Alaric Hobson shivered on the sticky branch of what he believed was the tallest Pine tree in the plantation and waited for the dawn.
After escaping Mockingbird's lair and managing to avoid the the usually-even-tempered brute's rage for one night, he didn't rate his
chances of succeeding further considering the simple factors of his age and the poor-developed plan.
After the giant's thankfully-fruitless search for him, Alaric had accepted that he was too-old to be climbing trees and wiping his nose
on his sap-smeared and dirt-smudged orange smock, he deliberated on what to do next. He couldn't be certain, but he believed that
two months had passed since the huge man had appeared in the cavern where he'd been indoctrinating the newcomers. It had been
working so well up until then, the Pook-Hill community were being revitalised and money had been flowing in nicely, thank you.
Granted, Victor Boone had forced his hand when purchasing the damned-ale along with the children as some-sort of cover when he
delivered the kids, but if it hadn't been for that uppity bitch -Brenna suggesting a further hollowing-out of the small cave for storage of
the barrels, the Hyder would have never been disturbed, the blue-coats would be mindlessly working the fields and he wouldn't be stuck
up this darned tree. If there is a God called Pook, he must be laughing his furry-backside off right now, Alaric thought and adjusted his
cold numb buttocks on his current roost.
Brenna's idea had been stupid from the start -he grumbled to himself and peering down at the misty ground, he now wished he'd never
gone along with it. The original families of the Pook Hill 'religion' had simply died-out due to Crispin Hobson's insane teachings and a
lack of pragmatic sociocultural understanding. The reason for worship was there, the physical place for a community to live was there,
but the need for a male Pooker to throw one's leg over their female partner to generate future-devotees became seen as a taint, a dark
mottle of the spiritual by use of the base-physical.
Alaric had wasted the time he'd spent in Janus Mockingbird's company to attempt to persuade the grinning galoot that had snatched him
and the three girls of a conciliation where the giant could continue his comfortable living beneath the Pook Hill settlement and they could
continue their work. He'd even put forward that the three kidnapped juveniles could stay with the giant and thinking back now, Alaric ceded
that this had only infuriated Mockingbird further and warned the old man that his devious words could steer him towards a nasty end.
It was then, Alaric had planned -with urgency, his escape.
A league beyond the boundary-line of the Pook Hill property, there was a small gorge where most of the soil from the excavation had been
secretly distributed and now the overgrown ravine had been raised by a considerable level. Alaric, Brenna, five other Red-Smocks and a
number of the more-dim-witted Blue-smocks had been involved in hollowing out the cavern and unknown to all at the time, this forgotten
gulch was where the hidden entrance to a Hyder's retreat was situated.
If only they'd spread the soil across their own land -Alaric mused and turned his tired bald head in the direction of the Pook Hill houses,
if only the primary group of those who built those houses had made their beds rhythmically creak and produced children, he wouldn't be
sitting here like a dumb owl. But the same ravine had given him a route to escape and fleeing through the moon-lit hop fields towards the
only place he could think of at the time, Alaric had ended-up here. Cold, exhausted and in a world of confusion.
Sniffing in the cold morning air, the old man wracked his brains on what the end-game may look like. There was no way he could re-insert
himself back into the community without a fair explanation that would undoubtedly require further investigation. Even the drug-induced Red
-Tunic Elders that had been in on the beer-storing scheme would be suspicious if he suddenly turned up at the Meeting Hall and casually
related that he had escaped from the massive hands of a underground-dwelling Ogre living beneath their very feet.
What Brenna had told the community he was still unaware of, but believing her guile would've demanded a reason that would be vague and
yet, have a ring of authenticity to it, the shivering old man wondered if it would be enough -along with what she and Alaric had been adding
to the Pook Hill community's daily drink, to placate their natural instincts of finding their missing leader.
A late-Summer's dawn begrudgingly came to sizzle away the damp mist beneath the pine plantation and begin to make shadows beneath
the chilly director sitting in the tree. Today was a riddle and already, Alaric could see it wasn't to be a good one.
