03-01-2022, 05:37 PM
After crossing the barley field and following Albert Hobson down a little lane that was almost obliterated by an abundance
of Morning Glory, Peggy Powler thought more about the congregation who lived at Pook Hill. The Song Thrush that had
earlier warbled a tune to celebrate its high-tea of brown-tail grubs, now sang an evensong as the light faded over the little
Witch's latest quest.
Typically, the route to Pook Hill was a stony track that spurred off Calder's Way around half-a-mile further along on the way
to Glasspool and was a regular roadway for those who purchased the sole product of the detached community. But the trail
that Albert was taking her on led away from that road and now enclosed in unkempt foliage, Peggy believed she was being
led back to Pook Hill in a way that would keep her from being seen by unknown onlookers.
Why...? well, that would have to wait and so resigning herself to the reticent lad's sense of direction, she went back to musing
on the odd company that Albert Hobson belonged to. The ale of Pook Hill was a good seller and Peggy had even seen it for
sale in a tavern as far out as Wildhorn County. What Pookers did with the income was something she'd never understood as
her previous visit had never offered any clues to what benefits the nummas had brought.
The houses -even those of the Orange and Red Smocks, were identical and there were no luxuries the sorceress witnessed
that were only exclusive to one particular section of the group. They all prayed the same way, there was no positioning within
the Pook doctrine that raised one Pooker or strata of tunic-wearers from another and she'd seen nothing that implied any
competition for better favour from the chosen deity.
The structure that they adhered to in regards of farming was slightly different though. Those who tilled the soil, cared for the
Hop bines, picked the fruit and mixed the ingredients for the alcohol were seen as more important than those who handled
the administration-side of the business. To Peggy, it appeared that physical-labour was held to a high standard and even a
key-factor in the umbrella that made up the worship of a land Spirit.
But the Pookers' framework of how they conducted themselves hadn't been her concern when she'd first went to the secluded
valley so many years ago, it was how to rid the peculiar sect of their problem. Mainly, the expulsion of the Manticore that had
taken up residence in the pine forest on the Pooker land.
...................................................
"Is Alaric still around?" Peggy asked the back of the silent young man leading the way, he hadn't spoken at all after his initial
request to return to Pook Hill. The dark-blue smock ducked beneath a blooming clump of Morning Glory and didn't offer the
little Witch any answer. Again, the Last Witch of Underhill appreciated that Albert wasn't a spokesperson beyond his position
of messenger, but out here in the Boonies, she'd thought that he would've at least given her some idea of what had changed
since her last visit.
Through bushes lining forgotten thoroughfares and copses of ivy-tangled trees, Albert Hobson led the needed guest of Pook
Hill towards his home. Even when the familiar split-rail barrier appeared when the plodding pair emerged from a thicket of
elderberry bushes, the young man remained silent until he'd vaulted the fence and waited -with his back to Peggy, until she'd
copied his action.
"Miss Powler, I will now direct you to our Meeting Hall and introduce you to my betters" Albert explained without any emotional
imput. For a moment, Peggy thought about the Replacements that she'd seen on the Isle of Murdigon and hoped the nice -but
withdrawn lad wasn't one of them. "Aye, yer' a darlin' fur' showin' me the way" she replied with a note of mock-sauciness and
was relieved to see the novice's shoulders twitch in his embarrassment.
A moment passed before Albert pressed on through the line of conifers that also surrounded the rear of the Pook Hill residence.
Coming out from the shadows of the evergreens and watching her step as they travelled down the hill, Peggy observed the plain
houses were still identical and from one ground-floor window on the left of the homes, a glowing lantern sat on its sill. The vista
looked so peaceful in the cool night air and making sure she followed Albert's route, the little sorceress felt that if hadn't been
for the required manner of religion, Pook Hill would make an ideal place for a family wishing to seek a safe place to rear their
young.
Now on level ground, Peggy noticed that the surface she was walking on and -also encircling the buildings, was of clipped grass
and enjoying the feel of the evening dew on her bare feet, she wondered if the Pookers now retained sheep to keep the village's
terrain in their much-needed quaint condition.
The Meeting House hadn't existed when she'd last been here and the little Witch hurrying to keep up with the swifter youngster
pondered on what sort of debate had occurred to allow a building like this to be erected. Was this place of gathering open to all
Pookers...? If not, did it effect their dogma of equal setting? Peggy let the query go as Albert climbed the two wooden steps to
the bethel of discourse and staring towards the gate on the main road, opened the door slightly.
"Quickly Miss Powler, your presence is vital to our village" Albert hissed and removing her hat, Peggy could see from the radiance
of a lantern inside the Meeting Hall, that he knew he shouldn't have said those words.
