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Night had fallen when Rukshan came back to the cottage. He was thinking that they could wait a little bit for the trip. He did not like that much the idea of trusting the safety of their group to a stranger, even if it was a friend of Lhamom. They were not in such a rush after all.

Rukshan looked at their luxuriant newly grown pergola. Thanks to the boost potion Glynis had prepared, it had only took a week to reach its full size and they have been able to enjoy it since the start of the unusual hot spell. The creatures that had hatched from the colourful eggs Gorrash had brought with him were flowing around the branches creating a nice glowing concerto of lights, inside and out.

It was amazing how everyone were combining their resources and skills to make this little community function. In the shadow of the pergola there was an empty pedestal that Fox had built and Eleri had decorated with nice grapes carvings. Gorrash was certainly on patrol with the owls. His friends had thought that a pedestal would be more comfortable and the pergola would keep Gorrash’s stone from the scorching heat of the sun. Also, he wouldn’t get covered in mud during the sudden heavy rains accompanying the hot spell.

Seeing the beautiful pedestal and the carved little stairs he could use to climb up, Gorrash had tried to hide the tears in his eyes. He mumbled it was due to some desert dust not to appear emotional, but they all knew his hard shell harboured the softest heart.

The dwarf had repaid them in an unexpected way. Every day just before sunrise, he would take a big plate in his hands and jumped on the pedestal before turning to stone. It allowed them to put grapes or other fruits that they could eat under the shadow of the of the pergola.

Rukshan came into the house and he found Margoritt sitting at the dining table on which there was a small parchment roll. Her angry look was so unusual that Rukshan’s felt his chest tighten.

“They sent me a bloody pigeon,” she said when she arrived. She took the roll and handed it to Rukshan. “The city council… Leroway… he accuses us of unauthorised expansion of the house, of unauthorised construction on communal ground, and of unlicensed trade of manufactured goods.” Margoritt’s face was twisted with pain as the said the words.

Rukshan winced. Too much bad news were arriving at the same time. If there was a pattern, it seemed rather chaotic and harassing.

“They threaten us to send a bailif if we don’t stop our illegal activities and if we don’t pay the extra taxes they reclaim,” she continued. “I’m speechless at the guile of that man.”

Rukshan smiled, he wondered if Margoritt could ever be rendered speechless by anything except for bad flu. He uncoiled the roll and quickly skimmed through the long string of accusations. Many of them were unfair and, to his own opinion unjustified. Since when the forest belonged to Leroway’s city? It had always been sacred ground, and its own master.

“I have no money,” said Margoritt. “It’s so unfair. I can’t fight with that man. I’m too old and tired.”

“Don’t forget we are all in the same cottage, Margoritt. It’s not just you. Eventhough, they clearly want to evict us,” said Rukshan. “Even if we had enough money, they would not let us stay.” He showed her the small roll. “The list of accusations is so ludicrous that it’s clearly a ploy to get rid of us. First, that road they want to build through the forest, now evicting us from the ground.” And those bad omens from the mountain, he thought with a shiver.

“We are not going to give them that satisfaction, are we?” asked Margoritt, pleading like a little girl. “We have to find something Rukshan,” she said. “You have to help me fight Leroway.”

“Ahem,” said a rockous voice. Gorrash had returned from his patrol. “I know where to find money,” he added. “At leas, I think I know. I had another dream about my maker. It’s just bits and pieces, but I’m sure he hid some treasure in the mountains. There was that big blue diamond, glowing as brightly as a blue sun. And other things.”

A big blue diamond? It sounds familiar. Rukshan thought. There was an old fae legend that mentioned a blue diamond but he couldn’t remember. Is it connected to the blue light Olliver mentioned earlier? He wondered.

“That’s it! You have to go find this treasure,” said Margoritt.

Rukshan sighed as he could feel the first symptoms of a headache. There was so much to think about, so much to do. He massaged his temples. The trip had suddenly become urgent, but they also had to leave someone behind to help Margoritt with the “Leroway problem”. And he winced as he wondered who was going to take care of that road business. It was clear to him that he couldn’t be everywhere at the same time. He would have to delegate.

He thought of the telebats. Maybe he could teach the others how to use them so that he could keep in touch and manage everything at distance. He sighed again. Who would be subtle and sensitive enough to master the telebats in time?

