The sinking sun set the Great Sea on fire and standing on the dockside, a small figure marinated in the flames of the late-Summer's
evening. Far out on the burning orange waves, black boat-shaped objects floated like used cinders discarded from the fading inferno
that entertained those who appreciated such displays of nature.
Peggy Powler revelled in the wonderful moment and Murdigon's current brainteaser, the old man who vanished, young Samuel's unsaid
concern and the opportunity to view the rare Soap Dragon, became small facets of her journey on the island that had to loiter whilst she
recharged her spirit and warmed her heart.
However, nature isn't a private melody for a lone dancer and due to the down-to-earth practicalities of the reality that it lounges in, other
actions must take place to benefit the whole. Hence the reason the sighing little Witch staring out to at the ignited waters almost missed
Indigo Dunth stumbling out of the tavern's door.
A blanket of star-puckered velvet crept towards the late-matinee of combustion as Peggy spied the drunkard setting his wobbly passage
inland and leaving the fading display, she checked for any last-minute window-dresser snooping on her casual amble of following the old
intoxicated scrounger. "Eh Mister Dunth..." Peggy lightly called as she finished her spell on the canteen in her satchel, "...Ah was just about
te' find me-self a quiet tree te' soak in the evenin' and whet me-whistle" she appended with a slight slur to her voice. "Would yer' care te'
join me?".
Indigo looked completely dumbfounded at the bantam silhouette approaching him and was taken aback due to accepting the only time
anyone used his surname was when they were caustically demanding payment for his beer-tab. Dunth merely stared back with an open
mouth and smiling amiably at him, Peggy hoped she could get that surprised cavity to utter what she needed to know.
"How are yer', me-friend?" she asked and sloshed the contents of her water bottle in her bag for effect.
Indigo surveyed the street with a boozy eye and then refocused on the genial woman in the large hat. Visitors to Camden Bight didn't usually
consort with the likes of him at this hour and any conversation traditionally involved the owner of The Horatio pushing him out of the door with
a warning to clean-up his act. "I am rolling, Miss" he answered in his confusion and allowed the Angel with a canteen of beer to take his arm.
"Let's have a blather" the Last Witch of Underhill suggested with a hushed tone and led him away from the main street of fiery sun-downs.
...................................................
"Naw Miss Powler, it'sh not shumethin' Ah'm supposed to talk about" Indigo slurred firmly and glancing at the relaxed female, he shook the
leather flask to hear if he was out of grog. It had occurred to him earlier that the little woman leaning against the trunk of the tree might be
the same Peggy Powler he'd heard some of the sailors who'd frequented the tavern talk about, but such a famous conjurer of spells wouldn't
be interested in the likes of himself. So meeting his logical impasse, Indigo just accepted she was a fellow-authority of fine ales...
or any ale, for that matter.
"But between you and me, they told ush that the Woolpit ish a chance to start again..." the unshaven imbiber announced in hushed tones
"...Where fields of gold shit beshide babbling streams and the sun shines all day" he finished his mispronounced elucidation and with a
knowing wink, took another draft of the promised elixir.
Peggy nodded sagely and watched the surroundings for any sign of eavesdropping. The night was coming and based on Samuel Gurnard's
comment of lights in the forest around Camden Bight, she didn't want to be out late in the shadows with a loud-mouthed piss-pot like Dunth.
"So this fella told yer' such a place lies on the mainland?" she asked again with a hint of false-perplexity and waited for her hooked-bait to
be shaken in the same manner as her flask of mere well-water.
Indigo believed it was ale and it had never failed to amaze the little Witch how the mind could be easily tricked by the easiest of glamour.
A thought that went dark when she recalled the hoax played on herself by whoever she believed was behind all this fuzzy riddle.
"Yer' not listenin' te' me, Missie..." the kneeling man groaned and sucked in a breath of warm night air, "...Mishter Godwin told ush that
The Woolpit could only be reached by passin' through the Beams of King Stephen and that we'll all get te' go, even a fella like me-self"
he assured his listener with a note of pride.