After escaping Mockingbird's lair and managing to avoid the the usually-even-tempered brute's rage for one night, he didn't rate his
chances of succeeding further considering the simple factors of his age and the poor-developed plan.
After the giant's thankfully-fruitless search for him, Alaric had accepted that he was too-old to be climbing trees and wiping his nose
on his sap-smeared and dirt-smudged orange smock, he deliberated on what to do next. He couldn't be certain, but he believed that
two months had passed since the huge man had appeared in the cavern where he'd been indoctrinating the newcomers. It had been
working so well up until then, the Pook-Hill community were being revitalised and money had been flowing in nicely, thank you.
Granted, Victor Boone had forced his hand when purchasing the damned-ale along with the children as some-sort of cover when he
delivered the kids, but if it hadn't been for that uppity bitch -Brenna suggesting a further hollowing-out of the small cave for storage of
the barrels, the Hyder would have never been disturbed, the blue-coats would be mindlessly working the fields and he wouldn't be stuck
up this darned tree. If there is a God called Pook, he must be laughing his furry-backside off right now, Alaric thought and adjusted his
cold numb buttocks on his current roost.
Brenna's idea had been stupid from the start -he grumbled to himself and peering down at the misty ground, he now wished he'd never
gone along with it. The original families of the Pook Hill 'religion' had simply died-out due to Crispin Hobson's insane teachings and a
lack of pragmatic sociocultural understanding. The reason for worship was there, the physical place for a community to live was there,
but the need for a male Pooker to throw one's leg over their female partner to generate future-devotees became seen as a taint, a dark
mottle of the spiritual by use of the base-physical.
Alaric had wasted the time he'd spent in Janus Mockingbird's company to attempt to persuade the grinning galoot that had snatched him
and the three girls of a conciliation where the giant could continue his comfortable living beneath the Pook Hill settlement and they could
continue their work. He'd even put forward that the three kidnapped juveniles could stay with the giant and thinking back now, Alaric ceded
that this had only infuriated Mockingbird further and warned the old man that his devious words could steer him towards a nasty end.
It was then, Alaric had planned -with urgency, his escape.
A league beyond the boundary-line of the Pook Hill property, there was a small gorge where most of the soil from the excavation had been
secretly distributed and now the overgrown ravine had been raised by a considerable level. Alaric, Brenna, five other Red-Smocks and a
number of the more-dim-witted Blue-smocks had been involved in hollowing out the cavern and unknown to all at the time, this forgotten
gulch was where the hidden entrance to a Hyder's retreat was situated.
If only they'd spread the soil across their own land -Alaric mused and turned his tired bald head in the direction of the Pook Hill houses,
if only the primary group of those who built those houses had made their beds rhythmically creak and produced children, he wouldn't be
sitting here like a dumb owl. But the same ravine had given him a route to escape and fleeing through the moon-lit hop fields towards the
only place he could think of at the time, Alaric had ended-up here. Cold, exhausted and in a world of confusion.
Sniffing in the cold morning air, the old man wracked his brains on what the end-game may look like. There was no way he could re-insert
himself back into the community without a fair explanation that would undoubtedly require further investigation. Even the drug-induced Red
-Tunic Elders that had been in on the beer-storing scheme would be suspicious if he suddenly turned up at the Meeting Hall and casually
related that he had escaped from the massive hands of a underground-dwelling Ogre living beneath their very feet.
What Brenna had told the community he was still unaware of, but believing her guile would've demanded a reason that would be vague and
yet, have a ring of authenticity to it, the shivering old man wondered if it would be enough -along with what she and Alaric had been adding
to the Pook Hill community's daily drink, to placate their natural instincts of finding their missing leader.
A late-Summer's dawn begrudgingly came to sizzle away the damp mist beneath the pine plantation and begin to make shadows beneath
the chilly director sitting in the tree. Today was a riddle and already, Alaric could see it wasn't to be a good one.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.