Margoritt’s left knee was painful that day. Last time it hurt so much was twenty years ago, during that notorious drought when a fire started and almost burnt the whole forest down. Only a powerful spell from the Fae people could stop it. But today they sky was clear, and the forest was enjoying a high degree of humidity from the last magic rain. Margoritt, who was not such a young lady anymore dismissed the pain as a sign of old age.
You have to accept yourself as you are at some point, she sighed.

The guests were still there, and everyone was participating to the life of the community. Eleri, who had been sick had been taken care of in turn by Fox and Glynnis, while Rukshan had reorganised the functioning of the farm. They now had a second cow and produced enough milk to make cakes and butter that they sold to the neighbouring Faes, and they had a small herd of Rainbow Lamas that produced the softest already colourful wool, among other things. Gorrash, awoken at night, had formed an alliance with the owls that helped them to keep the area clear of mice and rats and was also in charge of the weekly night fireworks.

The strange colourful eggs had hatched recently giving birth to strange little creatures that were not yet sure of which shape to adopt. They sometimes looked like cuddly kittens, sometimes like cute puppies, or mischievous monkeys. They always took the form of a creature with a tail, except when they were frightened and turned into a puddle. It had been hard for Margoritt who mistook them for dog pee, but Fox had been very helpful with his keen sense of smell and washing away the poor creatures had been avoided. Nobody had any idea if they could survive once diluted in water.

The day was going great, Margoritt sat on her rocking chair enjoying a fresh nettle lassi on the terrace while doing some embroidery work on Eleri’s blouse. Her working kit was on a small stool in front of her. Working with her hands helped her forget about her knee and also made her feel useful in this youthful community where everybody wanted to help her. She was rather proud of her last design representing a young girl and a god statue holding hands together. She didn’t think of herself as a matchmaker, but sometimes you just had to give a little push when fate didn’t want to do its job.

Micawber Minn arrived, his face as long as the Lamazon river. He had the latest newspaper with him and put it on Margoritt’s lap. Surprise and a sudden sharp and burning pain in her knee made her left leg jerk forward, strewing all her needles onto the floor. Margoritt, upset, looked at the puddle of lassi sluggishly starting to covering them up.
“What…” she began.
“Read the damn paper,” said Minn.

She did. The front page mentioned the reelection of Leroway as Lord Mayor, despite his poor results in developing the region.
“Well, that’s not surprising,” Margoritt said with a shrug, starting to feel angry at Minn for frightening her.
“Read further,” said Minn suddenly looking cynical.
Margoritt continued and gasped. Her face turned blank.
“That’s not possible. We need to tell the other,” she said. “We can not let Leroway build his road through the forest.”

glowing fence mean visit forgotten
felt focus sunny witch behind wisdom
hungry stories taking early under eggs
keep laughing carefully nature

One spring day in 1822, so the story goes, Emerald Huntingford was walking the family dog on the extensive family estate, when the dog ran into a densely wooded area in hot pursuit of a rabbit. This was not uncommon, however on this occasion Emerald whistled and called but the dog did not return to her. She ran back to the house and shouted for her brother, Nigel, to help her find the it.

After several hours of frantic searching, for it was a much loved family pet, and just as they were beginning to despair, they heard whimpering coming from a hole in the ground. They cleared away the brush covering the entrance to the hole and saw it went some way into the ground and it was here the unfortunate dog had fallen. It was too deep for them to enter unaided, so while Emerald sat with the dog and called reassuringly down to it, Nigel ran for assistance. With the help of ropes and several strong farm workers, Nigel descended into the space. To his amazement, he found himself in a clay filled dome with shallow entrances going off to other underground galleries. At that time, with his focus on the injured dog, he had no inkling of the extent of it. It was later on, after they had time to explore, that the Huntingfords started to comprehend the amazing world which existed under their land.

Word spread, and they were offered a substantial amount of money by a mining company to mine the land. Locals, and others from further afield, wanted to visit the doline and many would try and do so, with or without seeking permission from the Huntingfords first. Some argued that if you don’t own the sky above your land, why should you have claim to the ground beneath?

The Huntingfords were wealthy and had no need or desire to sell the rights to their land. Eventually, their patience worn thin by the aggressive mining company and invasive tourists, they decided to defend their claim to the doline in court; a claim which they won. From that time on, as one generation of the family passed the secrets of the doline to another, guards were employed to keep watch over the entrance, that none may enter the underground world without the approval of the family.

And it seems none had, until now.

