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All of a sudden, Godfrey flung the peanut butter jar he was holding to the ground where it smashed into dozens of glittering fragments.

“Silly me,” he said. “How clumsy! Clean that up will you, Finnley.”

Finnley glared at him, torn between annoyance at being treated as a mere cleaner and relief at having an excuse to leave the room and dispose of that darn sack, once and for all.

Common sense won. There is plenty of time to make him pay for that, she thought.

“Right you are, Sir,” she said, with an inadvertent roll of the eyes. “Right away, Sir.”

“What’s all this racket?” demanded Liz. She stopped in her tracks staring in amazement at Inspector Melon.

“Walter???”

“Oh my … Liz???” The colour had drained from Inspector Melon’s plump red face.

“Okay, well I will leave you to it,” said Finnley making a hurried retreat.

Glynis had been staying with the Bakers for a few weeks now, since the night of the storm.

She had taken refuge on their porch, as the gale tore through the pitch black streets, blowing anything not nailed down along in its wake. Intending to leave early before anyone in the house was up, she found a dry corner and wrapping her burka tightly around herself for warmth, she fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

“Well, what have we here! Good Lord, girl, you must be freezing!” said a booming male voice. Glynis started awake, trying to work out where she was.

“This is no place to be in a storm. Come inside to the warm,” the man continued. And before she could gather her senses and protest, he took hold of her arm and gently but firmly pulled her into a cosy warm kitchen already filled with the delicious aroma of baking bread.

“Anne!” he called to his wife, “look what I found on the front porch!”

“Oh you poor dear! You are shivering! Come with me and let’s get you into some dry clothes.”

Anne Baker was a portly woman with a purple scar covering a large part of her face. Glynis never mentioned the scar and likewise the Bakers never said a word about the dragon scales, seeming completely unperturbed by Glynis’s unusual appearance. In fact, in their kindly presence, Glynis sometimes found herself forgetting.

To repay their kindness, Glynis helped with the baking. With her knowledge of herbs, she had created several new recipes which had proved to be most popular with the customers. This delighted the Bakers; they were people who were passionate about what they did and every little detail mattered. They rose early, often before the sun was up, to lovingly prepare the dough; in their minds they were not merely selling bread; they were selling happiness.

Glynis was most surprised the day the stone parrot arrived in the mail.

“This is very peculiar. Who is this “laughing crone” and what does she want with me,” said Glynis to the stone parrot. “I wonder, did Aunt Bethell send you to me? She is very good at stories — perhaps she sent me the dream as well.”

But surely Aunt Bethell would not call herself a laughing crone! No, that is definitely not her style!

Glynis stared at the concrete parrot and an uneasy feeling had come over her. “You are alive inside that concrete, aren’t you,” she whispered, patting the stone creature gently. “Have you too been caught in the spell of some malevolent magician?”

The drizzle wasn’t meant to last. At least that’s what the smell in the air was telling Fox. With the night it was getting colder and the drizzle would soon turn into small ice crystals, and maybe worse.
“We should get going,” Fox said, enjoying the last pieces of rabbit stew. The dwarf had been busy looking around in the leafless bushes and behind the tree trunks. He had been silent the whole time and Fox was beginning to worry.
“What have you been doing anyway?” he asked. “Are you hunting? You can still have a piece of that stew before I swallow it.” He handed his bowl toward the dwarf, who grumpfed without looking at Fox.
“I don’t eat. I’m a stone dwarf. I think I get recharged by daylight.”
Gorash kept on looking around very intently.
“We should get going,” repeated Fox. The weather is going to be worse.
“Grmpf. I don’t care. I’m made to stay outside. I’m a stone statue.”
“Well even stone gets cracked with the help of ice when temperature drops below zero. How am I supposed to carry you if you fall into pieces,” said Fox. He thought his idea rather cunning, but he had no idea if Gorash would be affected by the bad weather or not, since he was not really like stone during the night.

“And what are you looking for? It’s winter, there’s not much of anything behind those naked bushes.”
“It’s Easter. You had your rabbit. I want my eggs,” said the dwarf.
“Oh.” Fox was speechless for a few moments. He too had been thinking of the colourful eggs of the dwarf’s friend they had left in the witch’s garden. He wondered what had happened to it? Gorash had been gloomier and gloomier since they had left the garden and Fox didn’t understand why. He had thought his friend happy to go on a quest and see the outside world. But something was missing, and now Fox realised what it was.

He didn’t really know what to say to comfort the dwarf, so he said nothing. Instead he thought about the strange seasonal pattern shifts. If it was Easter then it should be spring time, but the temperatures were still a havoc. And the trees had no leaves in that part of the forest. Fox remembered the clock tower of the city had had some problems functioning recently, maybe it was all connected. The problems with the bad smell around the city, the nonsensical seasonal changes and that gloomy quest… maybe it was all connected.

