Epilogue
There isn't much to say about the events after the doorway to The Wool-Pit was closed, Peggy Powler was exalted for
her bravery with Pa Gurnard almost accidently dislocating the little Witch's shoulder when he patted his congratulations
and Chester Caldwell was assisted back to Camden Bight on foot as it was discovered Alf Slater had fled due to being
paid up-front.
Ma Gurnard made a larger-than-usual apple pie and packed two hefty slices for Peggy to take with her on her way back
to the mainland and after easing Indigo Dunth's nervousness by handing over a gold numma piece, the respective groups
and individuals went on with their lives.
There now, all neatly packed away and no hard-feelings, huh? "Excuse me?" I hear you ask, "no elucidation to what the good
people of Murdigon drew from this secretive scheme that went awry? No postscript on what happened to Lillian Caldwell as
she began to put her life back together again? Hell... not even a footnote regarding the trauma the Caldwell kids and the adults
endured before they were inelegantly shoved back into the world they'd left to start over?!"
Okey-dokey, hitch up yer' pants and make sure yer' feet are dry!
...................................................
Peggy Powler had heard the rude joke before, but considering her up-beat mood after a couple of hours of sleep and a
nice bacon sandwich washed down with two mugs of coffee from the eternally-grateful proprietors of the Ship Chandlery,
the little bare-footed sorceress mustered a healthy cackle of mirth at the punch-line. It seems that for those who go down
to the sea in ships never tire of gags about lewd and promiscuous women who frequent taverns of disrepute with a cucumber.
Leaving the chuckling trawler-men enjoying the sunshine and mending their nets, Peggy went to thank the Penroses again
for their fine victuals and the donation of the Calcite Spar to the arms of the statue back in Byefleet Howe. It was only as she
was leaving the doorway of the supply-shop, that she caught sight of Lillian Caldwell coming out of the Goddard's Dry Goods
Store (that's Milton and Flo to you and me).
The bantam Witch hurried across the cobbled-road and caught up with the fair-haired heroine as she was about to turn into the
lane that led to the Caldwell residence. "How are yer' family doin'?..." Peggy asked as she caught her breath. Today here on
the island was her last before she took John Potter's boat back to the mainland and there was some things to tie-up.
"...Ah' hope they're gettin' over what they went through?" the short-winded spellbinder appended and removed her hat to show
her sincerity. Lillian smiled at the small brave woman and wondered what nightmares Peggy had seen during her wanderings.
Adjusting her basket of groceries, she silently agreed that such a vocation was beyond her own mettle.
"Chester is slowly coming around and the children are adjusting to what they went through..." Lillian said and offered a smile of
someone who only knows to just carry on, keep pressing forward and look for the life they once held. "...That awful ordeal in The
Wool-Pit has scarred them and their mother, but Martin seems to have moved on from what happened" she added and Peggy
felt a mental flinch from the woman, as if she wanted to depart the conversation and be on her way.
It wasn't the class-difference or a belief that Lillian was associating Peggy with a negative occurrence in her life. It was simply
who Lillian Aldwych was and who Lillian Caldwell is. To the Last Witch of Underhill, it was obvious who her son took after.
"Aye well, it takes time, they say..." Peggy said softly with a nod "...and iff'n yer' excuse me, Ah've got te' be goin', they also say
that tide waits fur' no man or woman!" This brought a grin from both of them. The sun shone down on the pair and for a moment,
nothing needed to be said, but humans have this overwhelming need to ruin such consequential junctures. "You take care Peggy
Powler and thank you for bringing Chester and myself back" Lillian whispered and held her hand out to finalise the farewell.
Peggy reached up, shook it and left.
...................................................
Whoever spoke the quotes about trauma taking time to diminish and the other thing about the rise and fall of the sea due to the
pull of the moon may have also sarcastically quipped the one about putting lipstick on a pig. However, for the well-dressed fellow
toddling along the top of the road, such a phrase wouldn't be applicable. Peggy had to get really close to the ambling chap before
she realised who he actually was.
"Fair travels, Mister Dunth" she said as she crossed his path to begin a short trek towards the glade where the damaged Beams
of King Stephen resided. Indigo peered out from under his brand-new hat and nodded as if to an unknown polite passer-by.
With a second glance, his jaunty demeanour faded and a slight look of discomfiture took flight across his face. "Oh... er, and fair
elements to you Miss Powler" Indigo replied nervously.