Liz left her bed at 8:30am, wearing only her pink and blue doubled cotton night gown, a perfect hair and her fluffy pink blue mules. She had been thinking about her characters while the sun was trying to rise with great difficulty. Liz couldn’t blame the Sun as temperatures had dropped dramatically since the beginning of winter and the air outside was really cold.

When Liz was thinking about her writings and her characters, she usually felt hungry. Someone had told her once that the brain was a hungry organ and that you needed fuel to make it work properly. She didn’t have a sweet tooth, but she wouldn’t say no to some cheesy toast, any time of the day.

She had heard some noise coming from the kitchen, certainly Finnley doing who knows what, although certainly not cleaning. It might be the association between thinking about her characters and the noise in the kitchen that triggered her sudden craving for a melted slice of cheese on top of a perfectly burnished toast. The idea sufficed to make her stomach growl.

She chuckled as she thought of inventing a new genre, the toast opera. Or was it a cackle?

As she was lost in her morning musings, her mules gave that muffled slippery sound on the floor that Finnley found so unladylike. Liz didn’t care, she even deliberately slowed her pace. The slippery sound took on another dimension, extended and stretched to the limit of what was bearable even for herself. Liz grinned, thinking about Finnley’s slight twitching right eye as she certainly was trying to keep her composure in the kitchen.

Liz, all cheerful, was testing the differences between a chuckle and a cackle when she entered the kitchen. She was about to ask Finnley what she thought about it when she saw a small person in a yellow tunic and green pants, washing the dishes.

Liz stopped right there, forgetting all about chuckles and cackles and even toasts.

“Where is Finnley?” she asked, not wanting to appear the least surprised. The small person turned her head toward Liz, still managing to keep on washing the dishes. It was a girl, obviously from India.

“Good morning, Ma’am. I’m Anna, the new maid only.”

“The new… maid?”

Liz suddenly felt panic crawling behind her perfectly still face. She didn’t want to think about the implications.

“Why don’t you use the dishwasher?” she asked, proud that she could keep the control of her voice despite her hunger, her questions about chuckles and cackles, and…

“The dirty dishes are very less, there is no need to use the dishwasher only.”

Liz looked at her bobbing her head sideways as if the spring had been mounted the wrong way.

“Are you alright?” asked Anna with a worried look.

“Of course, dear. Make me a toast with a slice of cheese will you?”

“How do I do that?”

“Well you take the toaster and you put the slice of bread inside and pushed the lever down… Have you never prepared toasts before?”

“No, but yes, but I need to know how you like it only. I want to make it perfect for your liking, otherwise you won’t be satisfied.” The maid suddenly looked lost and anxious.

“Just do as you usually do,” said Liz. “Goddfrey?” she called, leaving the kitchen before the maid could ask anymore questions.

Where was Goddfrey when she needed him to explain everything?

“You need me?” asked a voice behind her. He had appeared from nowhere, as if he could walk through the walls or teleport. Anyway, she never thought she would be so relieved to see him.

“What’s that in the kitchen?”

“What’s what? Oh! You mean her. The new maid.”

He knew! Liz felt a strange blend of frustration, despair and anger. She took mental note to remember it for her next chapter, and came back to her emotional turmoil. Was she the only one unaware of such a bit change in her home?

“Well, she followed us when we were in India. We don’t know how, but she managed to find a place in one of your trunks. Finnley found her as she had the porter unpacked the load. It seems she wants to help.”

random plot generator

A BOOK SHOP – IT IS THE AFTERNOON AFTER ALBIE HIT HIS MOTHER WITH A FEATHER.

Newly unemployed ALBIE is arguing with his friend JENNY RAMSBOTTOM. ALBIE tries to hug JENNY but she shakes him off angrily.

ALBIE
Please Jenny, don’t leave me.

JENNY
I’m sorry Albie, but I’m looking for somebody a bit more brave. Somebody who faces his fears head on, instead of running away. You hit your mother with a feather! You could have just talked to her!

ALBIE
I am such a person!

JENNY
I’m sorry, Albie. I just don’t feel excited by this relationship anymore.

JENNY leaves and ALBIE sits down, looking defeated.

Moments later, gentle sweet shop owner MR MATT HUMBLE barges in looking flustered.

ALBIE
Goodness, Matt! Is everything okay?

MATT
I’m afraid not.

