Peggy Powler was confident that this was truly a rare event in the Banyard calendar and sitting quietly at the neatly-laid
dinner table, the hatless sorceress studied the children sat either side of their father. Like their guest, the teenage two
boys and two girls of around five summers old had removed their own broad-brimmed headwear and now the meek
spellbinder could see their hair styles that once again, attached them to the analogous Banyard tradition.
Either the head of their neat-as-a-pin household or his dowdy wife had performed the shearing. A pruning of their own and
their children's locks by using a mixing-bowl from their kitchen. With ears sticking out like handles of a two-handled jug,
the Banyard progenitures scrutinised the woman who's head barely reached above the table. "You find barn true?" Elmer
asked in his usual blunted terminology and turned his attention to the round woman arriving from the steam-filled scullery.
Peggy came out of her review and replied "Oh Aye, but Ah' wus' caught off-guard by the big hoss yer' have in there" she
joked and noticed her playful riposte fell on the exposed ears without the impact she'd expected. The stone faces of her
hosts had now turned to the large porringers of food their Ma was carrying in and the little Witch concluded wholesome
mirth was a stranger under the funnel-shaped roof of this unflappable menage.
.................................................................
Even after a decent length of time squatting in the Banyard's thankfully-secluded outhouse, another crouching period in
a clump of wild Daisy Bush and finally an unwanted bout of vomiting beneath a Beech tree, Peggy still felt bloated from
the enormous feast that she'd endured earlier. The hot day was already beginning to wane as the Last Witch of Underhill
wearily lumbered back to the barn from her inspection of the outlying acreage of Elmer's property.
With her stomach muscles still throbbing from their forced rejection, she absently patted the muzzle of Cadmun -a name
Peggy had gleaned from the exiguous dialogue at the dinner table and lethargically climbed the stairs to the loft.
She'd located the stream Domby Crustop had mentioned, but the bantam-sized surveyor with the well-stocked belly felt
the only discernible marks she located in the mud could've been caused by a traveller using a walking-stick. With a short
wander along a trail avenued with blossoming bushes and a few wild malus trees, Peggy found nothing to indicate a lair
or hideaway of a skulking beast who enjoyed slaying livestock and this thought came on the heels of realising a reluctant
evaluation into the victims of this unknown cut-throat would be required.
Elmer Banyard had stashed the three dead sheep behind a wall of haybales in a thicket of Hornbeams and Beeches
with the intention on burying the carcases at a later date. Peggy believed that an immediate interment would've been
wiser considering the stench of the decomposing bodies she was met with as she climbed over the string-parceled
animal fodder, but the delayed burial did give her the undesirable opportunity to examine the wounds inflicted on the
poor creatures.
After gagging back her stomach's demand to regurgitate her midday banquet during her search for fleece-hidden wounds
on the glassy-eyed corpses, the shuddering sorceress ceded to her body and afterwards, took some solace that her bare
feet didn't get dowsed during her intestinal outburst. If the killer of of Elmer's ewes was nearby or a nosy squirrel roosting
in the tall tree that took the brunt of the enchanter's spontaneous chunder, the words this abstract eavesdropper would've
heard were "Whey, yer' bugger!".
.................................................................
The lanterns were lit in the Banyard home and Peggy Powler guessed the look-alike family were sitting down to another
spread of food. Sitting on the berm of the barn's only window, the serene spell-worker had allowed the cool breeze into
the empty -but neat, garret by sliding the frame up and peacefully watched the summer day ease its way into evening.
This wasn't merely a secret enjoyment of the little woman swaying her unclad legs on the window sill, Peggy was also
taking inventory of her darkening surroundings.
Accounting the shadows that crept in with the night was always a canny function to cleave to when faced with a adversary
who had access to a wider terrain than oneself. As good as a rabbit snare, knowing the shape of the dark can let a good
watcher know when it's time to make one's move. The lonely latrine could be glimpsed if Peggy leaned out and peered
away past the tubular gambrel of the Banyard's haven of abundant nourishment. Behind the toilet, a line of neatly-cut
hedgerow led off to where the observing augurer had splashed the bark of a Beech. A memory that caused Peggy to
intuitively caress her tummy.
Behind the pear tree directly outside of the barn was the familair sight of a well-kept plough, a hallowed harrow and a
clump of shapes that were now mere Machiavellian silhouettes plotting knotty schemes in the gloom of the evening.
The four figures leaning against a trim and perfectly-shingled shed were scarecrows that Peggy had admired long
before the sun had dropped behind the faraway hillock of elm trees.
It seemed that even the all-weather instruments used on Elmer's farm could never be seen in a less-than respectable
condition. The quartet of reclining bird-scarers sported charcoal-grey tunics and large hats like their owners. Even from
Peggy's constrained position, she thought their clothes didn't appear to be hand-me-downs. Below the peacful loft,
Cadmun agreed with the only two-legged inhabitant of the improvised watchtower with a nose-quivering snort.
.................................................................
Under a full moon that mimicked Elmer Banyard's head, a curious Tawny Owl hooted from the pear tree in harmony
with the faint steady sound of snoring from the upper-room of the barn and for a moment, four shapes stopped their
walk and waited for any sign of noticing their clandestine stroll. No lights came on in the windows of the farmhouse
and no half-asleep farmer blundering out of the door waving a crossbow around. With the caliginosity maintaining its
usual rural tranquility, the quartet of stiff-limbed shadows shuffled off into the dark and a little face slowly appeared
at the barn's window.
dinner table, the hatless sorceress studied the children sat either side of their father. Like their guest, the teenage two
boys and two girls of around five summers old had removed their own broad-brimmed headwear and now the meek
spellbinder could see their hair styles that once again, attached them to the analogous Banyard tradition.