It was above his grade.
of Morning Glory, Peggy Powler thought more about the congregation who lived at Pook Hill. The Song Thrush that had
earlier warbled a tune to celebrate its high-tea of brown-tail grubs, now sang an evensong as the light faded over the little
Witch's latest quest.
Typically, the route to Pook Hill was a stony track that spurred off Calder's Way around half-a-mile further along on the way
to Glasspool and was a regular roadway for those who purchased the sole product of the detached community. But the trail
that Albert was taking her on led away from that road and now enclosed in unkempt foliage, Peggy believed she was being
led back to Pook Hill in a way that would keep her from being seen by unknown onlookers.
Why...? well, that would have to wait and so resigning herself to the reticent lad's sense of direction, she went back to musing
on the odd company that Albert Hobson belonged to. The ale of Pook Hill was a good seller and Peggy had even seen it for
sale in a tavern as far out as Wildhorn County. What Pookers did with the income was something she'd never understood as
her previous visit had never offered any clues to what benefits the nummas had brought.
The houses -even those of the Orange and Red Smocks, were identical and there were no luxuries the sorceress witnessed
that were only exclusive to one particular section of the group. They all prayed the same way, there was no positioning within
the Pook doctrine that raised one Pooker or strata of tunic-wearers from another and she'd seen nothing that implied any
competition for better favour from the chosen deity.
The structure that they adhered to in regards of farming was slightly different though. Those who tilled the soil, cared for the
Hop bines, picked the fruit and mixed the ingredients for the alcohol were seen as more important than those who handled
the administration-side of the business. To Peggy, it appeared that physical-labour was held to a high standard and even a
key-factor in the umbrella that made up the worship of a land Spirit.
But the Pookers' framework of how they conducted themselves hadn't been her concern when she'd first went to the secluded
valley so many years ago, it was how to rid the peculiar sect of their problem. Mainly, the expulsion of the Manticore that had
taken up residence in the pine forest on the Pooker land.
...................................................
"Is Alaric still around?" Peggy asked the back of the silent young man leading the way, he hadn't spoken at all after his initial
request to return to Pook Hill. The dark-blue smock ducked beneath a blooming clump of Morning Glory and didn't offer the
little Witch any answer. Again, the Last Witch of Underhill appreciated that Albert wasn't a spokesperson beyond his position
of messenger, but out here in the Boonies, she'd thought that he would've at least given her some idea of what had changed
since her last visit.
Through bushes lining forgotten thoroughfares and copses of ivy-tangled trees, Albert Hobson led the needed guest of Pook
Hill towards his home. Even when the familiar split-rail barrier appeared when the plodding pair emerged from a thicket of
elderberry bushes, the young man remained silent until he'd vaulted the fence and waited -with his back to Peggy, until she'd
copied his action.
"Miss Powler, I will now direct you to our Meeting Hall and introduce you to my betters" Albert explained without any emotional
imput. For a moment, Peggy thought about the Replacements that she'd seen on the Isle of Murdigon and hoped the nice -but
withdrawn lad wasn't one of them. "Aye, yer' a darlin' fur' showin' me the way" she replied with a note of mock-sauciness and
was relieved to see the novice's shoulders twitch in his embarrassment.
A moment passed before Albert pressed on through the line of conifers that also surrounded the rear of the Pook Hill residence.
Coming out from the shadows of the evergreens and watching her step as they travelled down the hill, Peggy observed the plain
houses were still identical and from one ground-floor window on the left of the homes, a glowing lantern sat on its sill. The vista
looked so peaceful in the cool night air and making sure she followed Albert's route, the little sorceress felt that if hadn't been
for the required manner of religion, Pook Hill would make an ideal place for a family wishing to seek a safe place to rear their
young.
Now on level ground, Peggy noticed that the surface she was walking on and -also encircling the buildings, was of clipped grass
and enjoying the feel of the evening dew on her bare feet, she wondered if the Pookers now retained sheep to keep the village's
terrain in their much-needed quaint condition.
The Meeting House hadn't existed when she'd last been here and the little Witch hurrying to keep up with the swifter youngster
pondered on what sort of debate had occurred to allow a building like this to be erected. Was this place of gathering open to all
Pookers...? If not, did it effect their dogma of equal setting? Peggy let the query go as Albert climbed the two wooden steps to
the bethel of discourse and staring towards the gate on the main road, opened the door slightly.
"Quickly Miss Powler, your presence is vital to our village" Albert hissed and removing her hat, Peggy could see from the radiance
of a lantern inside the Meeting Hall, that he knew he shouldn't have said those words.
It was above his grade.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.