"By-gum, that was summit' Ah've never eaten before..." Peggy Powler reciprocated to her busy friend plucking the
washed plates from a sawn-off wooden barrel in his kitchen. Wiping her mouth with a hand and stifling a burp, the
contented Witch added "...Horse-eels are not a regular on me-menus durin' me-travels".
How Finley Bucca had acquired such fare was partly made clearer as the two ambling Fae slowly made their back
to the Elf's hidden home. Whatever difficult quest might lay ahead for the Last Witch of Underhill would have to wait,
right now was more important to her and what the similar-sized man sporting a large dead fish over his shoulder and
a wooden duck under his arm had to say about his unusual hobby.
The remains of the day had all-but gone and the feeling of prosaic tranquillity that Peggy had become appreciative of
had settled nicely into the forgotten coastline and the little haven Finley had carved out for himself. Birds were clearing
their throats in the nearby forest to begin their warblings of territoriality and possibly boasting of the natural serenity
that summer evenings can sometimes deliver.
Somewhere beneath the rows of intertwined Mangle trees, skittering Dabble Crabs jeopardised their safety and had left
the shallows of the bay to forage for a late meal in the boundaries where the land yields to the Great Sea. Sleepy rabbits
chewed their last blades of grass close to their burrows with a twinkling unblinking eye always vigilant for any snout-licking
fox amongst the shadows.
"I'll further my explanation over supper..." Finley quietly announced as -being a gentleman as well as being reared by a
good woman, he opened the gate of his property and let Peggy step through. "...but how I found the trick came on the
day I discovered how to get the blubber back from the island". The smells from the garden in the mid-summer's evening
added to the easy companionship of the amiable Elf and for a moment, the little Witch pondered if their friendship would
blossom into something more. Her unshod feet would always wish to wander, but time has a way of hobbling such desires.
Just as the couple reached the small oak door of his own type of burrow, the faint sound of a barking dog could be heard
and seeing Peggy's quizzical look, Finley smiled back and assured his guest that his tale would allay her questions.
..................................................
The term 'Horse-eels' became a joke a few years back after it was ascertained that some in the equine-trading business
took to the unusual task of inserting live eels into horses anuses to produce an enthusiasm which could fool a buyer into
believing he was procuring a lively animal. Whether such practices continue cannot be verified and certainly not relevant
to Finley's account.
But the real Horse-eel, the snake-like fish that sports a type of mane behind its head and regularly visits the calm cove
next to Ma Vittie's island, this was the true name for the creature Finley had learned to catch and for Peggy to eat.
Long, black and sinewy, these nocturnal scroungers can grow to the height of Peggy with her new friend balanced on
her shoulders.
Finley had even seen one of these slithering beasts travel across the causeway when the tide was low and estimated it
to be around the length of his garden, but we're getting off track a little here and should really stick to the Elf's story.
It had all started with the gasping.
..................................................
It was during Finley's nightly forays to collect the greasy blubber from the carcase of the leviathan- a must for anyone who
uses oil-lanterns, that he thought he heard a strange wheezing sound from somewhere in the water behind him. Carefully
climbing out onto the small flat area where the dead underwater beast lay rotting beneath a full moon, the sopping-wet
Elf saw a dark shape breaking the surface of the calm waters of the cove and realised it was some sort of animal.
In a rare eureka moment, Finley had come up with an idea to attach a small barrel he'd use to capture the malleable fat
in to his own body by a length of twine. When arriving at his goal, he could simply pull the water-tight cask over and then
reverse the procedure when making his way back to the mainland. However, it was this stout string that had come to the
attention of the shape in the water.
It was a Horse-eel and intrigued by the cord and the bobbing object being pulled by it, this granted Finley with another
stroke of genuis, when he tugged the line... the filament-strewn curious animal followed it. The Elf's evening continued
just as his other twilight sorties and his usual volume of the viscous substance was obtained.
The next day found Finley creating a large net from the stripped bark of the Mangle trees and soon after -with a wooden
duck as a floating lure, the resourceful Fae went fishing for a delicacy. It wasn't difficult and if the tall sentry had peered
out of his stone-built refuge from near the causeway, all he would see is a drifting waterfowl unknowingly being tracked
by a hungry Horse-eel close to the shoreline.
In the case of the Wolf-Dog, just like the sounds Peggy and Finley had heard when entry the subterranean home, the
shaggy beast would bark and bark until it became tired with the sibilating fish and the cold-shouldered bird and romp
off to do whatever nasty canines do on remote isles.
..................................................
Oddly enough, Finley's first day as a fisherman turned out to be the same day Ma Vittie left for her provisions on her little
cart and keeping track of the date, the wily Elf realised a schedule the old hermit always cleaved to. The first night of a full
moon always preceded a trip by Ma Vittie across the causeway. Nothing too-interesting to the average person, but a pattern
he'd seen and something that may come in handy one day.