The earlier moment of silence that Lillian Caldwell had ruined now remained untouched by both peering parties on the cusp where
the cobbled-road meets the rough one and maybe there's a symbolic meaning there, I don't know. But with a nod from Indigo and
a return salute from Peggy, the smiling odd-couple went on their separate ways.
...................................................
Maybe it was guilt from leaving the noble group he'd been assigned to when they'd taken the Calcite crystal to Byefleet Howe and
then hightailing it back to Camden Bight like a coward. Or maybe it was because Alf Slater realised the perils that the Beams of
King Stephen still held for a community he admired or maybe he figured there might be some florris to be gained by having his
farting mule haul the posts from their moorings and selling what he found there.
But whatever his motives, Peggy stood in astonishment as she witnessed the bulky man grunting with exertion as he and his four
-legged gas-donor pulled the second column out of the dirt and drag it clear of its hole. Red, green and blue tentacles hung from
inside the twisted tube as it bumped away from the clearing. Alf peered over at the woman he'd abandoned last night and waited
for the certain rebuke of his act of leaving Byefleet Howe.
"What do yer' think they're made of?" Peggy asked as she carefully climbed over the piles of soil Slater had dug out with his spade
and scrutinised the coloured-threads. They looked like copper wrapped in some sort of strange sheathing an their colours seemed
relevant. Alf lumbered over and brought his familiar cloud of body-odour with him. "I dunno', looks like roots of some kind" he replied
and the crouching Witch looking up from his assumption noticed he crossed himself without thinking.
"Whatever it is, Ah' think it'll look better at the bottom of the sea" Alf muttered and went back to prepare his self-determined task
of drowning the anomalies his village once had faith in. Peggy wished him well and received the customary nod from the big man.
His mule gave no sign of farewell from either-end of its body and the thankful bare-footed visitor to the clearing left to say goodbye
to the Gurnards.
...................................................
Mid-afternoon had arrived quickly, but Peggy didn't mind. Ma Gurnard produced large wax-packages of apple pie, whilst her fussing
husband asked if she wanted help loading her boat. Standing beneath the statue of Adjef and her glistening burden, Pa Gurnard
mentioned that they'd been thinking -or to be more precise, his wife told him it might be a good idea for a site to be found between
Byefleet Howe and Camden Bight where the Angel of Light could be enjoyed by both villages.
Peggy reckoned that it was a grand idea and suggested a location near the pool of Moosa, although she did say Samuel should have
the last word of that idea. A comment, the sorceress had put forth due to the boy's absence. "Well, our Sam is down by yer' boat and
I think he's took a bit of a shine to yer'" Ma Gurnard stated as she approached with her delectable delivery. Peggy playfully wondered
if the lad's older brother held such fondness, but of course, only thought it.
Embracing the round straight-talking woman and shaking the huge hand of her man, the little visitor to the agrarian community left
before nosy Tawny Codswell or her kindling-carrying spouse could appear and ask about her feet.
...................................................
John Potter's vessel was still there on the quiet sandy-shore, along with Samuel Gurnard sitting in it. The boy was gazing out towards
the mainland and the calm waters between. Peggy stood for a few moments before ruining the serene perspective, an act she wished
she could avoid. The sun was still racing to meet its perpetually fleeing pale lover and time seemed to be encouraging the chase.
"What lays beyond that strait isn't the sparkling bauble yer' imagine it te' be, Samuel..." the little Witch cooed as she stepped onto the
warm granules off the little beach and placed her gifts into the boat. "...But when yer' of the age te' venture there, Ah'm sure me-words
will be forgotten and yer'll learn fur' yer'self".
Samuel swiftly jumped out of the skiff and ran to be in her arms, the front of Peggy's poncho darkened with the youngster's tears.
"Ah' know son, Ah' know" she whispered as she stroked his tousled hair and calmed his melancholy. The youngest of the Gurnard's
gathered himself and stepped back from the woman who'd saved his life, his Pa would be proud -the smiling necromancer thought
as he wiped the tears from his eyes.
"I... I wish your travels to be fair, Miss Powler and I hope if yer' in the area again, come and visit us" Samuel formally stated and for
his mature valediction, received a pat on his trembling shoulder. With that, Peggy began to turn towards the boat and caught herself
as a memory fluttered and flapped beneath her large hat.
