A rustling and thump of branch echoed in the dark, accompanied by creak and groan of wood against wood as the winter wind whipped around the Green Man Inn, knocking oak and yew branches over the top of the wooden barricade that surrounded the small village. With imagination fired by the wassail you could almost imagine the wood singing along with Madoc's song, providing a ghostly echo to his merry words. Carr Dagnysson, his gimpy leg aching from the cold, stopped his hauling of the barrel into the kitchen long enough to listen to the song. They were strange creatures, these haflings, nearly half the size of the men in the village, but their cheery spirits could be counted on to give heart to others.
~ ~ ~
Outside, a dark shape that gleamed luminous under the moon shifted and lumbered towards the wooden stakes that provided harbour to the village. A large nose poked at the barricade, testing for weakened planks and then it caught scent of something. It stopped, motionless for a time. Then it sniffed at the air, scenting fir pitch burning and let loose a low wonking moan that seemed to be echoed from the forest beyond the village. The shape backed away from the barricade, but then, drawn by the hunger in its belly, it moved forward again, skulking around to find a north side of the wind which didn't carry the scent of the burning log.
And the wind battered the sign of the Inn, so that it swung in a sort of drumming accompaniment to the halfling's song.