ALBIE
What is it? Don’t keep me in suspense…

MATT
It’s … a hooligan … I saw an evil hooligan frighten a bunch of elderly ladies!

ALBIE
Defenseless elderly ladies?

MATT
Yes, defenseless elderly ladies!

ALBIE
Bloomin’ heck, Matt! We’ve got to do something.

MATT
I agree, but I wouldn’t know where to start.

ALBIE
You can start by telling me where this happened.

MATT
I was…
MATT fans himself and begins to wheeze.

ALBIE
Focus Matt, focus! Where did it happen?

MATT
The Library! That’s right – the Library!

ALBIE springs up and begins to run.

EXT. A ROAD – CONTINUOUS

ALBIE rushes along the street, followed by MATT. They take a short cut through some back gardens, jumping fences along the way.

INT. A LIBRARY – SHORTLY AFTER

ROGER BLUNDER a forgetful hooligan terrorises two elderly ladies.

ALBIE, closely followed by MATT, rushes towards ROGER, but suddenly stops in his tracks.

MATT
What is is? What’s the matter?

ALBIE
That’s not just any old hooligan, that’s Roger Blunder!

MATT
Who’s Roger Blunder?

ALBIE
Who’s Roger Blunder? Who’s Roger Blunder? Only the most forgetful hooligan in the universe!

MATT
Blinkin’ knickers, Albie! We’re going to need some help if we’re going to stop the most forgetful hooligan in the universe!

ALBIE
You can say that again.

MATT
Blinkin’ knickers, Albie! We’re going to need some help if we’re going to stop the most forgetful hooligan in the universe!

ALBIE
I’m going to need candlesticks, lots of candlesticks.

Roger turns and sees Albie and Matt. He grins an evil grin.

ROGER
Albie Jones, we meet again!

MATT
You’ve met?

ALBIE
Yes. It was a long, long time ago…

EXT. A PARK – BACK IN TIME

A young ALBIE is sitting in a park listening to some trance music, when suddenly a dark shadow casts over him.

He looks up and sees ROGER. He takes off his headphones.

ROGER
Would you like some wine gums?

ALBIE’s eyes light up, but then he studies ROGER more closely, and looks uneasy.

ALBIE
I don’t know, you look kind of forgetful.

ROGER
Me? No. I’m not forgetful. I’m the least forgetful hooligan in the world.

ALBIE
Wait, you’re a hooligan?

ALBIE runs away, screaming.

INT. A LIBRARY – PRESENT DAY

ROGER
You were a coward then, and you are a coward now.

MATT
(To ALBIE) You ran away?
ALBIE
(To MATT) I was a young child. What was I supposed to do?
ALBIE turns to ROGER.

ALBIE
I may have run away from you then, but I won’t run away this time!
ALBIE runs away.

He turns back and shouts.

ALBIE
I mean, I am running away, but I’ll be back – with candlesticks.

ROGER
I’m not scared of you.

ALBIE
You should be.

INT. A SWEET SHOP – LATER THAT DAY

ALBIE and MATT walk around searching for something.

ALBIE
I feel sure I left my candlesticks somewhere around here.

MATT
Are you sure? It does seem like an odd place to keep deadly candlesticks.

ALBIE
You know nothing Matt Humble.

MATT
We’ve been searching for ages. I really don’t think they’re here.

Suddenly, ROGER appears, holding a pair of candlesticks.

ROGER
Looking for something?

MATT
Crikey, Albie, he’s got your candlesticks.

ALBIE
Tell me something I don’t already know!

MATT
The earth’s circumference at the equator is about 40,075 km.

ALBIE
I know that already!

MATT
I’m afraid of dust.

ROGER
(appalled) Dude!

While ROGER is looking at MATT with disgust, ALBIE lunges forward and grabs his deadly candlesticks. He wields them, triumphantly.

ALBIE
Prepare to die, you forgetful aubergine!

ROGER
No please! All I did was frighten a bunch of elderly ladies!

JENNY enters, unseen by any of the others.

ALBIE
I cannot tolerate that kind of behaviour! Those elderly ladies were defenceless! Well now they have a defender – and that’s me! Albie Jones defender of innocent elderly ladies.

ROGER
Don’t hurt me! Please!

ALBIE
Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t use these candlesticks on you right away!

ROGER
Because Albie, I am your father.

ALBIE looks stunned for a few moments, but then collects himself.

ALBIE
No you’re not!

ROGER
Ah well, it had to be worth a try.