"Ah' have a favour te' ask and it must be kept between me and yer'self" she said softly towards the miserable teenager and waited
for his response. Samuel nodded and Peggy aped the act as she walked to the shore's edge. "Gadda... Gadda?" the little Witch
called out into the stretch of water and watched for the underwater-man to poke his head out from the surface.
"Yes my-daughter?" the fish-eyed water-dweller replied from his sitting position under a over-hanging bush and once again, made
Peggy's bladder twitch with surprise. The Merman had been enjoying the sun's warmth in the shallows near the beach and the
jolted enchanter wondered how much eaves-dropping is also provided by such a hidden location.
Without kneeling to bring herself on a similar level, Peggy explained Samuel's charity and Gadda's need to adhere to her words.
"Yon tail of yers' was not nibbled by any Kelpie, nor a sea-serpent with wickedness on its mind. Yer sufferin from fin-rot, Gadda and
this lad has the cure te' yer' ailment".
Peggy stepped over to where Samuel was ogling at the weirdest-looking fish he'd ever seen and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Now... hear me-words..." the stern-faced spell-worker continued, "... one morning out of every five, yer'll come here and find some
berries te' fix yer' ragged rudder". With raised eyebrows, Peggy awaited her patient's reply. Gadda opened his mouth to recall a
time when his tail had been admired by the females of his species, but decided this wouldn't be the appropriate moment due to
the women's stance and steely features. So he nodded once and made some bubbles in the water.
"Moosa's favourites" Peggy whispered to Samuel and receiving a similar gesture as Gadda's -minus the froth, the pair pushed the
rowboat off the Isle of Murdigon. The old fish-man plucked the mooring-rope from the vessel's bow and waited for its passenger to
embark.
"Stay safe, young un" the Last Witch of Underhill advised the boy standing on the shore as Gadda pulled the creaking skiff away
from its place of berth and raised her hand in farewell.
...................................................
John Potter looked worse-for-wear to the approaching lamia as he sat lop-sided on the neglected steps that led to the Knucker-less
meadows of Pucklewatch. Although a week with his sister should've allowed enough time to expel the copious amounts of ale he'd
undoubtedly consumed on Plough Monday, Peggy reckoned he still looked like shi..."Should Ah' have waited until the morrow yer'
dawdlin' bugger?" John good-naturedly bellowed and interrupted the musings of the little mariner steering the man's craft into the
rocky shore.
Gadda had slipped away as Peggy had suggested when she'd spotted the lone figure waiting and with an assurance he'd take
his remedy, the Merman's frazzled appendage waved goodbye.
Peggy accepted Potter's hug with relish. Even though she'd hardly been alone on Murdigon, it felt good to be back in a territory she
knew her feet would appreciate. The embrace was strong along with the smell of ale from his clothes, but still it was enjoyable.
"Yer' a sight fur' sore eyes" the little Witch whispered as she stepped back from the release of the man who lived alone on an island.
John Potter sighed and agreed with "Aye".
...................................................
The country lane that led towards Pucklewatch was laced with a lark trilling a eventide melody that Peggy Powler found comforting.
The blather she'd had with John Potter as he'd prepared his voyage back to his home was more interesting than she'd let on to the
tall man with the unquenchable thirst.
During his time at the village's celebrations, John had remarked on a queer sight of a stone-faced woman who never smiled at his
jokes and was accompanied by an annoying fellow with the gift of the tongue. Well maybe Peggy's uncouth associate used a less
manner of explanation.
Potter had climbed into his skiff and eventually answered his friend's query as he grasped the pair of dry oars with puzzlement at their
condition. The distraction required the little Witch to ask again and his response made the hairs on the back of her neck tingle.
"He was a gob-shite, Peggy and Ah' think his name was Godwort or somethin' like that" Potter called across the water and wondered
what was going on under the shade of that wide-brimmed hat.
"Fair elements, me-lass and get yer'self a pair of knickers, fur' Herne's sake!" he boomed as he slipped into the cold mist that had
rose from the early-evening's change in temperature. Peggy waved her goodbye and with smile of menace on her lips, turned to
find a place to make a camp and get a good night's sleep.
She was back on her journey and the big moon was watching. Ahead were lantern-lit windows peeking through the trees, but tonight,
the Last Witch of Underhill had a scheme to plot and drive the final nail home to bury the unusual issue of Murdigon.