Fox gulped the last pieces of rabbit stew without enjoying it. He licked the inside of the bowl and put it in his backpack without further cleaning. He had suddenly realised that it was not much use to ask Gorash’s permission to leave as Fox was doing all the walk during the day anyway. So he could as well do it at night. He didn’t have as much difficulties to put out the fire as he had lighting it up. He cleaned the place as much as he could and then looked around him. The night was dark, the drizzle had turned into small snow flakes. Fox smelled the air. It would soon turn into bigger flakes. The dwarf could stay outside if he wanted, but Fox needed to move. Let him follow if he wants to.

Glynnis, late with her mornings work after her lengthy dream journal entry, was initially irritated with the interruption of the postman.

“Leave it in the letter box!” she called. “I am up to my elbows in bread dough!”

“I can’t, it’s too heavy,” the postman replied, “And you have to sign for it, anyway. And I’m not taking it back to the post office, it’s put my back out carrying it here already,” he added.

Sighing and wiping her floury hands on her apron, Glynnis opened the door a few inches and extended her hand through the gap.

“You’ll need two hands, Ducky,” he said, thinking to himself, what an ungrateful wretch!

Exasperated, she flung the door open. The postman handed her a large stone parrot. A hand written note was attached to its neck with a blue ribbon.

“A Gift of Appreciation” was all it said, in a rather untidy almost indecipherable script.

“Oh, a gift,” said Glynnis softly, mollified. “But from who?”

“Says it’s from the Laughing Crone on the return address. Now just sign here Ducky, and I’ll be on my way.”

That night Glynnis had a strange dream. She knew that it was no ordinary dream and in the morning diligently recorded it in her dream journal.

I was walking on a windy path through the forest. A young woman with bizarre hair and a cackling laugh appeared before me, blocking my path.
“Tell me your name!” I commanded.
“My name is Eleri, and I have a parrot to accompany you on your journey.”
“A parrot! What would I do with a parrot?”
“This is no ordinary parrot. This parrot can tell jokes,” responded the woman.
“A funny parrot! Well why didn’t you tell me that in the first place. Give me the parrot and I will be on my way.”
“Hold your horses. It’s not such an easy thing as that,” said the woman. “It never is you know. First you must tell me what is going on.”
I sighed and handed her a manuscript. “Read this a dozen times and all will be made clear.”
A look of petulant fury distorted the young woman’s face.
“ Tell me what is going on, you rude tart!“ she said crossly.
Here is what I told her:

Glynnis is a young woman living in the enchanted forest in an abandoned mansion. She practices magic and has a great affinity for nature. She also has the face of dragon after she annoyed a powerful sorcerer. She is being troubled by dreams which seem to be calling her on a mission—the purpose of which she is unsure. Glynnis sells her potions at a stall in the city. One day she finds a map hidden behind a painting and knows that she needs to follow the path shown on the map.
Rushkan is fae. He works as the city ‘chief overseer’ looking after the clock tower. He isn’t that keen on his job. Rushkan has a half-formed vision to assemble a team but for what purpose he is not sure. He has also discovered something worrying, dark even, about the clock tower.
One day, Rushkan uses his magic to call for an Oliphant. He packs a small bag of belongs and departs on a journey. Before departing, he leaves a gift for Olliver, the office errand boy.
Rushkan is a little irritated to find that the forest has been fenced off and a toll-booth erected—who wouldn’t be annoyed by this needless bureaucracy? Anyway, after farewelling the helpful Oliphant he continues his journey on foot.
He hears a cry for help and comes across a dying Gibbon. The Gibbon entrusts her infant to his care. He takes the baby—named Tak—to an old woman who lives in a lodge close to the Dragon Heartwood: Margoritt Loursenoir, a writer. It seems Tak is a shape-shifter and can also take the form of a child. Perhaps that is his true form. Rushkan stays with Margoritt for a while to recoup but it isn’t very long before he feels compelled to continue his journey to find the hermit, Kumihimo,in the forest. Kumihimo seems to be weaving seven braids.
To get to the hermit Rushkan has to cross Fae land. He isn’t overjoyed about this because he has left the ‘old ways’ of his people. Rushkan has to declare his presence to the Fae people—it’s a rule. The Queen is a bit annoyed because her empire is not as powerful as it once was and she has had to use precious resources to protect Rushkan on his journey. Anyway, she doesn’t stay uppity for long and ends up in bed with him.
Gorash is a dwarf statue who abides in the grounds of the deserted mansion in the enchanted forest. At night he comes to life. He has a friend called Rainbow. Gorash assists Rainbow in stealing Glynis’s magic potions and they make seven colourful eggs which Rainbow is infatuated with.
Mr Fox lives in a hut outside the city walls. At sunset he can shapeshift into a fox. He prefers being in animal form. Fox is quite a character. Not much gets past him.
Fox’s master is a Gibbon who taught him how to shapeshift. After going on a journey into the forest to find Gibbon, Fox is told that it is time to learn the wisdom of the Heart. Gibbon gives Fox an assignment: “You’ll find a lost soul in the enchanted forest. Bring it back to its rightful owner. Then you shall find your master.”
Fox goes back to the mansion in the deserted forest just as Glynnis is leaving on her journey. He befriends Gorash who has become increasingly lonely since Rainbow now has the eggs.