Peggy waved away Indigo's offer of a drink and furnished him with the impression that she'd finally grasped his explanation. But with her
best dramatics running at full steam, creased her brow in a genuine muddle. "Whey, that sounds like a grand deal, me-lad..." she agreed,
"...but wouldn't that leave the Isle of Murdigon empty of folk?" she prompted and pretended to scratch her head in befuddlement.
Staring out towards the gloom of the surrounding woods, the unwanted customer of The Horatio Public House seemed to be mindful
of what the woman was saying, but his answer hinted that the rumination Indigo Dunth was immersed in went much deeper and meant
more to him personally than most would think. "Nay lass, Mister Godwin told ush not to torment ourshelves about such things becaush
we be would be replaced". The drunkard's timbre smacked of either ale-induced exhaustion or a sorrow not normally associated with
the musings of a beer-swiller.
Feigning the movements of a sozzled tippler, Peggy rose and excused herself due to nature calling. Indigo dismissed her need to
urinate with a wave of his hand and another drink from the bottomless canteen. Standing behind him, the little Witch raised her own
hand and whispered some words beyond the drunkard's comprehension and a moment later, ambiguities of magical transportations
to a Nirvana of milk and honey no longer mattered to the slumped man who's best friend resided in a corked jug.
Snoring away his imaginary bout of intemperance, Mr Dunth staggered into a different realm where a mysterious Mister Godwin and
two mystical wooden poles in a clearing held sway. Peggy patted the dormant old man on his greasy cap and collecting her container
of illusions, headed off into the shadows of the forest.
Unwinding the little horseshoe from the cordage, the wary Seer gently asked the charm to show her the way and with a slight pause, the
twine went taut and the curved piece of metal pointed out into the caliginosity of the woods. An enchanted kingdom that could replace
those who chose to accept it...? Peggy inwardly snorted at the flapdoodle of the notion and stepped in the direction the floating talisman
was indicating. There was more to this than met the eye
evening. Far out on the burning orange waves, black boat-shaped objects floated like used cinders discarded from the fading inferno
that entertained those who appreciated such displays of nature.
Peggy Powler revelled in the wonderful moment and Murdigon's current brainteaser, the old man who vanished, young Samuel's unsaid
concern and the opportunity to view the rare Soap Dragon, became small facets of her journey on the island that had to loiter whilst she
recharged her spirit and warmed her heart.
However, nature isn't a private melody for a lone dancer and due to the down-to-earth practicalities of the reality that it lounges in, other
actions must take place to benefit the whole. Hence the reason the sighing little Witch staring out to at the ignited waters almost missed
Indigo Dunth stumbling out of the tavern's door.
A blanket of star-puckered velvet crept towards the late-matinee of combustion as Peggy spied the drunkard setting his wobbly passage
inland and leaving the fading display, she checked for any last-minute window-dresser snooping on her casual amble of following the old
intoxicated scrounger. "Eh Mister Dunth..." Peggy lightly called as she finished her spell on the canteen in her satchel, "...Ah was just about
te' find me-self a quiet tree te' soak in the evenin' and whet me-whistle" she appended with a slight slur to her voice. "Would yer' care te'
join me?".
Indigo looked completely dumbfounded at the bantam silhouette approaching him and was taken aback due to accepting the only time
anyone used his surname was when they were caustically demanding payment for his beer-tab. Dunth merely stared back with an open
mouth and smiling amiably at him, Peggy hoped she could get that surprised cavity to utter what she needed to know.
"How are yer', me-friend?" she asked and sloshed the contents of her water bottle in her bag for effect.
Indigo surveyed the street with a boozy eye and then refocused on the genial woman in the large hat. Visitors to Camden Bight didn't usually
consort with the likes of him at this hour and any conversation traditionally involved the owner of The Horatio pushing him out of the door with
a warning to clean-up his act. "I am rolling, Miss" he answered in his confusion and allowed the Angel with a canteen of beer to take his arm.