The End.
There isn't much to say about the events after the doorway to The Wool-Pit was closed, Peggy Powler was exalted for
her bravery with Pa Gurnard almost accidently dislocating the little Witch's shoulder when he patted his congratulations
and Chester Caldwell was assisted back to Camden Bight on foot as it was discovered Alf Slater had fled due to being
paid up-front.
Ma Gurnard made a larger-than-usual apple pie and packed two hefty slices for Peggy to take with her on her way back
to the mainland and after easing Indigo Dunth's nervousness by handing over a gold numma piece, the respective groups
and individuals went on with their lives.
There now, all neatly packed away and no hard-feelings, huh? "Excuse me?" I hear you ask, "no elucidation to what the good
people of Murdigon drew from this secretive scheme that went awry? No postscript on what happened to Lillian Caldwell as
she began to put her life back together again? Hell... not even a footnote regarding the trauma the Caldwell kids and the adults
endured before they were inelegantly shoved back into the world they'd left to start over?!"
Okey-dokey, hitch up yer' pants and make sure yer' feet are dry!
...................................................
Peggy Powler had heard the rude joke before, but considering her up-beat mood after a couple of hours of sleep and a
nice bacon sandwich washed down with two mugs of coffee from the eternally-grateful proprietors of the Ship Chandlery,
the little bare-footed sorceress mustered a healthy cackle of mirth at the punch-line. It seems that for those who go down
to the sea in ships never tire of gags about lewd and promiscuous women who frequent taverns of disrepute with a cucumber.
Leaving the chuckling trawler-men enjoying the sunshine and mending their nets, Peggy went to thank the Penroses again
for their fine victuals and the donation of the Calcite Spar to the arms of the statue back in Byefleet Howe. It was only as she
was leaving the doorway of the supply-shop, that she caught sight of Lillian Caldwell coming out of the Goddard's Dry Goods
Store (that's Milton and Flo to you and me).
The bantam Witch hurried across the cobbled-road and caught up with the fair-haired heroine as she was about to turn into the
lane that led to the Caldwell residence. "How are yer' family doin'?..." Peggy asked as she caught her breath. Today here on
the island was her last before she took John Potter's boat back to the mainland and there was some things to tie-up.
"...Ah' hope they're gettin' over what they went through?" the short-winded spellbinder appended and removed her hat to show
her sincerity. Lillian smiled at the small brave woman and wondered what nightmares Peggy had seen during her wanderings.
Adjusting her basket of groceries, she silently agreed that such a vocation was beyond her own mettle.
"Chester is slowly coming around and the children are adjusting to what they went through..." Lillian said and offered a smile of
someone who only knows to just carry on, keep pressing forward and look for the life they once held. "...That awful ordeal in The
Wool-Pit has scarred them and their mother, but Martin seems to have moved on from what happened" she added and Peggy
felt a mental flinch from the woman, as if she wanted to depart the conversation and be on her way.
It wasn't the class-difference or a belief that Lillian was associating Peggy with a negative occurrence in her life. It was simply
who Lillian Aldwych was and who Lillian Caldwell is. To the Last Witch of Underhill, it was obvious who her son took after.
"Aye well, it takes time, they say..." Peggy said softly with a nod "...and iff'n yer' excuse me, Ah've got te' be goin', they also say
that tide waits fur' no man or woman!" This brought a grin from both of them. The sun shone down on the pair and for a moment,
nothing needed to be said, but humans have this overwhelming need to ruin such consequential junctures. "You take care Peggy
Powler and thank you for bringing Chester and myself back" Lillian whispered and held her hand out to finalise the farewell.
Peggy reached up, shook it and left.
...................................................
Whoever spoke the quotes about trauma taking time to diminish and the other thing about the rise and fall of the sea due to the
pull of the moon may have also sarcastically quipped the one about putting lipstick on a pig. However, for the well-dressed fellow
toddling along the top of the road, such a phrase wouldn't be applicable. Peggy had to get really close to the ambling chap before
she realised who he actually was.
"Fair travels, Mister Dunth" she said as she crossed his path to begin a short trek towards the glade where the damaged Beams
of King Stephen resided. Indigo peered out from under his brand-new hat and nodded as if to an unknown polite passer-by.
With a second glance, his jaunty demeanour faded and a slight look of discomfiture took flight across his face. "Oh... er, and fair
elements to you Miss Powler" Indigo replied nervously.