“That’s brilliant,” said the woman called Eleri. “You should probably get lots of points for doing that.” She gave one more loud cackle and shouted: “I am off to pick some mushrooms. You will find the parrot when you wake up from this crazy dream!”

The garden was becoming too small for Gorrash. With time, the familiarity had settled down in his heart and he knew very well each and every stone or blade of grass there was to know. With familiarity, boredom was not very far. Gorrash threw a small pebble in the pond, he was becoming restless and his new and most probably short friendship with Rainbow had triggered a seed in his heart, the desire to know more about the world.

Before he’d met the creature, Gorrash could remember the pain and sadness present in the heart of his maker. He had thought that was all he needed to know about the world, that mankind was not to be trusted. And he had avoided any contact with that dragon lady, lest she would hurt him. He knew that all came from his maker, although he had no real access to the actual memories, only to their effects.

Gorrash threw another pebble into the pond, it made a splashing sound which dissolved into the silence. He imagined the sound was like the waves at the surface of the pond, going endlessly outward into the world. He imagined himself on top of those waves, carried away into the world. A shiver ran through his body, which felt more like an earthquake than anything else, stone bodies are not so flexible after all. He looked at the soft glowing light near the bush where Rainbow was hiding. The memory of joy and love he had experienced when they hunted together gave his current sadness a sharp edge, biting into his heart mercilessly. He thought there was nothing to be done, Rainbow would leave and he would be alone again.

His hand reached in his pocket where he found the phial of black potion he had kept after Rainbow refused it. He shook it a few times. Each time he looked at it, Gorrash would see some strange twirls, curls and stars in the liquid that seemed made of light. He wondered what it was. What kind of liquid was so dark to the point of being luminous sometimes ? The twirls were fascinating, leading his attention to the curls ending in an explosion of little stars. Had the witch captured the night sky into that bottle?

Following the changes into the liquid was strangely soothing his pain. Gorrash was feeling sleepy and it was a very enjoyable feeling. Feelings were quite new to him and he was quite fascinated by them and how they changed his experience of the world. The phial first seemed to pulse back and forth into his hand, then the movement got out and began to spread into his body which began to move back and forth, carried along with this sensual lullaby. Gorrash wondered if it would go further, beyond his body into the world. But as the thought was born, the feeling was gone and he was suddenly back into the night. A chill went down his spine. It was the first time. The joy triggered his sadness again.

The dwarf looked at the dark phial. Maybe it could help ease his pain. He opened it, curious and afraid. What if it was poison? said a voice of memory. Gorrash dismissed it as the scent of Jasmine reached his nose. His maker was fond of Jasmine tea, and he was surprised at the fondness that rose in his heart. But still no images, it was merely voices and feelings. Sometimes it was frustrating to only have bits and never the whole picture, and full of exasperation, Gorrash gulped in the dark substance.

He waited.

Nothing was happening. He could still hear the cooing of Rainbow, infatuated with it eggs, he could hear the scratches of the shrews, the flight of the insects. That’s when Gorrash noticed something was different as he was beginning to hear the sharp cries of the bats above. He tried to move his arm to look at the phial, but his body was so heavy. He had never felt so heavy in his short conscious life, even as the light of the Sun hardened his body, it was not that heavy.

The soil seemed to give way under his increasing weight, the surface tension unable to resist. He continued to sink into the ground, down the roots of the trees, through the tunnels of a brown moles quite surprised to see him there, surrounded by rocks and more soil, some little creatures’ bones, and down he went carried into hell by the weight of his pain.

