Ma Vittie took control of the situation, just like like all those who could handle command and strode forward to banish the
humongous brute from her island. After coldly instructing the doltish-looking Grissom to calm his thrashing frenzied furry
Wolf-Dog before the howling hound crashed her only mode of travel into her precariously-built house, the big woman
waddled forward to deliver her mettled malediction on the goofy overweight leviathan who'd chosen her beach as a place
to procrastinate.
The sun caused the beastie's large shadow to darken the shingle where Ma Vittie stood defiant and after a long locution
involving slurs of the animal's gender, questioning its acumen and suggesting possible hazards of the flabby intruder if
it remained on the pebbled-beach, the target of her poison-dripping admonitory simply barked once and lumbered its vast
body as it turned away from the situation. There was no fish on offer and so there was no reason to stick around.
With smile of triumph, Martha Vittie placed her hands on her wide hips and copied the walrus' action. The only difference
was that the elephantine monster of the deep had caught sight of something interesting some distance from the out-going
bay, whilst the reclusive woman observed two buckets of spilled water reuniting with its saline progenitor and her overgrown
scruffy sentinel standing beside the drooling mutt and holding the vestiges of a broken cartwheel.
..................................................
With her body weakening against the increasingly strong waves, Peggy Powler clung to the floating sack attached to her
ankle and seriously considered the next few moments may be her last. The exiting tide from Alkali Bight had done its job
and pushed the little naked Witch out to sea, now that same cold and hungry enchantress waited for her many journeys
to finally come to an end.
It had been a long and telling road for the Last Witch of Underhill. From the days of growing up in the travelling Carnival
and her teachings from her drunken fortune-telling mother relaying astute exhortations beneath the billowing canvas of
her marquee to a quiet Elf's bed hidden beneath warm sands. The multitude of humans, Fae and heinous villains that
Peggy had encountered during her strange adventures were too many to number, but the cloistered passage had woven
an interesting tapestry.
Had Accam Dey really survived his brawl with the Gandy-Padfoot for Puddledown's safety...? Would she ever get to see
Sarah Bowe's daughter over in deserts around Fellowstone? Would Peggy's name ever be mentioned when the wealthy
old-timers discuss the history of the Summertide and Barnstead Hunt Horse Race? Myrddin will undoubtedly mourn her
passing and Peggy mused sadly as her obstinate gaze began to sink beneath the waters that the greatest of Magicians
might gaze out to sea when the light gets low and...
A large cracked silhouette began to emanate from the depths immediately below the barely-conscious and bare-assed
spell-binder. Feeling the leathery surface of whatever sea-monster had arrived to devour her, the little Witch's survival
instincts awoke and seeing the huge body break the choppy surface, Peggy grabbed for the wrinkled peel and gathered
one good breath before the unknown behemoth took her down into Davey Jones' locker.
However, there wasn't to be a noble departing of Calder's Way's regular user, nor a dramatic last tragic glance towards the
clear blue sky by a heroic champion and defender of peasantry under a caliginous boot-heel of the latest Demon. Nope...
not today, not when the enormous saviour of buck-naked Witches reminded his rider of who he was. This stunted statement
came in the form of a deformed bark and spitting out most of the Great Sea from her salt-puckered lips, Peggy answered
with her usual comment. It began with 'B' too.
humongous brute from her island. After coldly instructing the doltish-looking Grissom to calm his thrashing frenzied furry
Wolf-Dog before the howling hound crashed her only mode of travel into her precariously-built house, the big woman
waddled forward to deliver her mettled malediction on the goofy overweight leviathan who'd chosen her beach as a place
to procrastinate.
The sun caused the beastie's large shadow to darken the shingle where Ma Vittie stood defiant and after a long locution
involving slurs of the animal's gender, questioning its acumen and suggesting possible hazards of the flabby intruder if
it remained on the pebbled-beach, the target of her poison-dripping admonitory simply barked once and lumbered its vast
body as it turned away from the situation. There was no fish on offer and so there was no reason to stick around.
With smile of triumph, Martha Vittie placed her hands on her wide hips and copied the walrus' action. The only difference
was that the elephantine monster of the deep had caught sight of something interesting some distance from the out-going
bay, whilst the reclusive woman observed two buckets of spilled water reuniting with its saline progenitor and her overgrown
scruffy sentinel standing beside the drooling mutt and holding the vestiges of a broken cartwheel.
..................................................
With her body weakening against the increasingly strong waves, Peggy Powler clung to the floating sack attached to her
ankle and seriously considered the next few moments may be her last. The exiting tide from Alkali Bight had done its job
and pushed the little naked Witch out to sea, now that same cold and hungry enchantress waited for her many journeys
to finally come to an end.
It had been a long and telling road for the Last Witch of Underhill. From the days of growing up in the travelling Carnival
and her teachings from her drunken fortune-telling mother relaying astute exhortations beneath the billowing canvas of
her marquee to a quiet Elf's bed hidden beneath warm sands. The multitude of humans, Fae and heinous villains that
Peggy had encountered during her strange adventures were too many to number, but the cloistered passage had woven
an interesting tapestry.
Had Accam Dey really survived his brawl with the Gandy-Padfoot for Puddledown's safety...? Would she ever get to see
Sarah Bowe's daughter over in deserts around Fellowstone? Would Peggy's name ever be mentioned when the wealthy
old-timers discuss the history of the Summertide and Barnstead Hunt Horse Race? Myrddin will undoubtedly mourn her
passing and Peggy mused sadly as her obstinate gaze began to sink beneath the waters that the greatest of Magicians
might gaze out to sea when the light gets low and...
A large cracked silhouette began to emanate from the depths immediately below the barely-conscious and bare-assed
spell-binder. Feeling the leathery surface of whatever sea-monster had arrived to devour her, the little Witch's survival
instincts awoke and seeing the huge body break the choppy surface, Peggy grabbed for the wrinkled peel and gathered
one good breath before the unknown behemoth took her down into Davey Jones' locker.
However, there wasn't to be a noble departing of Calder's Way's regular user, nor a dramatic last tragic glance towards the
clear blue sky by a heroic champion and defender of peasantry under a caliginous boot-heel of the latest Demon. Nope...
not today, not when the enormous saviour of buck-naked Witches reminded his rider of who he was. This stunted statement
came in the form of a deformed bark and spitting out most of the Great Sea from her salt-puckered lips, Peggy answered
with her usual comment. It began with 'B' too.
Read The TV Guide, yer' don't need a TV.