The earlier moment of silence that Lillian Caldwell had ruined now remained untouched by both peering parties on the cusp where
the cobbled-road meets the rough one and maybe there's a symbolic meaning there, I don't know. But with a nod from Indigo and
a return salute from Peggy, the smiling odd-couple went on their separate ways.
...................................................
Maybe it was guilt from leaving the noble group he'd been assigned to when they'd taken the Calcite crystal to Byefleet Howe and
then hightailing it back to Camden Bight like a coward. Or maybe it was because Alf Slater realised the perils that the Beams of
King Stephen still held for a community he admired or maybe he figured there might be some florris to be gained by having his
farting mule haul the posts from their moorings and selling what he found there.
But whatever his motives, Peggy stood in astonishment as she witnessed the bulky man grunting with exertion as he and his four
-legged gas-donor pulled the second column out of the dirt and drag it clear of its hole. Red, green and blue tentacles hung from
inside the twisted tube as it bumped away from the clearing. Alf peered over at the woman he'd abandoned last night and waited
for the certain rebuke of his act of leaving Byefleet Howe.
"What do yer' think they're made of?" Peggy asked as she carefully climbed over the piles of soil Slater had dug out with his spade
and scrutinised the coloured-threads. They looked like copper wrapped in some sort of strange sheathing an their colours seemed
relevant. Alf lumbered over and brought his familiar cloud of body-odour with him. "I dunno', looks like roots of some kind" he replied
and the crouching Witch looking up from his assumption noticed he crossed himself without thinking.
"Whatever it is, Ah' think it'll look better at the bottom of the sea" Alf muttered and went back to prepare his self-determined task
of drowning the anomalies his village once had faith in. Peggy wished him well and received the customary nod from the big man.
His mule gave no sign of farewell from either-end of its body and the thankful bare-footed visitor to the clearing left to say goodbye
to the Gurnards.
...................................................
Mid-afternoon had arrived quickly, but Peggy didn't mind. Ma Gurnard produced large wax-packages of apple pie, whilst her fussing
husband asked if she wanted help loading her boat. Standing beneath the statue of Adjef and her glistening burden, Pa Gurnard
mentioned that they'd been thinking -or to be more precise, his wife told him it might be a good idea for a site to be found between
Byefleet Howe and Camden Bight where the Angel of Light could be enjoyed by both villages.
Peggy reckoned that it was a grand idea and suggested a location near the pool of Moosa, although she did say Samuel should have
the last word of that idea. A comment, the sorceress had put forth due to the boy's absence. "Well, our Sam is down by yer' boat and
I think he's took a bit of a shine to yer'" Ma Gurnard stated as she approached with her delectable delivery. Peggy playfully wondered
if the lad's older brother held such fondness, but of course, only thought it.
Embracing the round straight-talking woman and shaking the huge hand of her man, the little visitor to the agrarian community left
before nosy Tawny Codswell or her kindling-carrying spouse could appear and ask about her feet.
...................................................
John Potter's vessel was still there on the quiet sandy-shore, along with Samuel Gurnard sitting in it. The boy was gazing out towards
the mainland and the calm waters between. Peggy stood for a few moments before ruining the serene perspective, an act she wished
she could avoid. The sun was still racing to meet its perpetually fleeing pale lover and time seemed to be encouraging the chase.
"What lays beyond that strait isn't the sparkling bauble yer' imagine it te' be, Samuel..." the little Witch cooed as she stepped onto the
warm granules off the little beach and placed her gifts into the boat. "...But when yer' of the age te' venture there, Ah'm sure me-words
will be forgotten and yer'll learn fur' yer'self".
Samuel swiftly jumped out of the skiff and ran to be in her arms, the front of Peggy's poncho darkened with the youngster's tears.
"Ah' know son, Ah' know" she whispered as she stroked his tousled hair and calmed his melancholy. The youngest of the Gurnard's
gathered himself and stepped back from the woman who'd saved his life, his Pa would be proud -the smiling necromancer thought
as he wiped the tears from his eyes.
"I... I wish your travels to be fair, Miss Powler and I hope if yer' in the area again, come and visit us" Samuel formally stated and for
his mature valediction, received a pat on his trembling shoulder. With that, Peggy began to turn towards the boat and caught herself
as a memory fluttered and flapped beneath her large hat.
