[piosenniel]

Pio had the sudden urge to chew on a sheet of blotter paper. As it was, she resisted, hauling out instead her old pair of blue tinged, wire rimmed granny glasses and fixing them firmly on her face. The world turned a lovely shade of aqua as she made her way to the tent from which issued the enchanting Faerie tune. The images it engendered danced on the edges of her consciousness making her think of times gone by.

A partygoer, wandering by in all innocence, was beset upon by the smiling Elf who attempted to impart some old pearl of dead wisdom in passing. ‘Own all their albums . . . vinyl . . .’ she whispered to the befuddled woman in blue. ‘one of the tracks, if you play it backwards says Perripaul is dead, you know . . . and then of course there’s the walrus . . .’

The woman in blue had backed away by this time, muttering something about needing to see to her sick aunt . . . ‘Vinyl?’ she could be heard babbling . . . ‘album . . .walrus . . .?’

The set was finished by the time Pio arrived at the swirly paisley tent. ‘Just as well,’ she sighed, perching the glasses on the top of her hair. From the corner of her eye she saw a bright swatch of green hair running pell mell toward one of the willow trees on the other side of the field – soon followed by two other small figures. Thoughts of the Wight and her promise came to the fore and she put away dreams of earlier days. Keeping her eye firmly fixed on the willow, she made her way stealthily toward the three little miscreants.