After some time, his butt met a flat white surface, cold as ice, making him jump back onto his feet. The weird heaviness that a moment before froze his body was gone. He looked around, he was in a huge cave and he was not alone. There was an old woman seated crosslegged on a donkey skin. Gorrash knew it was a donkey because it still had its head, and it was smiling. The old woman had hair the colour of the clouds before a storm in summer, It was full of knots and of lightning streaks twirling and curling around her head. Her attention was all on the threads she had in her hands. Gorrash counted six threads. But she was doing nothing with them. She was very still and the dwarf wondered if she was dead or asleep.

What do you want? asked the donkey head in a loud bray.

It startled the dwarf but it didn’t seem to bother the old lady who was still entranced and focused on her threads.

Nothing, said Gorrash who couldn’t think of anything he would want.

Nonsense, brayed the donkey, laughing so hard that the skin was shaking under the old lady. Everyone wants something. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want something.

Gorrash thought about what he could want, what he had been wanting that night. He remembered his desire to get out of the garden.

And there you are, brayed the donkey head, that’s a start. What do you want then?

Getting out of the garden?

Noooo! That’s a consequence of a deeper desire, but that’s not what you want.

I have never thought about desires before, said Gorrash. It’s pretty new to me. I just came to life a few weeks ago during a full moon.

The donkey head tilted slightly on its right. No excuses, it spat, If you’re awake, then you have a desire in your heart that wants to be fulfilled. What do you want? Take your time, but not too long. The universe is always on the move and you may miss the train, or the bus, or the caravan…

As the donkey went on making a list of means of transportation, Gorrash looked hesitantly at the old lady. She was still focused on her six threads she had not moved since he had arrived there.

Who is she? he asked to the donkey.

_She’s known by many names and has many titles. She’s Kumihimo Weaver of Braids, Ahina Maker of Songs, Gadong Brewer of Stews…

Ok! said Gorrash, not wanting the donkey go on again into his list enumeration pattern. What is she doing?

She’s waiting.

And, what is she waiting for?

She’s waiting for the seventh thread, brayed the donkey head. I’m also waiting for the thread, it whined loudly. She won’t leave my back until she’s finished her braid. The head started to cry, making the dwarf feel uncomfortable. Suddenly it stopped and asked And, who are you?

The question resonated in the cave and in his ears, taking Gorrash by surprise. He had no answer to that question. He had just woken up a few weeks ago in that garden near the forest, with random memories of a maker he had not known, and he had no clue what he desired most. Maybe if he could access more memories and know more about his maker that would help him know what he wanted.

Good! brayed the donkey, We are making some progress here. Now if you’d be so kind as to give her a nose hair, she could have her last thread and she could tell you where to find your maker.

Hope rose in Gorrash’s heart. Really?

Certainly, brayed the head with a hint of impatience.

But wouldn’t a nose hair be too short for her braid? asked the dwarf. All the other threads seemed quite long to him.

Don’t waste my time with such triviality. Pull it out!

Gorrash doubted it would work but he grabbed a nose hair between his thumb and index and began to pull. He was surprised as he didn’t feel the pain he expected but instead the hair kept being pulled out. He felt annoyed and maybe ashamed that it was quite long and he had not been aware of it. He took out maybe several meters long before a sudden pain signalled the end of the operation. Ouch!

hee haw, laughed the donkey head.

The pain brought out the memory of a man, white hair, the face all wrinkled, a long nose and a thin mouth. He was wearing a blouse tightened at his waist by a tool belt. He was looking at a block of stone wondering what to make out of it, and a few tears were rolling down his cheeks. Gorrash knew very well that sadness, it was the sadness inside of him. Many statues surrounded the man in what looked like a small atelier. There were animals, gods, heads, hands, and objects. The vision shifted to outside the house, and he saw trees and bushes different than the ones he was used to in the garden where he woke up. Gorrash felt a strange feeling in his heart. A deep longing for home.

Now you have what you came here for. Give the old lady her thread, urged the donkey. She’s like those old machines, you have to put a coin to get your coffee.

Gorrash had no idea what the donkey was talking about. He was still under the spell of the vision. As soon as he handed the hair to the woman, she began to move. She took the hair and combined it to the other threads, she was moving the threads too swiftly for his eyes to follow, braiding them in odd patterns that he felt attracted to.

Time for you to go, said the donkey.

I’d like to stay a bit longer. What she’s doing is fascinating.

Oh! I’m sure, brayed the donkey, But you have seen enough of it already. And someone is waiting for you.

The dwarf felt lighter. And he struggled as he began levitating. What!? His body accelerated up through the earth, through the layers of bones and rocks, through the hard soil and the softer soil of years past. He saw the brown mole again and the familiar roots of the trees of the garden in the enchanted forest.

Gorrash took a deep breath as he reintegrated his stone body. He wobbled, trying to catch his ground. He felt like throwing up after such an accelerated trip. His knees touched the ground and he heard a noise of broken glass as he dropped the phial.