ROGER tries to grab the candlesticks but ALBIE dodges out of the way.

ALBIE
Who’s the daddy now? Huh? Huh?

Unexpectedly, ROGER slumps to the ground.

MATT
Did he just faint?

ALBIE
I think so. Well that’s disappointing. I was rather hoping for a more dramatic conclusion, involving my deadly candlesticks.

ALBIE crouches over ROGER’s body.

MATT
Be careful, Albie. It could be a trick.

ALBIE
No, it’s not a trick. It appears that… It would seem… Roger Blunder is dead!

ALBIE
What?

ALBIE
Yes, it appears that I scared him to death.

MATT claps his hands.

MATT
So your candlesticks did save the day, after all.

JENNY steps forward.

JENNY
Is it true? Did you kill the forgetful hooligan?

ALBIE
Jenny how long have you been…?

JENNY puts her arm around ALBIE.

JENNY
Long enough.

ALBIE
Then you saw it for yourself. I killed Roger Blunder.

JENNY
Then the elderly ladies are safe?

ALBIE
It does seem that way!

A crowd of vulnerable elderly ladies enter, looking relived.

JENNY
You are their hero.

The elderly ladies bow to ALBIE.

ALBIE
There is no need to bow to me. I seek no worship. The knowledge that Roger Blunder will never frighten elderly ladies ever again, is enough for me.

JENNY
You are humble as well as brave! And I think that makes up for hitting your mother with a feather. It does in my opinion!

One of the elderly ladies passes ALBIE a healing ring

JENNY
I think they want you to have it, as a symbol of their gratitude.

ALBIE
I couldn’t possibly.
Pause.

ALBIE
Well, if you insist. It could come in handy when I go to the Doline tomorrow. With my friend Matt. It is dangerous and only for brave people and a healing ring could come in handy.

ALBIE takes the ring.

ALBIE
Thank you.
The elderly ladies bow their heads once more, and leave.

ALBIE turns to JENNY.

ALBIE
Does this mean you want me back?

JENNY
Oh, Albie, of course I want you back!
ALBIE smiles for a few seconds, but then looks defiant.

ALBIE
Well you can’t have me.

JENNY
WHAT?

ALBIE
You had no faith in me. You had to see my scare a hooligan to death before you would believe in me. I don’t want a lover like that. And I am going to the Doline and I may not be back!

JENNY
But…

ALBIE
Please leave. I want to spend time with the one person who stayed with me through thick and thin – my best friend, Matt.

MATT grins.

JENNY
But…

MATT
You heard the gentleman. Now be off with you. Skidaddle! Shoo!

JENNY
Albie?

ALBIE
I’m sorry Jenny, but I think you should skidaddle.
JENNY leaves.

MATT turns to ALBIE.

MATT
Did you mean that? You know … that I’m your best friend?

ALBIE
Of course you are!
The two walk off arm in arm.

Suddenly MATT stops.

MATT
When I said I’m afraid of dust, you know I was just trying to distract the hooligan don’t you?

“I had another vivid dream last night, Sunny. I dreamed of a man I met when i was selling my potions in the market place in town. He was chasing a little red fox and I gave him some potion … “

“You dreamed of a fox? That’s a very good omen and fortuitously also reminds me of a joke.
What do you call a fox with a carrot in each ear?
Anything you want as he can’t hear you!”

Glynis smiled reluctantly.

“No, that’s what happened. I’ve not got to the dream part yet.”

“My apologies,” said Sunny, nudging her ear gently from his perch on her shoulder. “Please continue.”

“Anyway the man from the market came to me in my dream and thanked me. He said his wife was well now. He said to look for a gift in the heartwoods.”

“Excellent dream!” said Sunny. “I adore gifts. I will keep my eyes open and hope we find it poste haste. How much further is it now, anyway?”

“Another few days travel to the fringe of the heartwoods. According to the map, that’s where the first X is.”

They continued in silence, glad of each other’s company on the journey.

Glynis had been sad to leave the Bakers and more than a few tears were shed on parting They tried to get her to stay but it was without much conviction for Glynis had shown them the map and, though plain folk, they had sound instincts and knew when something had to be.

“Any time you want, Girl,” said Mr Baker gruffly, “you’ll find a home here. You hear me? And make sure you keep in touch.”

And Glynis nodded, unable to find the words to thank him for his kindness.

