good-people of Willowsgate would've found it canny te' have a meat and vegetable
outlet such as yer'self te' favour their bill of fare" the poncho-attired onlooker commented and hope she'd expunged
all the mordant implications out of her words. Peggy wanted the farmer to spill his tattle to his visitor, but certainly
didn't wish indicate she was mocking him. Percy sighed, spat the few fasteners into his hand and raised a single
eyebrow to show he found one of his kind.
"Yep, there's plenty of numma over there, but it's old-money... a type of wealth that comes through from ancestors
and havin' powerful friends" he rasped tacitly. The lined face of the homesteader showed the winters that came to
Willowsgate had taken their toll and for a moment, Peggy wondered if her clue-searching guile was tasteless to
use on a regular salt-of-the-earth. However, Percy put her mind at ease when he extended his opinion on the rich
folks along the way.
"It used to be nice around here, a couple of cottages and people you could relate to..." he reminisced, "...people
who would help each other and stuck together when bad things came around to spoil this little nook of Eden".
The farmer snorted and repeated his last word, "Eden... I'm startin' to sound like pompous priest they all run to"
he hissed blackly and turned back to finish his chore. Silence sat between them for a few clobbers of Percy's
hammer before he related the information regarding the bloodstain next to the corral post.
"Before all the awful carry-on with the two kids gettin' killed, something broke into me-paddock and slaughtered
two of me-best bullocks..." Percy said miserably. "...Oh, they were all bleeding-heart from the village and that
fella' who moved his family into the old Blacksmith's cottage even told me he would help me if I needed it.
Heck, I can't recall his name, but he seemed the only decent one among them" he muttered -more to himself,
Peggy was sure, than his one-person audience listening near the scene of the ghastly crime.
Absently reaching into her enchanted satchel, Peggy listened as the farmer continued, the long sandwich she
fished out of her bag was broken in half and without halting his account, Percy Pumice took it with a nod and
spoke about the day he'd discovered more bad luck had called at his home.
"Whatever it was, ripped the cattle's livers out after it had slit their throats and then made off that way..." Percy
advised and chewing on his cheese hoagie, pointed a gnarled finger in the direction of the now-repaired fencing
and beyond that, the three-leagues away town of West Wansford. "...My best guess is it lives out somewhere
at the back of the forest, maybe even..." but at that point, Peggy resisted wiggling her finger and instead held
the hand up it was attached to.
"Hang on Mister Pumice, did yer' say the bullocks had their throats cut?" she asked and faltered in her mid-day
meal, she tugged a sloshing canteen from her majick tote. Percy enjoyed the way the bare-footed woman had
addressed him and gratefully taking the flask of water from the transient theurgist, he nodded vigorously. "Yep
Ma'am, the Gaynestown flatfoots took no notice of what I told them and just passed on their own opinions to
the mouthpiece of Willowsgate" he scorned and took a long gulp of liquid.
The little Witch stared off in deep thought to where the farmer had pointed earlier and unintentionally replied
"Aw aye, Miss Holt sure looked like a bit of a blubber-mouth". Wiping his mouth and placing the stopper into
the canteen, Percy drew his eyebrows down in a confused frown.
"Clementine Holt?!" he scoffed a little too loudly in the empty corral as he handed back the leather-swathed
container, "Heck no, her posh gob is only for stuffing food into..." he crowed and Peggy's eyes moved to where
the farmer's hand had come to rest on the cross-member he had just nailed up. As Percy Pumice unknowingly
plucked at tufts of wool from the splintered surface of the wooden plank, he corrected the little necromancer's
assumption. "...Heck, it's that fancy-pants preacher, he's the fella' who doubles as a town-crier" he informed
the woman staring wide-eyed at his recent repair.
clay porringers and vases and quietly ambled down a corridor of leaf-shorn beech and alder that bordered her property.
The leaf-strewn ground showed signs of rabbit, a workman's boot and the small paw-marks of an inquisitive fox, but
no larger imprint of a fleeing upright wolf who'd lost his woollen tunic. A lonesome crow complained of the picayune
spell-worker invading his roosting place and leaving his perch still swaying, he flew off to see what smaller creatures
may have taken the option of being carrion instead of enduring the stark season around Willowsgate.
It wasn't long before Peggy passed close to Percy Pumice's farm and took the belief that he and his family may have
been the original settlers of the forest-cleared acreages that would eventually welcome a retired affluent community
wishing to find tranquility in their twilight years. The dark stain where his oxen were butchered could still be seen as
the little peripatetic sorceress neared the fence around the corral and with it, a fellow securing a loose rail with the
aid of some nails.
