01-29-2022, 10:25 PM
With another bite from John Potter's donated hoagie, Peggy Powler watched the boy recast his hook into the slender channel
between a line of rocks and the shoreline on where he stood. Sitting up on the artificial mound, the little Witch cogitated on where
to get a footing on what the Water-Kelpie was doing here and how she could banish it from the Isle of Murdigon.
Byefleet Howe just seemed another village where the day passed slowly and its inhabitants went about their chores without fear
of a beguiling phantom demon luring them to their deaths. Tawny Codswell displayed the regular persona for a bucolic-orientated
commoner, a woman with a routine and a hard-headedness that derives from daily rituals absent of breath-taking mystery.
Oh there were oddities here -and not just weird statue in the village, the Hippomare had attempted to use its glamour immediately
when Peggy set out to visit one of the three communities on the island.
But what was sticking on the chewing necromancer's craw was the questions of -is Byefleet Howe relevant to the Kelpie's false
curtain of discouragement to meet the people of this particular hamlet...? Or is the Witch's actual investigation into the ethereal
being's presence on the island, the reason for its sudden appearance that morning? Would the communities of Camden Bight
and The Narrows shine any further light on Peggy's inquiry?
Finishing her lunch, Peggy believed the lad seemed content with his pursuit to catch something from the swift-moving tidal current
that raced between the seaweed-clinging jagged ridge and the boulder-strewn sandy beach. To disturb his objective didn't sit well
with the Last Witch of Underhill and a viable answer may well be out of his reach anyway.
A wary rabbit resisted adding a point of view on the Witch's impasse and ducked its head back into one of the many holes that
perforated the well-manicured bank. Peggy took that as a sign to getting on with her probe and rose to return to Byefleet Howe.
That was when she heard the cry of panic and saw the young angler attempting to swim against the fast current that wished to take
him out to sea. Holding onto her hat, Peggy hurried down the slope and in her haste, almost slid into the same treacherous waters
the boy was struggling with. "Help me!" he cried and added a gurgling sound as his head dipped beneath the foamy waves once
more. Peggy dug into her satchel and murmured a quickly-clutched-at spell.
A couple of minutes later, the failed hunter of Red Bream and Grey Mullet was no longer emulating his prey in its habitat, but instead
sat on a sea-smoothed boulder and breathing heavily from his attempt to copy a Merman. His saviour kept her own inhalation level
to maintain a level of authority and busied herself rewinding the rope she'd magically plucked from her bag.
"I owe yer' me life, Missus..." the kid stuttered between gasps and began to twist water from his shirt-tail, "...me-name is Samuel
Gurnard and me-Ma is gonna whup me good when she sees me like this" he added with tone of contrition. Tucking the cordage
back into her large purse, Samuel's rescuer introduced herself as she took off her wide-brimmed hat. "Ah'm Peggy Powler and Ah
have te' agree, no mother likes a drowned son" she conceded as she approached the melancholic member of the Gurnard family.
"Aye, yer' in bother alright" the little Witch softy affirmed with a genial tone. Taking Peggy's gesture of lowering her large hat onto
his head as a sign of mild commiseration, Samuel continued with his self-analysis of his current saturated state and how the
woman who had brought him into the world was also a dab-hand with a willow switch.
Peggy smiled as the hat did its work and not noticing that his clothes had suddenly dried, the seated lad sighed and gazed longingly
out to sea. "All I want to do is go to sea in one them big boats I see pass by here every day..." Samuel said dolefully "...and get off
this island once and for all". His gaze moved to the little bare-footed female beside him and his eyes hinted that he needed advice.
Concluding the youngster wasn't the Kelpie and all of this wasn't one of its sneaky schemes to delay her, Peggy reset her hat on her
own head and asked "tell me about Murdigon".
...................................................
The Great Sea continued to surge its water through the gully that the Gurnard-lad had almost drowned in and after locating his rod
snagged between two boulders, the unlikely pair sat atop the grassy mound as Samuel explained his home. Peggy peered across
the stunted forests of Murdigon and in the distance, could just make out drifts of smoke that indicated the thorp of Camden Bight.
"They're strange folk there..." the boy informed the quiet woman beside him, "...mostly farmers and do little fishing except for the
odd Tommycod and Blubbershark. I used to accompany me-Pa there when he went for tallow to make his candles, but since they
got a cart sent over from the mainland, the fat-renderer visits us and The Narrows once a month".
Peggy nodded her understanding, but watched Samuel's face for clues to what he was really thinking and noticing the slight frown,
she asked him why he thought Camden Bight was unusual. The boy shrugged and answered "It's just when I've been up here at night
huntin' rabbits, I've seen lights in the woods near the village". Any assumptions to what might be occurring out there in the dark hours,
Samuel seemed to keep to himself, "just strange" he reiterated softly.
Getting to her feet, the sorceress pondered a charm to tickle-out of the lad's theories as to what was going on in the community,
but instead, asked him when the next delivery of wax was due. Samuel also stood up and began to set off for home. "The day after
tomorrow, I think" he replied over the same shoulder his fishing rod resided. Peggy followed the boy back towards Byefleet Howe
and hoped she would be better prepared for when the tallow cart came to visit.