Igniting the Elf's pipe with her thumb as the pair relaxed beside the crackling fire after their supper of eel and potatoes,
Peggy Powler agreed that such information had finally become advantageous. Tomorrow night was the birth of such a
lunar phase.
washed plates from a sawn-off wooden barrel in his kitchen. Wiping her mouth with a hand and stifling a burp, the
contented Witch added "...Horse-eels are not a regular on me-menus durin' me-travels".
How Finley Bucca had acquired such fare was partly made clearer as the two ambling Fae slowly made their back
to the Elf's hidden home. Whatever difficult quest might lay ahead for the Last Witch of Underhill would have to wait,
right now was more important to her and what the similar-sized man sporting a large dead fish over his shoulder and
a wooden duck under his arm had to say about his unusual hobby.
The remains of the day had all-but gone and the feeling of prosaic tranquillity that Peggy had become appreciative of
had settled nicely into the forgotten coastline and the little haven Finley had carved out for himself. Birds were clearing
their throats in the nearby forest to begin their warblings of territoriality and possibly boasting of the natural serenity
that summer evenings can sometimes deliver.
Somewhere beneath the rows of intertwined Mangle trees, skittering Dabble Crabs jeopardised their safety and had left
the shallows of the bay to forage for a late meal in the boundaries where the land yields to the Great Sea. Sleepy rabbits
chewed their last blades of grass close to their burrows with a twinkling unblinking eye always vigilant for any snout-licking
fox amongst the shadows.
"I'll further my explanation over supper..." Finley quietly announced as -being a gentleman as well as being reared by a
good woman, he opened the gate of his property and let Peggy step through. "...but how I found the trick came on the
day I discovered how to get the blubber back from the island". The smells from the garden in the mid-summer's evening
added to the easy companionship of the amiable Elf and for a moment, the little Witch pondered if their friendship would
blossom into something more. Her unshod feet would always wish to wander, but time has a way of hobbling such desires.
Just as the couple reached the small oak door of his own type of burrow, the faint sound of a barking dog could be heard
and seeing Peggy's quizzical look, Finley smiled back and assured his guest that his tale would allay her questions.
..................................................
The term 'Horse-eels' became a joke a few years back after it was ascertained that some in the equine-trading business
took to the unusual task of inserting live eels into horses anuses to produce an enthusiasm which could fool a buyer into
believing he was procuring a lively animal. Whether such practices continue cannot be verified and certainly not relevant
to Finley's account.
But the real Horse-eel, the snake-like fish that sports a type of mane behind its head and regularly visits the calm cove
next to Ma Vittie's island, this was the true name for the creature Finley had learned to catch and for Peggy to eat.
Long, black and sinewy, these nocturnal scroungers can grow to the height of Peggy with her new friend balanced on
her shoulders.
Finley had even seen one of these slithering beasts travel across the causeway when the tide was low and estimated it
to be around the length of his garden, but we're getting off track a little here and should really stick to the Elf's story.
It had all started with the gasping.
..................................................
It was during Finley's nightly forays to collect the greasy blubber from the carcase of the leviathan- a must for anyone who
uses oil-lanterns, that he thought he heard a strange wheezing sound from somewhere in the water behind him. Carefully
climbing out onto the small flat area where the dead underwater beast lay rotting beneath a full moon, the sopping-wet
Elf saw a dark shape breaking the surface of the calm waters of the cove and realised it was some sort of animal.
In a rare eureka moment, Finley had come up with an idea to attach a small barrel he'd use to capture the malleable fat
in to his own body by a length of twine. When arriving at his goal, he could simply pull the water-tight cask over and then
reverse the procedure when making his way back to the mainland. However, it was this stout string that had come to the
attention of the shape in the water.
It was a Horse-eel and intrigued by the cord and the bobbing object being pulled by it, this granted Finley with another
stroke of genuis, when he tugged the line... the filament-strewn curious animal followed it. The Elf's evening continued
just as his other twilight sorties and his usual volume of the viscous substance was obtained.
The next day found Finley creating a large net from the stripped bark of the Mangle trees and soon after -with a wooden
duck as a floating lure, the resourceful Fae went fishing for a delicacy. It wasn't difficult and if the tall sentry had peered
out of his stone-built refuge from near the causeway, all he would see is a drifting waterfowl unknowingly being tracked
by a hungry Horse-eel close to the shoreline.
In the case of the Wolf-Dog, just like the sounds Peggy and Finley had heard when entry the subterranean home, the
shaggy beast would bark and bark until it became tired with the sibilating fish and the cold-shouldered bird and romp
off to do whatever nasty canines do on remote isles.
..................................................
Oddly enough, Finley's first day as a fisherman turned out to be the same day Ma Vittie left for her provisions on her little
cart and keeping track of the date, the wily Elf realised a schedule the old hermit always cleaved to. The first night of a full
moon always preceded a trip by Ma Vittie across the causeway. Nothing too-interesting to the average person, but a pattern
he'd seen and something that may come in handy one day.
Igniting the Elf's pipe with her thumb as the pair relaxed beside the crackling fire after their supper of eel and potatoes,
Peggy Powler agreed that such information had finally become advantageous. Tomorrow night was the birth of such a
lunar phase.
Read The TV Guide, yer' don't need a TV.