“Are you alright?” asked a man’s voice. Gorrash forced his head up as a second wave of nausea attempted to get out. A man in a dark orange coat was looking down at him with genuine worry on his face.

“I’m good,” said the dwarf. “But who are you?”

“My name is Fox. What’s yours?”

The door whines on rusty hinges as Glynis shuts it for the last time. She hesitates, thinking. It doesn’t seem right to lock the door but still she tucks the key away in the bottom of her bag. This small act gives her a sense of entitlement, the feeling she can return whenever she chooses.

Funny things … keys, Glynis thinks, briefly remembering a pretty carved treasure box with a key-hole she had as a child. Nobody knew where the key was or if there ever was a key. She lets this small memory slip through, inconsequential as she knows it to be.

This house has been her safe place for so many years. It has welcomed her in and cradled her when she could barely move with grief and loss. And though at times she has sensed the presence of phantoms and ghosts in its aging walls, not once have they given her trouble or even acknowledged her presence.

This morning as she is leaving, the sadness threatens to overwhelm her. And though the day is already bright with sunshine and birdsong, sorrow has settled on her like a heavy mist, greying her spirit. In this sadness Glynis can allow herself no thoughts of past or future, there is just the present moment and in its sanctuary she must stay.

A gust of wind sweeps through her hair before it slips away into the forest to rustle the leaves.

Inviting her.

Yorath led the way down the forest path. Eleri followed, feeling no urge to rush, despite the sense of urgency. Rather, she felt a sense of urgency to linger, perhaps even to sit awhile on a rock beneath an old oak tree, to stop the pell mell rush of thoughts and suppositions and just sit, staring blankly, listening to the forest sounds and sniffing the mushroomy mulch beneath her feet.

The compulsion to be alone increased. Unable to ignore it any longer, Eleri told Yorath that she would catch him up, she needed to go behind a bush for a moment, knowing quite well that there was no need for the excuse, but still, she didn’t feel like explaining. Talking, even thinking, had become tiring, exhausting even. She needed to sit, just sit.

She watched his retreating back and breathed a sigh of relief when his form disappeared from view. Much as she loved her dear old friend, the absence of other humans was like a breath of air to the drowning. The rustlings of the living forest, the dappling shadows and busy missions of the insects was a different kind of busyness, far from still and never silent, not always slow or sedate, not even serene or pleasant always, but there was a restful coherence to the movements of the living forest.

Leaning back into the tree trunk, her foot dislodged a rotten log from its resting place among the leaves ~ crisp and crunchy on the top, damp and decomposing beneath the surface ~ revealing the long slim ivory of bone contrasting sharply with the shades of brown.

Bones. Eleri paused before leaning over to touch it gently at first, then gently smooth away the composting detritus covering it.

Bones. She held it, feeling the hard dry texture peculiar to bones, loving the white colour which was more than white, a richer white than white, not bleached of colour, but full of the colours of white, and holding all of the colours of the story of it.

The story of the bone, the bones. She knelt, carefully brushing the leaves aside. Bones never rested alone, she knew that. Close by she knew she would find more. She knew she would take them home with her, although she knew not why. Just that she always did. A smile flitted across her face as she recalled the horse bones she’d found once ~ an entire, perfect skeleton of a horse. What she wouldn’t have given to take the whole thing home with her, but it was impossible. Perfectly assembled, picked clean and sun bleached, resplendent in the morning sun, it was a thing of unimaginable beauty that morning, reclining on the hilltop. So she took as much of the spine as she could carry, and later wished she’d taken the skull instead. And never really wondered why she didn’t go back for more.

But that was the thing with bones. You don’t go back. You take what you want, what you can carry, and leave the rest. But Eleri had to admit that she didn’t know why this was so.

The seven little spheres had each a different colour. Gorrash looked at them with envy in his heart. He’d rarely seen colours as his life was mostly at night, under the moonlight or under the yellow tint of candles and gas lamps. However, the spheres had their own light from inside. And Gorrash couldn’t touch them as Rainbow was very protective, and it made the stone dwarf restless. He had tried once to take one sphere and he got a warning slap on his hand. Rainbow looked soft and gentle, but a whip is always soft and supple before it struck.

The whole week they had been on the hunt for all kind of potions from the shelves of the dragon woman. Glynis, she had called herself during one of her monologues in front of the mirror. Her sadness and frustration toward her appearance resonated more than once with his own condition. He had felt guilty about their little thefts, but he had soon realised that nothing would stop Rainbow.

