Finley Bucca opened his eyes into the darkness of his bedroom and listened to the soft snoring beside him. Dawn
was still a good way off and the self-reliant Elf felt a mild panic due to what occurred last night and its possible
repercussions. He savoured his solitary life and any variation in his daily activities due to external reasons had never
brought a sense of trepidation or a feeling that he couldn't adjust to any change life threw at him.
But this latest occurrence of a naked Witch entering his room last night and climbing into his bed... well, it could be
said that this event may put a knot in his string. Finley stared up at the ceiling of his little underground home and
deliberated on his immediate circumstances. Usually these thoughts ranged from getting around to repairing the
roof of his outhouse or beginning to dig out a ditch to allow water from the nearby spring for easy access, wondering
about another's opinions and desires on maintaining a home had never been something he'd ever juggled with.
Peggy Powler grunted in her sleep and turned over, a possible sign that her famous mother's clairvoyancy was just
coming out of its slumber and Finley mused this as he resisted the need to scratch an itchy buttock. He knew that
he should begin to arrange his thoughts on how to discuss their recent bedchamber-encounter or if he was that weak
-spirited Fae he always believed himself to be when it came to relationships, prepare breakfast.
A moment later, the perturbed Elf quietly slipped on his clothes and checking that he hadn't woken his unplanned
lover, left to put the kettle on the embers of last night's fire.
..................................................
The Last Witch of Underhill scraped the last of the unsalted porridge from her bowl and sighed in her contentment of
the morning meal. Sipping her Birch-leaf tea, Peggy watched her host busying himself with the useless act of refilling
a sawn-off barrel next to the hearth with chopped lumber from outside and seemingly evading the need for any blather.
The full moon would be out tonight and she would be going to the island. With that nasty-looking Wolf-Dog on the prowl,
the sorceress sitting at the Elf's table believed that discussing timing and any possible variables in their agreed plan may
be more eminent than stacking fuel for a fireplace in the middle of summer.
In her heart, the leg-swinging Witch grasped Finley's possible dilemma and believed it had nothing to do with acquiring
the crate-bound book of Myrddin's request. This brought a smile to her lips as the little man re-entered his subterranean
home and failed to avert his eyes from the monitoring necromancer.
"Are yer' okay there, Finley?" Peggy asked easily as he nervously breezed past with another armful of hewn logs and
dropped them in the cask. She could see how is whole body was wildly sending out signals of his abashment from
her midnight visit to his bedroom and the subsequent development. A sufferance a good person would wish to continue
and so climbing off the chair, the spellbinder decided to soothe Finley's self-constructed angst.
"About last night..." Peggy said as she grabbed the Elf's shoulder, "...Ah' needed company cos' me-travels tek's me
on roads where few nice folk like yersel' tend te' tread" the warm-hearted Witch added and felt Finley's tense body
ease. "All Ah' ask in the favour yer' did and what we're goin' te' do tonight, is have permission te' visit yer' if Ah' ever
pass by this way in the future" she whispered and hoped he understood the full meaning of her words.
Finley's relieved features signified the message had been received and with a shy blinking of his long Elfin eyelashes,
he nodded once and huskily asked if she would like another mug of tea. Peggy quickly hugged him the way a friend
does and ceded to his suggestion of more Birch tea, the atmosphere in the timbered-burrow changed and all was well
once more.
Hearing the upbeat Elf humming to himself as he prepared another brew, the little Witch went to the open doorway
and breathed in the morning air. Tonight wasn't going to be as elementary as alleviating a Fellow-Fae's perplexities
in the matters of bed-warming and any wrong move held far-worse ramifications than just post-romp shyness.
..................................................
The stream that Finley had contemplated introducing a tributary to babbled its secret language of where it had been and
its regrets of finding its final destination. The seated Witch looked on from the small grassy bank as the Elf scooped up
water with his wooden bucket from the chalk-bed creek and offered a shoal of blue-sided tiddlers some interest during
their eternal campaign with the current to not be washed into the saltwater cove.
"Tis a boon te' have watter se' close te' yer' home..." Peggy said absently in her act to support the accord of moving on
from this morning's awkward chat and sliding her foot into the cool flow, added "...Aye, yer' own private tap of Adam's ale".
Finley grunted as he poured his final pail of water into the barrel resting in the wheelbarrow and gingerly touched the nape
of his spine. "Not really, that big sentry I told you about sometimes comes over for his own fill when the tide is low" the Elf
muttered and prepared his aching back to endure some more toil.
The rising Witch showed her curiosity at his words by means of her arching eyebrows, but Finley smiled and waved a hand
to indicate calm. "Don't worry, he's never left his post whilst Ma Vittie is off the island" he assured his friend and with that,
grabbed the handles of the one-wheeled tumbrel. Peggy followed behind as her host pushed his aqueous burden back to
the little house under the sand.
..................................................
It was chilly and peering back into the shadows of Mangle trees, Peggy pulled open the mouth of the waterproof sack that
Finley had provided. The thick material had an oily sheen to it and during her undressing, the heedful shaman wondered
if it was eel skin or the dermis of the washed-ashore behemoth the Elf had pillaged. Now beneath the full moon, Peggy
shrugged such trivial thoughts away and focused on her enterprise. Acquiring the container of the Glamour Grimoire.