Either the head of their neat-as-a-pin household or his dowdy wife had performed the shearing. A pruning of their own and
their children's locks by using a mixing-bowl from their kitchen. With ears sticking out like handles of a two-handled jug,
the Banyard progenitures scrutinised the woman who's head barely reached above the table. "You find barn true?" Elmer
asked in his usual blunted terminology and turned his attention to the round woman arriving from the steam-filled scullery.
Peggy came out of her review and replied "Oh Aye, but Ah' wus' caught off-guard by the big hoss yer' have in there" she
joked and noticed her playful riposte fell on the exposed ears without the impact she'd expected. The stone faces of her
hosts had now turned to the large porringers of food their Ma was carrying in and the little Witch concluded wholesome
mirth was a stranger under the funnel-shaped roof of this unflappable menage.
.................................................................
Even after a decent length of time squatting in the Banyard's thankfully-secluded outhouse, another crouching period in
a clump of wild Daisy Bush and finally an unwanted bout of vomiting beneath a Beech tree, Peggy still felt bloated from
the enormous feast that she'd endured earlier. The hot day was already beginning to wane as the Last Witch of Underhill
wearily lumbered back to the barn from her inspection of the outlying acreage of Elmer's property.
With her stomach muscles still throbbing from their forced rejection, she absently patted the muzzle of Cadmun -a name
Peggy had gleaned from the exiguous dialogue at the dinner table and lethargically climbed the stairs to the loft.
She'd located the stream Domby Crustop had mentioned, but the bantam-sized surveyor with the well-stocked belly felt
the only discernible marks she located in the mud could've been caused by a traveller using a walking-stick. With a short
wander along a trail avenued with blossoming bushes and a few wild malus trees, Peggy found nothing to indicate a lair
or hideaway of a skulking beast who enjoyed slaying livestock and this thought came on the heels of realising a reluctant
evaluation into the victims of this unknown cut-throat would be required.
Elmer Banyard had stashed the three dead sheep behind a wall of haybales in a thicket of Hornbeams and Beeches
with the intention on burying the carcases at a later date. Peggy believed that an immediate interment would've been
wiser considering the stench of the decomposing bodies she was met with as she climbed over the string-parceled
animal fodder, but the delayed burial did give her the undesirable opportunity to examine the wounds inflicted on the
poor creatures.
After gagging back her stomach's demand to regurgitate her midday banquet during her search for fleece-hidden wounds
on the glassy-eyed corpses, the shuddering sorceress ceded to her body and afterwards, took some solace that her bare
feet didn't get dowsed during her intestinal outburst. If the killer of of Elmer's ewes was nearby or a nosy squirrel roosting
in the tall tree that took the brunt of the enchanter's spontaneous chunder, the words this abstract eavesdropper would've
heard were "Whey, yer' bugger!".
.................................................................
The lanterns were lit in the Banyard home and Peggy Powler guessed the look-alike family were sitting down to another
spread of food. Sitting on the berm of the barn's only window, the serene spell-worker had allowed the cool breeze into
the empty -but neat, garret by sliding the frame up and peacefully watched the summer day ease its way into evening.
This wasn't merely a secret enjoyment of the little woman swaying her unclad legs on the window sill, Peggy was also
taking inventory of her darkening surroundings.
Accounting the shadows that crept in with the night was always a canny function to cleave to when faced with a adversary
who had access to a wider terrain than oneself. As good as a rabbit snare, knowing the shape of the dark can let a good
watcher know when it's time to make one's move. The lonely latrine could be glimpsed if Peggy leaned out and peered
away past the tubular gambrel of the Banyard's haven of abundant nourishment. Behind the toilet, a line of neatly-cut
hedgerow led off to where the observing augurer had splashed the bark of a Beech. A memory that caused Peggy to
intuitively caress her tummy.
Behind the pear tree directly outside of the barn was the familair sight of a well-kept plough, a hallowed harrow and a
clump of shapes that were now mere Machiavellian silhouettes plotting knotty schemes in the gloom of the evening.
The four figures leaning against a trim and perfectly-shingled shed were scarecrows that Peggy had admired long
before the sun had dropped behind the faraway hillock of elm trees.
It seemed that even the all-weather instruments used on Elmer's farm could never be seen in a less-than respectable
condition. The quartet of reclining bird-scarers sported charcoal-grey tunics and large hats like their owners. Even from
Peggy's constrained position, she thought their clothes didn't appear to be hand-me-downs. Below the peacful loft,
Cadmun agreed with the only two-legged inhabitant of the improvised watchtower with a nose-quivering snort.
.................................................................
Under a full moon that mimicked Elmer Banyard's head, a curious Tawny Owl hooted from the pear tree in harmony
with the faint steady sound of snoring from the upper-room of the barn and for a moment, four shapes stopped their
walk and waited for any sign of noticing their clandestine stroll. No lights came on in the windows of the farmhouse
and no half-asleep farmer blundering out of the door waving a crossbow around. With the caliginosity maintaining its
usual rural tranquility, the quartet of stiff-limbed shadows shuffled off into the dark and a little face slowly appeared
at the barn's window.
Read The TV Guide, yer' don't need a TV.