"Let's have a blather" the Last Witch of Underhill suggested with a hushed tone and led him away from the main street of fiery sun-downs.
...................................................
"Naw Miss Powler, it'sh not shumethin' Ah'm supposed to talk about" Indigo slurred firmly and glancing at the relaxed female, he shook the
leather flask to hear if he was out of grog. It had occurred to him earlier that the little woman leaning against the trunk of the tree might be
the same Peggy Powler he'd heard some of the sailors who'd frequented the tavern talk about, but such a famous conjurer of spells wouldn't
be interested in the likes of himself. So meeting his logical impasse, Indigo just accepted she was a fellow-authority of fine ales...
or any ale, for that matter.
"But between you and me, they told ush that the Woolpit ish a chance to start again..." the unshaven imbiber announced in hushed tones
"...Where fields of gold shit beshide babbling streams and the sun shines all day" he finished his mispronounced elucidation and with a
knowing wink, took another draft of the promised elixir.
Peggy nodded sagely and watched the surroundings for any sign of eavesdropping. The night was coming and based on Samuel Gurnard's
comment of lights in the forest around Camden Bight, she didn't want to be out late in the shadows with a loud-mouthed piss-pot like Dunth.
"So this fella told yer' such a place lies on the mainland?" she asked again with a hint of false-perplexity and waited for her hooked-bait to
be shaken in the same manner as her flask of mere well-water.
Indigo believed it was ale and it had never failed to amaze the little Witch how the mind could be easily tricked by the easiest of glamour.
A thought that went dark when she recalled the hoax played on herself by whoever she believed was behind all this fuzzy riddle.
"Yer' not listenin' te' me, Missie..." the kneeling man groaned and sucked in a breath of warm night air, "...Mishter Godwin told ush that
The Woolpit could only be reached by passin' through the Beams of King Stephen and that we'll all get te' go, even a fella like me-self"
he assured his listener with a note of pride.
Peggy waved away Indigo's offer of a drink and furnished him with the impression that she'd finally grasped his explanation. But with her
best dramatics running at full steam, creased her brow in a genuine muddle. "Whey, that sounds like a grand deal, me-lad..." she agreed,
"...but wouldn't that leave the Isle of Murdigon empty of folk?" she prompted and pretended to scratch her head in befuddlement.
Staring out towards the gloom of the surrounding woods, the unwanted customer of The Horatio Public House seemed to be mindful
of what the woman was saying, but his answer hinted that the rumination Indigo Dunth was immersed in went much deeper and meant
more to him personally than most would think. "Nay lass, Mister Godwin told ush not to torment ourshelves about such things becaush
we be would be replaced". The drunkard's timbre smacked of either ale-induced exhaustion or a sorrow not normally associated with
the musings of a beer-swiller.
Feigning the movements of a sozzled tippler, Peggy rose and excused herself due to nature calling. Indigo dismissed her need to
urinate with a wave of his hand and another drink from the bottomless canteen. Standing behind him, the little Witch raised her own
hand and whispered some words beyond the drunkard's comprehension and a moment later, ambiguities of magical transportations
to a Nirvana of milk and honey no longer mattered to the slumped man who's best friend resided in a corked jug.
Snoring away his imaginary bout of intemperance, Mr Dunth staggered into a different realm where a mysterious Mister Godwin and
two mystical wooden poles in a clearing held sway. Peggy patted the dormant old man on his greasy cap and collecting her container
of illusions, headed off into the shadows of the forest.
Unwinding the little horseshoe from the cordage, the wary Seer gently asked the charm to show her the way and with a slight pause, the
twine went taut and the curved piece of metal pointed out into the caliginosity of the woods. An enchanted kingdom that could replace
those who chose to accept it...? Peggy inwardly snorted at the flapdoodle of the notion and stepped in the direction the floating talisman
was indicating. There was more to this than met the eye
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.