"Ah' have a favour te' ask and it must be kept between me and yer'self" she said softly towards the miserable teenager and waited
for his response. Samuel nodded and Peggy aped the act as she walked to the shore's edge. "Gadda... Gadda?" the little Witch
called out into the stretch of water and watched for the underwater-man to poke his head out from the surface.
"Yes my-daughter?" the fish-eyed water-dweller replied from his sitting position under a over-hanging bush and once again, made
Peggy's bladder twitch with surprise. The Merman had been enjoying the sun's warmth in the shallows near the beach and the
jolted enchanter wondered how much eaves-dropping is also provided by such a hidden location.
Without kneeling to bring herself on a similar level, Peggy explained Samuel's charity and Gadda's need to adhere to her words.
"Yon tail of yers' was not nibbled by any Kelpie, nor a sea-serpent with wickedness on its mind. Yer sufferin from fin-rot, Gadda and
this lad has the cure te' yer' ailment".
Peggy stepped over to where Samuel was ogling at the weirdest-looking fish he'd ever seen and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Now... hear me-words..." the stern-faced spell-worker continued, "... one morning out of every five, yer'll come here and find some
berries te' fix yer' ragged rudder". With raised eyebrows, Peggy awaited her patient's reply. Gadda opened his mouth to recall a
time when his tail had been admired by the females of his species, but decided this wouldn't be the appropriate moment due to
the women's stance and steely features. So he nodded once and made some bubbles in the water.
"Moosa's favourites" Peggy whispered to Samuel and receiving a similar gesture as Gadda's -minus the froth, the pair pushed the
rowboat off the Isle of Murdigon. The old fish-man plucked the mooring-rope from the vessel's bow and waited for its passenger to
embark.
"Stay safe, young un" the Last Witch of Underhill advised the boy standing on the shore as Gadda pulled the creaking skiff away
from its place of berth and raised her hand in farewell.
...................................................
John Potter looked worse-for-wear to the approaching lamia as he sat lop-sided on the neglected steps that led to the Knucker-less
meadows of Pucklewatch. Although a week with his sister should've allowed enough time to expel the copious amounts of ale he'd
undoubtedly consumed on Plough Monday, Peggy reckoned he still looked like shi..."Should Ah' have waited until the morrow yer'
dawdlin' bugger?" John good-naturedly bellowed and interrupted the musings of the little mariner steering the man's craft into the
rocky shore.
Gadda had slipped away as Peggy had suggested when she'd spotted the lone figure waiting and with an assurance he'd take
his remedy, the Merman's frazzled appendage waved goodbye.
Peggy accepted Potter's hug with relish. Even though she'd hardly been alone on Murdigon, it felt good to be back in a territory she
knew her feet would appreciate. The embrace was strong along with the smell of ale from his clothes, but still it was enjoyable.
"Yer' a sight fur' sore eyes" the little Witch whispered as she stepped back from the release of the man who lived alone on an island.
John Potter sighed and agreed with "Aye".
...................................................
The country lane that led towards Pucklewatch was laced with a lark trilling a eventide melody that Peggy Powler found comforting.
The blather she'd had with John Potter as he'd prepared his voyage back to his home was more interesting than she'd let on to the
tall man with the unquenchable thirst.
During his time at the village's celebrations, John had remarked on a queer sight of a stone-faced woman who never smiled at his
jokes and was accompanied by an annoying fellow with the gift of the tongue. Well maybe Peggy's uncouth associate used a less
manner of explanation.
Potter had climbed into his skiff and eventually answered his friend's query as he grasped the pair of dry oars with puzzlement at their
condition. The distraction required the little Witch to ask again and his response made the hairs on the back of her neck tingle.
"He was a gob-shite, Peggy and Ah' think his name was Godwort or somethin' like that" Potter called across the water and wondered
what was going on under the shade of that wide-brimmed hat.
"Fair elements, me-lass and get yer'self a pair of knickers, fur' Herne's sake!" he boomed as he slipped into the cold mist that had
rose from the early-evening's change in temperature. Peggy waved her goodbye and with smile of menace on her lips, turned to
find a place to make a camp and get a good night's sleep.
She was back on her journey and the big moon was watching. Ahead were lantern-lit windows peeking through the trees, but tonight,
the Last Witch of Underhill had a scheme to plot and drive the final nail home to bury the unusual issue of Murdigon.
The End.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.