Later, Peggy Powler would return to the sound she believed she'd heard as she'd entered run-down Mantle property and
accept her initial belief of what had drained Underhill of its communal spirit was -in essence, a correct one. The bantam
Witch had wandered many a forest at night and heard all of the humdrum sounds of creatures who prowl the darkness
beneath the boughs, the soft report she'd caught just as she'd turned inside the derelict home of Edna Mantle was not
one of them. And certainly not the enquiring call of a fox.
Considering the vicious winters that can often visit this region, the chubby widow's cottage had suffered the destructive
elements courageously. The layout of the two damp and mould-growing rooms were the same as Peggy's aunt's and
even though her thumb-flame only offered a limited amount of lambency, the wide-eyed sorceress could see practicality
held sway over comfort for the woman who once fed her feathered friends whilst they slept.
There's a natural nosiness when one is alone in another's habitat to be tempted to pry further into how a person lived
and the bare-footed shaman under the large hat was not immune to such officiousness. Using the lame excuse of a
large dark stain on the kitchen's ceiling for a reason to climb the uncarpeted stairs for further research, Peggy's focus
was on not going a clatter during her ascent.
That was when she heard the sound, it wasn't her meagre pressure on the wooden steps causing the almost inaudible
note and quickly gauging the approximate location, the breath-holding spell-worker estimated it was near the long-ago
collapsed kitchen door. Squinting in the gloom, Peggy wondered if it might be just a creak caused by a passing breeze,
such seasonal damage would certainly lend weight to a swaying piece of wood dangling from a rusty hinge in the cool
night air.
However, stepping further into the gloomy mustiness and noticing the rear doorway framed a perfect portrait of the hill
behind the Mantle abode, the carefully-treading Witch arrived at the threshold and imagined a route something would
take from there to here. Then the yelp-like tone came again and this time it was to the sorceres' starboard side and
swinging her only source of light in that direction, she'd later arrive at the conclusion she hadn't interrupted a curious
and daring fox seeking a supper of house mice.
The momentary shadow in front of the cultivated holly bush wasn't human-like which -to the miniature magician, had
some saving grace. But its recumbent stature was more reptile if one was urged to describe it. The lack of illumination
allowed any decent assumption of what had swiftly moved away would be ambiguous at best. The alarmed augurer's
mind raced to classify what it may have been, but the only response was the familiar one.
"Bugger" she whispered to the dark as she thought about the smooth fashion the vague shape had made its exit.
Feeling her nocturnal investigation had no further benefit, Peggy followed suit and carefully walked back through the
cottage towards the clay effigy watching from beside Hetty's own ingress.
.................................................................
Hetty slept on except for the occasional half-hearted attempt at her own type of bark as her rueful neice sat beside the
bed of her aunt and watch the drips of the candle next to her counting off the time in which to deliberate on her earlier
goings-on. Would a search during daylight hours bring a better perspective to what had cleared out the occupants of
Underhill? Hetty's neighbours moved by night and whatever the shape Peggy had glimpsed in the yard of old Edna's
home might be of the same affinity.
The floorboards were less comfortable than her usual use of a stout hook or branch to deposit her satchel upon, but
climbing into her bag of slumber, the tired and miserable half-Fae wished Myrddin was here with his athenaeum of
ancient books. The Great Magician would have a name for what had drained the village of its life force and with that
answer, a cure to solve the riddle of Underhill.
Beside the bed of her only kin and with the usual snugness of her trusty tote urged sleep upon its inhabitant, Peggy
hoped -at least, the Sandman may take her hand and lead her to a solution. As the candle spluttered into extinction,
two workers of majick blithely slept within dreams that many humans call nightmares.
accept her initial belief of what had drained Underhill of its communal spirit was -in essence, a correct one. The bantam
Witch had wandered many a forest at night and heard all of the humdrum sounds of creatures who prowl the darkness
beneath the boughs, the soft report she'd caught just as she'd turned inside the derelict home of Edna Mantle was not
one of them. And certainly not the enquiring call of a fox.
Considering the vicious winters that can often visit this region, the chubby widow's cottage had suffered the destructive
elements courageously. The layout of the two damp and mould-growing rooms were the same as Peggy's aunt's and
even though her thumb-flame only offered a limited amount of lambency, the wide-eyed sorceress could see practicality
held sway over comfort for the woman who once fed her feathered friends whilst they slept.
There's a natural nosiness when one is alone in another's habitat to be tempted to pry further into how a person lived
and the bare-footed shaman under the large hat was not immune to such officiousness. Using the lame excuse of a
large dark stain on the kitchen's ceiling for a reason to climb the uncarpeted stairs for further research, Peggy's focus
was on not going a clatter during her ascent.
That was when she heard the sound, it wasn't her meagre pressure on the wooden steps causing the almost inaudible
note and quickly gauging the approximate location, the breath-holding spell-worker estimated it was near the long-ago
collapsed kitchen door. Squinting in the gloom, Peggy wondered if it might be just a creak caused by a passing breeze,
such seasonal damage would certainly lend weight to a swaying piece of wood dangling from a rusty hinge in the cool
night air.
However, stepping further into the gloomy mustiness and noticing the rear doorway framed a perfect portrait of the hill
behind the Mantle abode, the carefully-treading Witch arrived at the threshold and imagined a route something would
take from there to here. Then the yelp-like tone came again and this time it was to the sorceres' starboard side and
swinging her only source of light in that direction, she'd later arrive at the conclusion she hadn't interrupted a curious
and daring fox seeking a supper of house mice.
The momentary shadow in front of the cultivated holly bush wasn't human-like which -to the miniature magician, had
some saving grace. But its recumbent stature was more reptile if one was urged to describe it. The lack of illumination
allowed any decent assumption of what had swiftly moved away would be ambiguous at best. The alarmed augurer's
mind raced to classify what it may have been, but the only response was the familiar one.
"Bugger" she whispered to the dark as she thought about the smooth fashion the vague shape had made its exit.
Feeling her nocturnal investigation had no further benefit, Peggy followed suit and carefully walked back through the
cottage towards the clay effigy watching from beside Hetty's own ingress.
.................................................................
Hetty slept on except for the occasional half-hearted attempt at her own type of bark as her rueful neice sat beside the
bed of her aunt and watch the drips of the candle next to her counting off the time in which to deliberate on her earlier
goings-on. Would a search during daylight hours bring a better perspective to what had cleared out the occupants of
Underhill? Hetty's neighbours moved by night and whatever the shape Peggy had glimpsed in the yard of old Edna's
home might be of the same affinity.
The floorboards were less comfortable than her usual use of a stout hook or branch to deposit her satchel upon, but
climbing into her bag of slumber, the tired and miserable half-Fae wished Myrddin was here with his athenaeum of
ancient books. The Great Magician would have a name for what had drained the village of its life force and with that
answer, a cure to solve the riddle of Underhill.
Beside the bed of her only kin and with the usual snugness of her trusty tote urged sleep upon its inhabitant, Peggy
hoped -at least, the Sandman may take her hand and lead her to a solution. As the candle spluttered into extinction,
two workers of majick blithely slept within dreams that many humans call nightmares.
Read The TV Guide, yer' don't need a TV.