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It was the wren that pried them from their chairs. Stamo was drowsing, his chair tipped back against the table, his stockinged feet resting on a stool. A precarious perch at best as it turned out, as the little bird fluttered down on the man’s hair and began pulling at it. And all the while screeching, ‘Get up! Get up! Danger is near.’
Stamo’s eyes flew open and his arms windmilled in an effort to keep himself from falling backward as the table scooted backward from his sudden movements. With a yell, and launching his torso forward, he managed to right his chair.
‘Now what’s all this about danger,’ he growled, staring at the bird who had lit on the mantelpiece and was screeching.
Mori was already on his feet, his staff in hand. He nudged Stamo’s boots toward him and called to the bird. ‘Hush now! We’re going out.’ He reached out his long fingers and grasped the wren, placing him firmly on his shoulder. He picked up the grey shawl that hung on the back on Goody’s chair and placed it gently round her shoulders. ‘You mind the fire, Mistress. And we’ll mind to this.’
The little wren could not sit still, but flew before them, calling to the other animals as he went. When the two men entered the courtyard, they saw Mara comforting Wenda, and the animals huddling close in, inside the Inn’s fence. Stamo stepped back to hold open the door.
‘Bring her in,’ he urged Mara. ‘By the fire.’ He followed after ordering something hot for her to drinks. Broth and spirits – one for the body, the other to steady her nerves. He put his own thick cloak about her for extra warmth.
‘What can you tell us, Wenda?’ he asked her gently as she sipped from a steaming mug.
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Mori stood in the courtyard with the animals. The reindeer were still trembling, but it looked as if several of the Green Man’s workers were taking them in hand. Tevildo, he noted, was sidling up toward where the white owl was perched. Not with the intent of attacking him, it seemed, for there was an expression of deep worry on the feline’s face.
‘What do you know of this, Tevildo,’ the man asked, tapping his staff lightly on the frozen ground. ‘What attacked her? What does it want?’
We cannot help if we do not know what it is that approaches . . . he murmured quietly to himself.
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