"Will yer' take supper with us, Mrs Powler?" Samuel meekly asked as they reached the obtrusive well-ornament and with a slight curtsy
-something that the boy had never witnessed before, Peggy answered that she'd be honoured to.
between a line of rocks and the shoreline on where he stood. Sitting up on the artificial mound, the little Witch cogitated on where
to get a footing on what the Water-Kelpie was doing here and how she could banish it from the Isle of Murdigon.
Byefleet Howe just seemed another village where the day passed slowly and its inhabitants went about their chores without fear
of a beguiling phantom demon luring them to their deaths. Tawny Codswell displayed the regular persona for a bucolic-orientated
commoner, a woman with a routine and a hard-headedness that derives from daily rituals absent of breath-taking mystery.
Oh there were oddities here -and not just weird statue in the village, the Hippomare had attempted to use its glamour immediately
when Peggy set out to visit one of the three communities on the island.
But what was sticking on the chewing necromancer's craw was the questions of -is Byefleet Howe relevant to the Kelpie's false
curtain of discouragement to meet the people of this particular hamlet...? Or is the Witch's actual investigation into the ethereal
being's presence on the island, the reason for its sudden appearance that morning? Would the communities of Camden Bight
and The Narrows shine any further light on Peggy's inquiry?
Finishing her lunch, Peggy believed the lad seemed content with his pursuit to catch something from the swift-moving tidal current
that raced between the seaweed-clinging jagged ridge and the boulder-strewn sandy beach. To disturb his objective didn't sit well
with the Last Witch of Underhill and a viable answer may well be out of his reach anyway.
A wary rabbit resisted adding a point of view on the Witch's impasse and ducked its head back into one of the many holes that
perforated the well-manicured bank. Peggy took that as a sign to getting on with her probe and rose to return to Byefleet Howe.
That was when she heard the cry of panic and saw the young angler attempting to swim against the fast current that wished to take
him out to sea. Holding onto her hat, Peggy hurried down the slope and in her haste, almost slid into the same treacherous waters
the boy was struggling with. "Help me!" he cried and added a gurgling sound as his head dipped beneath the foamy waves once
more. Peggy dug into her satchel and murmured a quickly-clutched-at spell.
A couple of minutes later, the failed hunter of Red Bream and Grey Mullet was no longer emulating his prey in its habitat, but instead
sat on a sea-smoothed boulder and breathing heavily from his attempt to copy a Merman. His saviour kept her own inhalation level
to maintain a level of authority and busied herself rewinding the rope she'd magically plucked from her bag.
"I owe yer' me life, Missus..." the kid stuttered between gasps and began to twist water from his shirt-tail, "...me-name is Samuel
Gurnard and me-Ma is gonna whup me good when she sees me like this" he added with tone of contrition. Tucking the cordage
back into her large purse, Samuel's rescuer introduced herself as she took off her wide-brimmed hat. "Ah'm Peggy Powler and Ah
have te' agree, no mother likes a drowned son" she conceded as she approached the melancholic member of the Gurnard family.
"Aye, yer' in bother alright" the little Witch softy affirmed with a genial tone. Taking Peggy's gesture of lowering her large hat onto
his head as a sign of mild commiseration, Samuel continued with his self-analysis of his current saturated state and how the
woman who had brought him into the world was also a dab-hand with a willow switch.
Peggy smiled as the hat did its work and not noticing that his clothes had suddenly dried, the seated lad sighed and gazed longingly
out to sea. "All I want to do is go to sea in one them big boats I see pass by here every day..." Samuel said dolefully "...and get off
this island once and for all". His gaze moved to the little bare-footed female beside him and his eyes hinted that he needed advice.
Concluding the youngster wasn't the Kelpie and all of this wasn't one of its sneaky schemes to delay her, Peggy reset her hat on her
own head and asked "tell me about Murdigon".
...................................................
The Great Sea continued to surge its water through the gully that the Gurnard-lad had almost drowned in and after locating his rod
snagged between two boulders, the unlikely pair sat atop the grassy mound as Samuel explained his home. Peggy peered across
the stunted forests of Murdigon and in the distance, could just make out drifts of smoke that indicated the thorp of Camden Bight.
"They're strange folk there..." the boy informed the quiet woman beside him, "...mostly farmers and do little fishing except for the
odd Tommycod and Blubbershark. I used to accompany me-Pa there when he went for tallow to make his candles, but since they
got a cart sent over from the mainland, the fat-renderer visits us and The Narrows once a month".
Peggy nodded her understanding, but watched Samuel's face for clues to what he was really thinking and noticing the slight frown,
she asked him why he thought Camden Bight was unusual. The boy shrugged and answered "It's just when I've been up here at night
huntin' rabbits, I've seen lights in the woods near the village". Any assumptions to what might be occurring out there in the dark hours,
Samuel seemed to keep to himself, "just strange" he reiterated softly.
Getting to her feet, the sorceress pondered a charm to tickle-out of the lad's theories as to what was going on in the community,
but instead, asked him when the next delivery of wax was due. Samuel also stood up and began to set off for home. "The day after
tomorrow, I think" he replied over the same shoulder his fishing rod resided. Peggy followed the boy back towards Byefleet Howe
and hoped she would be better prepared for when the tallow cart came to visit.
"Will yer' take supper with us, Mrs Powler?" Samuel meekly asked as they reached the obtrusive well-ornament and with a slight curtsy
-something that the boy had never witnessed before, Peggy answered that she'd be honoured to.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.