"Fair travels, Missie..." Farmer Pumice said around the mouthful of rusty tacks and continuing his toil, added "...If yer'
looking for work, I'm sorry to say I'm all out of frollis to pay a fair wage". The Last Witch of Underhill installed her best
greeting smile and with a straightening of her hat, stepped nearer to the man coming dangerously close to bruising his
thumb with the hammer.
"Nay me-good man, Ah' was curious of yon spatter near the post..." Peggy remarked and rubbed her hands together
to indicate the current temperature was also a subject they could blather about. "...Ah'm not from around here, but it
looks like summit' came te' a dark end there in the mud" she perked with a glance towards his farmhouse. Farmer
Pumice's words were true in regards of low income, the cordial conjurer could see that his family home had seen
better days and she guessed the eudemonia his well-heeled neighbours daily experienced hadn't quite leaked over
to the hammering man's mode of living.
"Whey, Ah'd have thought the good-people of Willowsgate would've found it canny te' have a meat and vegetable
outlet such as yer'self te' favour their bill of fare" the poncho-attired onlooker commented and hope she'd expunged
all the mordant implications out of her words. Peggy wanted the farmer to spill his tattle to his visitor, but certainly
didn't wish indicate she was mocking him. Percy sighed, spat the few fasteners into his hand and raised a single
eyebrow to show he found one of his kind.
"Yep, there's plenty of numma over there, but it's old-money... a type of wealth that comes through from ancestors
and havin' powerful friends" he rasped tacitly. The lined face of the homesteader showed the winters that came to
Willowsgate had taken their toll and for a moment, Peggy wondered if her clue-searching guile was tasteless to
use on a regular salt-of-the-earth. However, Percy put her mind at ease when he extended his opinion on the rich
folks along the way.
"It used to be nice around here, a couple of cottages and people you could relate to..." he reminisced, "...people
who would help each other and stuck together when bad things came around to spoil this little nook of Eden".
The farmer snorted and repeated his last word, "Eden... I'm startin' to sound like pompous priest they all run to"
he hissed blackly and turned back to finish his chore. Silence sat between them for a few clobbers of Percy's
hammer before he related the information regarding the bloodstain next to the corral post.
"Before all the awful carry-on with the two kids gettin' killed, something broke into me-paddock and slaughtered
two of me-best bullocks..." Percy said miserably. "...Oh, they were all bleeding-heart from the village and that
fella' who moved his family into the old Blacksmith's cottage even told me he would help me if I needed it.
Heck, I can't recall his name, but he seemed the only decent one among them" he muttered -more to himself,
Peggy was sure, than his one-person audience listening near the scene of the ghastly crime.
Absently reaching into her enchanted satchel, Peggy listened as the farmer continued, the long sandwich she
fished out of her bag was broken in half and without halting his account, Percy Pumice took it with a nod and
spoke about the day he'd discovered more bad luck had called at his home.
"Whatever it was, ripped the cattle's livers out after it had slit their throats and then made off that way..." Percy
advised and chewing on his cheese hoagie, pointed a gnarled finger in the direction of the now-repaired fencing
and beyond that, the three-leagues away town of West Wansford. "...My best guess is it lives out somewhere
at the back of the forest, maybe even..." but at that point, Peggy resisted wiggling her finger and instead held
the hand up it was attached to.
"Hang on Mister Pumice, did yer' say the bullocks had their throats cut?" she asked and faltered in her mid-day
meal, she tugged a sloshing canteen from her majick tote. Percy enjoyed the way the bare-footed woman had
addressed him and gratefully taking the flask of water from the transient theurgist, he nodded vigorously. "Yep
Ma'am, the Gaynestown flatfoots took no notice of what I told them and just passed on their own opinions to
the mouthpiece of Willowsgate" he scorned and took a long gulp of liquid.
The little Witch stared off in deep thought to where the farmer had pointed earlier and unintentionally replied
"Aw aye, Miss Holt sure looked like a bit of a blubber-mouth". Wiping his mouth and placing the stopper into
the canteen, Percy drew his eyebrows down in a confused frown.
"Clementine Holt?!" he scoffed a little too loudly in the empty corral as he handed back the leather-swathed
container, "Heck no, her posh gob is only for stuffing food into..." he crowed and Peggy's eyes moved to where
the farmer's hand had come to rest on the cross-member he had just nailed up. As Percy Pumice unknowingly
plucked at tufts of wool from the splintered surface of the wooden plank, he corrected the little necromancer's
assumption. "...Heck, it's that fancy-pants preacher, he's the fella' who doubles as a town-crier" he informed
the woman staring wide-eyed at his recent repair.
Read The TV Guide, yer' don't need a TV.