And Mrs Baker had made her a new burka. She’d stayed up nights sewing to surprise Glynnis. It shimmered, sometimes green and sometimes blue depending on where the light fell and it felt like silk to the touch. Glynis thought it was the most pretty thing she had ever seen.

“You’ve a lovely heart, Lass, and anyone who’s worth a penny will see that and not those scales on your face.”

It was the first time either of the Bakers had mentioned her appearance and for a moment Glynis was rendered speechless.

But not so, Sunny.

“Knock, knock!” he cackled loudly. “Oh come on! It’s a good one!”
“Who’s there?” said Glynis softly.
“Dragon!”
“Dragon who?”
“Dragon your feet again?”

Finnley, who had also just then re-entered the room, saw her chance to not only get her own back on Godfrey and prove to him her meanness was not a facade, but also an opportunity to get some peace and quiet.

“Take those two,” she said, pointing towards Godfrey and Liz. “They are bound to know something.”

Godfrey paled and Liz let out a little gasp.

“Finnley, how can you do this!”

“Oh bugger it,” sighed Finnley, despondently wondering if she really was a nice person after all.

“She’s in the attic.”

“The attic? I didn’t know we had an attic,” exclaimed Liz. “How absolutely wonderful! I do hope you are keeping it clean, Finnley. Attics are notoriously bad for attracting dust.”

restless mission keep above
wants prune business water
memories wondered latest box
worry cleaning spread friend
tomas remained characters months reading

Liz thought about it for a moment, having a sudden inspiration. “No. No, let’s keep her. She might come in handy,”

Finnley wondered what strange plot was brewing in the rude, dictatorial, bossy tarts mind, but refrained from commenting.

“But we must be vigilant. Tie her up or something until we know what to do with her,” added Liz. “Oh, and be sure and gag her, too.”

“I’m not quite sure that fits my job description…” Finnley started to say.

“Get that new gardener to do it then, I heard rumours that he was into bondage, he will know what to do.”

The night was almost there, the dwarf would come out of his heavy daysleep any minute now. Fox had been collecting mushrooms along with twigs and branches to make some fire. He hoped the constant drizzle of these last few days had not rendered them too wet.

The differences of his needs and cravings depending on his being a fox or a human had always amazed him. When he was a fox, he feared fire and would avoid it at all cost. When he was a human, he couldn’t spend a night out in the cold without a fire. His body was simply not good at keeping warmth inside when he had no fur. Today was no exception and Fox was certain the dwarf would also appreciate it to get rid of the cold of the stone.

After piling up the wood for the fire, Fox smelled his harvest of fresh mushrooms. He imagined them accompanying a good rabbit stew and felt saliva water his mouth. His diet as an animal was mostly meat, whereas as a human he was oddly attracted to vegetables, and even enjoyed the taste of mushrooms. He might not enjoy them so much had he not met a girl once, so long ago when he was a still a cub learning to transform into a human. He remembered the girl had said she was called Eleri, which he had found amusing because in French “Elle rit” means “she’s laughing”.

“How do you know French?” she had asked.
“Oh! My master Gibbon teaches me French, he says it would give me another way of thinking the world.”
“Your master must be fond of Romance stories,” she giggled.

Fox didn’t really understood what she meant by that, and he thought it was not so important because what she had in her bag smelt so funny.

“What’s that?” he asked.
“You want some?” She handed a bunch of butterstache fungi to the handsome redhead boy. “I realise I don’t know your name.”

“I’m Fox,” he said his eyes fixed on the strange looking things in her hands. He sniffed and wrinkled his nose. “Is it safe?”

He remembered the look of incredulity in her eyes, her beautiful eyes. She was the first girl he had seen. He didn’t know much about humans except what Master Gibbon had told him in French, which didn’t really make sense at that time.

“It’s totally safe, you might only have some funny experiences if you take the wrong ones in the forest,” Eleri laughed and Fox remembered the meaning of her name in French. He thought the name suited her well. He accepted her gift, for her eyes, and for her sincere laugh.

Since that time, eating mushrooms was always coloured with joy and a sense of daring. The last rays of the Sun faded away.

“It smells like mushrooms, and butterstache if I’m not mistaken,” said the raspy voice of the dwarf.

Absentmindedly, Eleri put the bones in her pocket and continued to gaze down upon the valley, lost in thoughts of the past. What had that tree said to her, that day it came to life?