The randomness of the creature’s choice of potions appeared to be not so random. Gorrash tried several times to help, picking up potions for his friend, according to the colours he liked or to the shapes of the phials that intrigued him, but the creature refused many times the offering.

The colours mattered to Rainbow, apparently. It would never take black, Gorrash discovered. Only colours from the rainbow spectrum, a voice said inside him. He had learned to recognised it as the voice of his creator’s memories infused into the core of his matter. One thing he wasn’t sure though was about the process of his birth. Has he been carved out from a stone ? Has he been assembled like clay ? That was not part of the memories trapped into his stone body.

Gorrash then tried to bring the creature colours from the rainbow, always glowing, never dull or matte. But then he discovered it had to be in a certain order. Everyday was different. One day it was in the order of the colour spectrum from red to purple, as his master’s remembered. Another day it had to begin with green or indigo. But always following the order of the colour wheel. If a colour was missing, then they had to wait until Glynis would manufacture it.

And then, one day… one night, as Gorrash woke up from his rigid sleep, the seven spheres were there, and Rainbow was watching over them. Like a bird over its eggs, said the voice. Except they didn’t really look like eggs. Eggs don’t glow with different colours. Eggs have a shell. Those were translucent, glowing of some very attractive inner light, and looked like water spheres. Does that mean it’s a she? wondered Gorrash who had always thought his friend was a male. He gnawed at his lower lip. Anyway, it seemed that the hunting days were over as Rainbow didn’t show any motivation to leave her strange progeny, and Gorrash had no way to go past the walls on his own.

Rainbow raised its eyebrows and looked at the dwarf who had come too close to the eggs for its taste. It gathered protectively the spheres which came as one in a big multicoloured moving spheroid. Gorrash could still see the individual light cores in it, they seemed to pulse like the growing desire in his heart. He swallowed. It tasted of dust.

— I won’t take them, he said.

His chest tightened as he saw suspicion in his friend’s eyes. Gorrash turned away feeling sadness and guilt. He needed to find some distraction from the attractive lights and the growing desire in his heart.

Fox ran through the city, enjoying his transient invisibility. He didn’t have to care about people, he didn’t feel the social burden of being himself. He had fun brushing past the legs of men to frighten them, biting the dresses of women to make them drop their baskets. One of them contained some freshly baked meatloaf. Fox got rid of the bread and swallowed the meat. He laughed with his fox’s laugh at the puzzled look of a child seeing the meat disappear in mid air.

At first, Fox enjoyed being invisible tremendously. Then, he felt a bit lonely. No one was there to see him have fun. Furthermore, he had no idea how long of it remained. The woman had said one hour. His problem was that in his fox form, he wasn’t so good at keeping track of time. The fun of the invisibility wearing off, he decided to go back to the forest. He would get back his clothes and meet with the woman in his human form.

He followed the scent of the autumn leaves.

After barely five minutes, he noticed that people were going in the same direction. How unusual, Fox thought. He kept on running. After another five minutes, he felt a tingling feeling. Then, he heard the familiar shout accompanying his being seen.

Fox had mixed feelings. At the same time he felt relieved —he was happy to be back into the world—, and he felt annoyed by what he considered to be an unnecessary mishap. He felt his heartbeat speeding up and prepared himself to the chase. But nobody seemed to care about the shout. People looked hypnotized and simply didn’t pay attention to him even though they looked at him running past them.

How unusual, he thought again.

Fifteen minutes later, he stopped in front of a fence that wasn’t there in the early morning. It was not so high that he couldn’t jump over it and continue on his way to the forest. But he stayed there a few seconds, too startled to think anything. He got out of his own puzzlement when he heard a whine. It was coming from his own mouth. It was so unusual that it helped him got rid off the spell that surrounded the fence. It seemed to be powerful enough to make people believe they couldn’t go past it into the forest.

Very clever, he thought. Whoever erected this fence, they were no ordinary man or woman. Fox thought about the old young witch who gave him the potion but readily shook the idea away. This is something else, he decided. His nose became itchy, Fox needed to find out who created this thing. Maybe they knew about the burning smell.

Fox left the flow of people still following the fence to some unknown destination and jumped over into the forest. The feeling was the same on the other side. A repelling spell. But once on this side of the fence, it had a different flavour. This one talked about danger of leaving the forest, whereas in the city it whispered about the danger of going into the forest. Fox didn’t feel surprised. It was simply another odd occurence.

He took a deep breath, enjoying the rich scents of the soil and the trees. The smell of the little animals close to the ground, and those of the birds in the air above. The odorant track left by a wild boar. Among all those scents, one was quite unique and remarkable. The gentleman of the forests, Fox thought. What is he doing here? Whatever the explanation was, the wise ape and would certainly have answers. After all, he was the one who taught a little fox the art of human shapeshifting.