"Oh Bugger, yer' in it now" was all the nude necromancer murmured as she fastened the twine to the bag and cautiously
began to wade along the shallow channel.
was still a good way off and the self-reliant Elf felt a mild panic due to what occurred last night and its possible
repercussions. He savoured his solitary life and any variation in his daily activities due to external reasons had never
brought a sense of trepidation or a feeling that he couldn't adjust to any change life threw at him.
But this latest occurrence of a naked Witch entering his room last night and climbing into his bed... well, it could be
said that this event may put a knot in his string. Finley stared up at the ceiling of his little underground home and
deliberated on his immediate circumstances. Usually these thoughts ranged from getting around to repairing the
roof of his outhouse or beginning to dig out a ditch to allow water from the nearby spring for easy access, wondering
about another's opinions and desires on maintaining a home had never been something he'd ever juggled with.
Peggy Powler grunted in her sleep and turned over, a possible sign that her famous mother's clairvoyancy was just
coming out of its slumber and Finley mused this as he resisted the need to scratch an itchy buttock. He knew that
he should begin to arrange his thoughts on how to discuss their recent bedchamber-encounter or if he was that weak
-spirited Fae he always believed himself to be when it came to relationships, prepare breakfast.
A moment later, the perturbed Elf quietly slipped on his clothes and checking that he hadn't woken his unplanned
lover, left to put the kettle on the embers of last night's fire.
..................................................
The Last Witch of Underhill scraped the last of the unsalted porridge from her bowl and sighed in her contentment of
the morning meal. Sipping her Birch-leaf tea, Peggy watched her host busying himself with the useless act of refilling
a sawn-off barrel next to the hearth with chopped lumber from outside and seemingly evading the need for any blather.
The full moon would be out tonight and she would be going to the island. With that nasty-looking Wolf-Dog on the prowl,
the sorceress sitting at the Elf's table believed that discussing timing and any possible variables in their agreed plan may
be more eminent than stacking fuel for a fireplace in the middle of summer.
In her heart, the leg-swinging Witch grasped Finley's possible dilemma and believed it had nothing to do with acquiring
the crate-bound book of Myrddin's request. This brought a smile to her lips as the little man re-entered his subterranean
home and failed to avert his eyes from the monitoring necromancer.
"Are yer' okay there, Finley?" Peggy asked easily as he nervously breezed past with another armful of hewn logs and
dropped them in the cask. She could see how is whole body was wildly sending out signals of his abashment from
her midnight visit to his bedroom and the subsequent development. A sufferance a good person would wish to continue
and so climbing off the chair, the spellbinder decided to soothe Finley's self-constructed angst.
"About last night..." Peggy said as she grabbed the Elf's shoulder, "...Ah' needed company cos' me-travels tek's me
on roads where few nice folk like yersel' tend te' tread" the warm-hearted Witch added and felt Finley's tense body
ease. "All Ah' ask in the favour yer' did and what we're goin' te' do tonight, is have permission te' visit yer' if Ah' ever
pass by this way in the future" she whispered and hoped he understood the full meaning of her words.
Finley's relieved features signified the message had been received and with a shy blinking of his long Elfin eyelashes,
he nodded once and huskily asked if she would like another mug of tea. Peggy quickly hugged him the way a friend
does and ceded to his suggestion of more Birch tea, the atmosphere in the timbered-burrow changed and all was well
once more.
Hearing the upbeat Elf humming to himself as he prepared another brew, the little Witch went to the open doorway
and breathed in the morning air. Tonight wasn't going to be as elementary as alleviating a Fellow-Fae's perplexities
in the matters of bed-warming and any wrong move held far-worse ramifications than just post-romp shyness.
..................................................
The stream that Finley had contemplated introducing a tributary to babbled its secret language of where it had been and
its regrets of finding its final destination. The seated Witch looked on from the small grassy bank as the Elf scooped up
water with his wooden bucket from the chalk-bed creek and offered a shoal of blue-sided tiddlers some interest during
their eternal campaign with the current to not be washed into the saltwater cove.
"Tis a boon te' have watter se' close te' yer' home..." Peggy said absently in her act to support the accord of moving on
from this morning's awkward chat and sliding her foot into the cool flow, added "...Aye, yer' own private tap of Adam's ale".
Finley grunted as he poured his final pail of water into the barrel resting in the wheelbarrow and gingerly touched the nape
of his spine. "Not really, that big sentry I told you about sometimes comes over for his own fill when the tide is low" the Elf
muttered and prepared his aching back to endure some more toil.
The rising Witch showed her curiosity at his words by means of her arching eyebrows, but Finley smiled and waved a hand
to indicate calm. "Don't worry, he's never left his post whilst Ma Vittie is off the island" he assured his friend and with that,
grabbed the handles of the one-wheeled tumbrel. Peggy followed behind as her host pushed his aqueous burden back to
the little house under the sand.
..................................................
It was chilly and peering back into the shadows of Mangle trees, Peggy pulled open the mouth of the waterproof sack that
Finley had provided. The thick material had an oily sheen to it and during her undressing, the heedful shaman wondered
if it was eel skin or the dermis of the washed-ashore behemoth the Elf had pillaged. Now beneath the full moon, Peggy
shrugged such trivial thoughts away and focused on her enterprise. Acquiring the container of the Glamour Grimoire.
"Oh Bugger, yer' in it now" was all the nude necromancer murmured as she fastened the twine to the bag and cautiously
began to wade along the shallow channel.
Read The TV Guide, yer' don't need a TV.