Yorath sat quietly, watching her. He noticed the mushrooms growing on the exposed roots beside him, wondering if he had unwittingly crushed any when he sat down next to the tree.

“Mushrooms,” he said quietly to himself.

Eleri didn’t answer, wasn’t even aware that he has said it, but now she was remembering the days of the floods in the lowlands. The wet, dismal months and years when everything was damp, if not saturated or submerged, when mold grew on every surface. Bright green mossy mold, and slimy dank black mold, and fungus everywhere. Nothing would grow like it used to grow and the odour of rot permeated everything. The fruit trees crumbled in a sickly sweet stench into the mud, and the people named it keeg, and started wearing keegkerchiefs wrapped around their faces to keep the stink out of their nostrils.

“Goodbye, farewell,” the tree had said to her. “We are moving north, migrating. But fear not, little one, there are mushrooms migrating here to replace us.”

At the time Eleri had thought it was a ridiculous idea, imagining trees packing their trunks and pulling their roots out of the ground, and stomping off into the sunset. A few years later, she understood what the tree had meant.

Before the last of the fruit trees crumbled into the swamps, the people has resorted to eating the snails and the mushrooms, unwillingly at first, missing the bright colours and refreshing juices, but as time went on, they found more and more varieties of fungi springing up overnight. There came more and more bright colours, and more interesting flavours. It wasn’t long before they noticed the healing and restorative properties of the new varieties, not to mention the recreational effects of some of the more elusive ones. There was no need for any organized farming of the fungi, because they simply sprang up overnight: the days menu would be whatever had appeared that morning.

And so it was considered a gift from the gods in times of trouble, and the people were grateful. Their faith was restored in the earth’s capacity for magic and abundance, and they were inspired and rejuvenated. Eleri vowed never to forget the earth’s magic providence, in the form of mushrooms

It had been three days. Fox wasn’t sure of what to do next. The witch was gone, the manor was empty, and she wasn’t coming back. For a moment he felt like the small fox he was before his master found him, feeling abandoned by his mother. She had been killed after hiding him from the hunters. But he didn’t know it at the time. Fox sighed. How was he supposed to find the lost piece of soul now? It was easier when he was in his animal form, he wouldn’t think so much about what to do next, he would just be doing, anything that fit the moment. But his master had warned him not to revert back to his animal form, that he was not yet free. Fox wasn’t sure if it was true, but he trusted his master, and despite the strong desire to turn back, each moment he was making the decision to keep his human form.

There was another who was not yet free, Fox thought. He looked at the cold stone face of his new friend. They had talked every night since his arrival and as usual they hadn’t seen the daylight coming. This time, Gorrash had been frozen laughing, and Fox thought it was the liveliest statue he had ever seen. They had gotten along quite easily, especially after Fox had given the dwarf some medicine to help with the nausea after his incursion underground. Afterward, Gorrash had been an endless source of questions about the world. Fox thought the dwarf was an interesting character. He looked old with his long beard and the wrinkles around his eyes, but he had not been around very long. Grey during the day, he was very colourful once the daylight had gone; he wore red hat and pants, green jacket, and brown crakows and belt. His voice had the sound of a grinding stone, with a hint of melancholy as he talked about his maker. But for the moment, despite his expressive outburst, he was cast in silence.

Fox shook himself and decided it was time to make some plans about where to go next. He would try to catch up with the witch, he might be able to find her before she went to far away from the forest. The woman looked old and she couldn’t have gone far, especially as she seemed to avoid human contact, she wouldn’t have found a carriage. Fox remembered his master warning him about hope, that it was one of the cause of suffering in the world. Nonetheless, roaming randomly into the enchanted forest could take him years to find the lost piece of soul. Hope or no hope, he had spent enough time waiting in his life. He had a quest now.

Fox wouldn’t have admitted aloud, but his new friendship brought in some complication. Fox had tried to lift him, but despite its rather small size the statue was quite heavy. He would have to find something to carry it during the day as they couldn’t just walk at night time.
Fox looked at the garden for a moment, the frozen pond, the yellow grass, some old abandoned furniture. Then he looked at the closed door of the house, and wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before. There might be something useful inside. And if the witch was gone, she wouldn’t mind, would she?

Fox used a pair of pins to open the door. The smell of herbs, spices and a few other things he didn’t want to know about, brushed past his nose as he entered the dark house.