Fox began to run deep into the forest. His heart beating fast at the idea to see his old master. He had totally forgotten about the dwarf and his strange companion, or about the kind witch and her potions. He only felt hope in his heart and cold winter air on his snout. Leading him to some resolution.

The day after their arrival, Alexandria took Leroway and Jolly on a tour of the abandoned village, inviting them to choose a dwelling for themselves. The other new arrivals had chosen places with the least structural damage, places with roofs remaining, regardless of the size or position, for reasons of immediate practicality. Leroway set his sights on the grandest house just outside the castle walls, perched above the other houses. There was very little roof left, but the thick stone walls were standing firm, and the gaping windows provided impressive views. Jolly was delighted with the spacious inner courtyard and crumbling fountain, picturing the flowering Solandra vines she would plant there once the restorations had been completed.

Leroway had been making mental notes of salvagable materials as they toured the village, and had soon enlisted the help of Lobbocks and a few of the other young men to drag sheets of corrugated iron from crumbling pig pens and stables and other useable items up the winding streets to the house. To cut a long story short, it wasn’t long at all before Leroway had the new villagers organized into efficient teams, under his innovative direction.

Trustinghampton started to take shape. More people arrived and joined in the reconstruction process. Shelter, firewood, and food were the priorities, but Leroway had ideas for the future and during the scavenging he started to collect potentially useful items in the barn adjoining his house.

Jolly and Eleri became friends, and spent much of their days exploring the surrounding countryside in search of edible or medicinal ~ or indeed magical ~ plants. After their walks they conferred with the old woman, Cornelia, showing her the plants they’d gathered and comparing notes on their potential uses. The young women were well versed in plant lore, but the old one had the benefit of a lifetimes learning and experience.

Cornelia had always lived just outside the village, and had watched the old inhabitants gradually die off or move to the lowlands. The last ones to leave had begged her to join them, but she had refused. She had been born next to the old stones and she would die next to them. Eleri and Jolly had asked her about those strange stones, and Cornelia had enigmatically replied that one day she would tell them the secrets of the stones. When the time was right.

Deftly Glynis reached inside the flowing sleeve of her burka and pulled out a small vial of clear liquid she had strapped to her wrist. She pulled off the top and quickly threw the contents over Fox.

“There you go, little Fella,” she said. “Now no-one can see you.”

“Where’d he go, dammit! I saw him come over this way,” shouted a podgy red-faced man, puffing heavily with the unaccustomed exertion. “I’ll teach that little varmint to try and eat my hens! What did you do with him, Witch!?”

Glynis took one of the remaining jars from her table and held it out to the man.

“Give your wife three drops every evening as she sleeps,” she said, trying her best to sound crackly and old. “She will get well after 3 days — you don’t need to sell your hens to pay that doctor any longer. He wasn’t doing her any good.”

“Eh?” said the man in surprise, at the same time taking the jar. “True enough that is, but how did you know?”

“I know many things,” she answered mysteriously. “Now, take your hens home, and I wish you and your good wife all the best.”

“Well, this is remarkable. Thank you very much indeed,” said Fox when the podgy man had gone.

“If you are hungry I have a hard boiled egg and some fruit in my bag. Help yourself.”

“Ha ha!” laughed Fox. “People will think you are talking to the ground.” He was quite delighted with his new invisible status and considering the various possibilities it offered him.

“Now don’t you go taking advantage of any more hens just because you are invisible. It will wear off in about an hour, I think. I haven’t actually tried it on anyone other than myself before … I’ve never thought it ethical to sell the invisibility potion in case someone gets up to no good with it. But I like to keep some handy, just in case. “

Just then the Town Clock chimed.

“I’d best be going now. I have to go before the warden comes to check my permit … I don’t have one but as long as I get away early it is usually okay,” said Glynis. “Now, if you have any problems with the invisibility spell come and see me. I live in the old mansion in the enchanted forest. Do you know your way there?

“I think I can find it,” said Fox. “Thanks again for your assistance.”

Glynis had intended to head directly towards the forest after she left the market, but on impulse took the longer route through the pretty and tree lined Gingko Lane, part of the ‘Old City’. She walked slowly, in part to continue her ruse of being a person of advanced years, and in part because she felt a reluctance to leave the city and return to the solitude of her home.

She pondered the events of the morning as she walked.

The vision … the sandy haired woman on her sick bed, like stick and bone she was, with the doctor of dark intent leaning over her… and then the podgy faced man standing in the hen house and grieving over his hens.

