Bęthberry looked again into the forlorn eyes of the little man and saw, well, she wasn't sure what. Was it a touch of mischief or something darker? She thought back to fey memories and the gindylows her mother had taught her of and could not recall having left out any saucers of milk recently. Yet as soon as she had these thoughts, she chided herself for them. There was something forthright about the creature's address. Perhaps it was only the time of night which made him appear suspicious. Yet these days one could never be too cautious.
She looked around again at the deserted street and up at the moon, now hidden by a nimbus cloud. From out of nowhere, Wyrd appeared, to alight atop the oaken door. She spoke, perhaps more suspiciously than he expected.
"Well now, have you brought no boggarts with you, nor the spriggans?"
Earnest but indignant eyes met hers and the man rolled these names around in his head, searching for a right way to correct her error.
"Madi belongs here. In this world. Not those others."
The Innkeeper wondered if she should wait to hear more. But then the cloud passed over the moon and a quicksilver glow shone over the sign of The White Horse Inn. The moment decided her.
"Come in, then, and let us talk while we wait for old Froma to brew us coffee, if you will have it. Perhaps you would prefer something else? Are you hungry?"
Bęthberry drew her large shawl tightly around her, let the little man pass into the meadhall, and locked and bolted the doors to the White Horse once again. What an odd air this little fellow has, she thought to herself. And what am I letting us in for? Yet he sighed a gentle, contented sigh as he walked forward and Bęthberry found herself warming to this usual guest.
[ July 10, 2003: Message edited by: Bęthberry ]
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I’ll sing his roots off. I’ll sing a wind up and blow leaf and branch away.
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