Kumihimo was rummaging through the content of a wooden chest at the back of the cave. According to the smell it had spent too much time in the dark and humid environment. She might have to do some spring cleaning one day. But the chest was now too heavy for her to carry. I need an apprentice for this, she thought not knowing if if was a wish or a regret.

In that chest, she had her many tools of the thread. Some were made of bones and she had carved them herself under the direction of her spirit guides. Each one had a specific purpose, either to catch, to extract, to guide, or to dissipate, and many more usages that even she had forgotten after so many years spent in that place.

She had accumulated so many things in that chest. Fortunately she liked miniature, and most of her creations were seldom bigger than her little finger. However that made it difficult to keep things in order and finding something was often a real challenge. So she sang lullabies to lure the object she was looking for out of their sanctuary.

Victory! she exulted in the ancient tongue, which would translate also as ‘I have done all that is necessary to harvest the benefits of the next crop’. Kumihimo liked simple things and she liked when one word could signify a very complex meaning. Under an old donkey skin that she often used to camouflage herself when she was going down in the valley, she had found the loom she had been looking for.

The loom was made from the right shoulder blade of a bear. It was one of the first objects she had carved when she arrived in the vicinity. It had a yellowish patina and felt very smooth in her hands. Its shape was octagonal and each side had seven notches under which were three rows of symbols, some of the ink was gone after so many years, but she could still feel the groove where she had carved them. She smiled at the fond memories and at the dear friend who allowed her to take his bone when he died of old age.
In the centre of the loom was a heart with a circular hole in it. It was where the braid would emerge.

Holding the precious object, Kumihimo could feel all the braids she had already made and all the potential braids that waited to come into existence. She felt warmth bloom in her heart at the task at hand.

Each notch corresponded at the same time to a time of the year, to a direction on earth and in the sky, and some rather obscure references to many other phenomenon and concepts. The weaving depended on very complex rules that she had discovered from experience. Actually the meaning weaved itself into the braid through a subtle interaction between her and Spirit. That way she didn’t have to bother about what to do or what notch to use as it would all unfold during the weaving.

She stood up and walked outside. The day was still young and she had a lot to do. The weaving ceremony was an act of spontaneity, but it required some preparation. She put the loom on a round rock to dry in the Sun and went to examine the hanging threads. She had to choose carefully.

Yorath was still trying to explain the nature of forests, the rekindled understanding of the woodland habitats, the memory storing capacity of the vegetation in a vast network of twining tendrils and roots and so on, when Lobbocks burst into the room. Leroway had been finding himself unable to detach the workings of his mind from the contraptions he could assemble himself to control the natural states, and welcomed the interruption. If only Yorath would get to the point, he’d thought impatiently, then I could prepare to devise a solution ~ thereby entirely missing the point, although he didn’t realize it.

But here was Lobbocks, announcing a problem that required a solution, which was much more in line with Leroway’s thinking. As he listened to the tale of the stone statue now animated and angry, he immediately started to plan a device to capture, restrain and subdue it, to keep it from harming any of the citizenry.

Eleri, however, revealing herself from her eavesdropping position behind the door, had other ideas.

“I must speak to him!” she said. “I must know how he animated himself, without the aid of any of my ingredients.”

“Not to mention his vengeful attitude,” added Yorath. “Imagine if this happens again, to other stone statues and creatures.”

“Indeed we do, Yorath! I had considered the animation, purely from a physical capacity for movement standpoint, but I had not given much thought to the emotional condition in a reanimation process after a prolonged inanimate state. Oh hello, Leroway,” she added, noticing his look of surprise.

“Should I get a posse together to follow him then,” interjected Lobbocks, as Leroway and Eleri exchanged banal pleasantries about how long it had been since they’d met, “Because I think he’s looking for your workshop in the valley.”

Eleri ignored Leroway’s suggestion that she stay in the village while he conducted the mission to capture the statue, stating that she was leaving for home immediately, gratefully accepting Yorath’s announcement that he would accompany her. She went back up to attic to fetch her things, and stood at the window for a moment, looking up at the castle walls.

Wouldn’t it be easier to just walk in the other direction, and not look back? The temptation hovered, almost as tangible as the scent of orange blossom in the air. What was it that was keeping her here all these years? She was a wanderer by nature, or at least she had been. Were those days really gone? While everyone around her had been lightening their loads, ridding themselves of unnecessary baggage, loosening their ties, she’d done the opposite.

Sighing, she picked up her bag. She would return home.