It had been so vivid. And unexpected. So she had acted on it, her heart beating in trepidation though she had spoken with authority to the man.

And it had worked!

It was not the first time Glynis had such a vision. But never in such testing circumstances!

A young man was walking towards her. His face deep in concentrated contemplation, he did not look up.

Fae, thought Glynis, though she was not sure how she knew.

As he passed, Glynis reached out on impulse and touched his arm. He jumped, startled.

“I think this is for you,” she said, handing him her last vial of potion. “Use it when you need it most.”

The young man hesitated, unsure, but taking the vial.

Glynis shook her head, wanting to deflect his questions. She turned quickly away.

Relenting, she stopped and looked directly at him.

“Magic comes from the heart. You will know when to use it.”

The North wind was cold on his cheeks. It was almost sunset, which didn’t help with the temperature. Fox was sweeping a street covered in autumn leaves. He couldn’t help but think it was useless. The wind was scattering away the leaves as soon as he had made a small heap. He already missed the quietness of his hut.

Mr Mole must have misunderstood, he thought, he appointed me caretaker of the city streets.
Fox took a whiff of city air. The cold bit his nose,but it was not enough to numb his sense of smell. The dragon breath was still there, even though the North wind had dispersed it a bit.
I’m not sure it will be enough.

He shivered, he never liked staying outside too long in his human form. Fox looked around. When he was sure nobody was in sight. As the sun disappeared behind the city walls, he allowed his true nature to the surface, just enough to enjoy the warmth of his red fur on his body. It was such a good feeling he almost didn’t stop in time. He touched his face, a moustache had grown on his upper lip, and his ears were a tad pointy. He passed his tongue onto his teeth; the length of his canines reminded him of chicken hunt in the nearby farms.
Don’t let yourself get carried away by the memories, he reminded himself. He took a deep breath. The smells of the city were stronger now, and it was as if someone had lit a light.

With his improved hearing, he caught up a strange noise coming from a nearby garden. It was like a faint pulse that was growing louder as the light diminished. A crack as soft as the whisper of stone. And the most unexpected words.

“Bloody bird shit ! Why do they always pick my nose ?”

Fox came closer to the small garden stonewall, as stealthily as he could, to see a gnome washing his face in a small basin. He suddenly caught sight of some wavering in the air, coming from a bush. The waves gradually took the shape of a strange animal, still rather translucent. Its fur behaving as if it was immersed into water, all wavy and floating.

“Ah! You’re here Rainbow,” said the gnome.
“Mrui,” answered the creature.
“Let’s get some potion for you, then.”
“Mruiiii.”

Fox looked the two of them walk silently toward the house. He could see the rays of light getting through the spaces of the wooden shutters. The gnome climbed on his friend’s back and took a bit of that translucent quality. He said something but it sounded like gargling. Fox almost expected to see his hair beginning to float in an invisible current. But it didn’t. And then they disappeared through the wall.

Fox dropped his broom, which bounced on the stonewall before falling on the floor. He waited, half expecting to hear a voice ask about all the noise. But the place remained quiet except for the wind. He jumped over the wall and waited behind a bush, his eyes on the wall where they had entered the house.

What if they don’t come out? he thought. But he remained there, his gaze fixed. He let his fur grow more. He wanted to be comfortable in the cold night.

Yorath awoke with the first light before sunrise. The flowering vine encircling the tree house was vibrating with bees. Sparrows chattered and jostled in the highest branches of the gnarly old tree and small creatures rustled in the fallen leaves below. He leaned out of the window and surveyed Eleri’s homestead spread beaneath the trees. Sprawling vine tangled walls and gables, whitewash shaded in darkest grey and lit with palest rose pink. Patches of tiled floors peeped through the interior meadows. He used the word interior loosely as there had been no roof on the buildings for as long as he could remember but Eleri still used the rooms in a more or less usual fashion, although she housed her occasional guests in the tree house.

Eleri slept in a thatched outhouse some distance away from the main house, and closer to the river. Or so she said ~ Yorath had never actually seen it. He had watched Eleri disappear into a dense thicket at the end of the evenings, and seen her emerge from it in the early mornings. Once or twice he’d wandered through the woods in search of it, but he had never found it. There was no sign of a path leading into the undergrowth. Maybe she turned into a tree at night, Yorath had wondered. After all, anything was possible here.

As he gazed into the woods Eleri appeared. Did she simply shimmer into a physical form before his eyes? It was hard to say, but she was carrying a large basket full of mushrooms. Then he remembered that it was wild mushroom season here and he marveled at the perfect timing of his visit. He knew just the person who would welcome a gift of a certain kind of rare mushroom, the special ingredient of THE magical spell.