When a very cold and hungry Jasper Forster finally climbed down from from his place of refuge, he reminded himself
that he would be better off not mentioning to anyone in Mornington and especially nobody in his family of what had
witnessed last night.
The village was abundant enough with tales of ghostly visitations and night-time strangers being glimpsed from twitching
curtains, to relate his story of the weird thing he'd seen during his time up in the large oak tree might just bring questions
of why he was up there in the first place.
For a few years, Glaston County had become famous for those with a bent towards maintaining the old ways. With the
new religion slowly seeping into the rustic way of life, the change from old to new was a slow process. For many who'd
adhered to abiding with nature and a semi-coactive partnership with the land, such a notion was being eroded and the
brand 'Pagan' wasn't too-far from becoming a slur.
The annual Pumpkin Festival and the Spook Lantern Parade had already been frowned upon by the magisterial Elders of
Mornington. This year, the sole reason of why the sheltered little settlement sitting below a man-made hill still could draw
some pre-winter income from the meteorological event, appeared on the committee minutes of those who enacted laws
for those who elect them.
Maybe it was time to move on, maybe the eternal clock of life ran on the need to change and kept the spider-webs of
social-hebetude from holding back better ways of living? But even for the ten year-old tree-climber listening to his stomach
growling, he knew Mornington would feel the impact of such adjustment. New religions meant new styles of worship and
Jasper's village drew income from purely being situated in a place where those who followed the old ways came to see
an example of what they believed in.
However, the cloud-phenomena hadn't happened last year or even the year before. The medium-sized crowds of those who
had believed that the celestial reflections were connected to a dying culture that involved folklore and Fae fables had now
dwindled down to some bare-footed vagabond that Jasper had seen wandering into the village yesterday afternoon.
Making sure Mrs Goodwin -or Herne-forbid her daughter Rosalie, wouldn't catch sight of him wandering through the brush
at this early hour, Jasper Forster pulled his coat-collar up to his chin and made for home and a much-needed breakfast.
.................................................................
If it hadn't been for a nosy stoat and her need to make water, Peggy Powler would have slept on in her satchel and the
Last Witch of Underhill may have gone on her way oblivious to the problem that had taken-up home in the greenwood
around Mornington.
The button-eyed weasel realised that the dark hollow of what it had thought might be a bird's nest contained something
that snored like a predator and so discreetly moved off in search of similar style of nourishment a certain tree-climbing
Peeping-Tom was currently seeking.
A few moments later, the owner of the canvas bag arrived at a comparable conclusion after she'd squatted beside the
tree she'd slept in and after resetting her large hat on her head, Peggy believed a nice bowl of unsalted porridge would
be just the ticket right around now.
If the need for sustenance isn't deemed a connection between the lonely Jasper Forster leaving the leaf-littered woods
of Mornington and the poncho-wearing Witch fulfilling one of her favourite pilgrimages, then maybe their similar thought
-processes during their respective travels might imply some-sort of signpost showing that their morrows could well meet.
Not quite Peggy and Jasper sitting in a tree -as the schoolyard rhyme goes, but certainly musing instead of kissing.
The legend behind Mornington's financial gains is that every so often in a twenty-league area of Glaston County and at
a particular time of the year, a large formation of rain-heavy clouds gather and offer a performance of nature that is not
only breathtaking, but is said to fortify the spirit of those fortunate to witness the event.
As Summer transmutes into Autumn, the fading sun can afford -for just two or three days, to shine on the bellies of these
gossamer bundles of water particles and create a type of mirror that reflects the countryside below. Those who follow the
variegated myths of the old ways believe that this rare spectacle reveals a mishmash of a design that is said to lead to
secrets that humans and Fae alike, are never meant to know.
But what none of the residents of Mornington or the wayfarers to the little hamlet knew was why this village below an
artificial tor was the prime location to observe the aerial experience. Peggy Powler did and also she knew it explained
the reason that soil had been gathered together in ancient times in order to create the manufactured hill above young
Jasper Forster's home. The answer is Calcite.
Many alchemists have gushed with ebullience about the commonly-found mineral and for many of them -in Peggy's
opinion, divna' know their arses from their elbows. Maybe in the future, such auditors of chemicals will stumble across
Myrddin the Great Wizard's scrutiny of the supposedly-bland crystal and learn that a large deposit of Calcite lay beneath
the village of Mornington.
Through Myrddin's earlier investigations of the cloud phenomena and why it seemed devoted to the region, such hopeful
modifiers of base metals would discover that this off-white mineral holds the ability to attract salt particles held within the
moisture of clouds.
Due to this rare alluring, a faint effulgence is manifested between the droplets of water and the reacting mineral, this is
known in mystic-circles as a 'Sky Mirror'. By the way, Calcite is also a major ingredient in the magician's famous cloak
of invisibility, an item still scoffed at by those who prefer a different doctrine and maybe a tale for another time.
Nevertheless, two people for entirely different reasons, glanced up to towards the high green mound of clipped-grass and
wondered if Mornington would be blessed by the appearance of the Sky Mirror.
that he would be better off not mentioning to anyone in Mornington and especially nobody in his family of what had
witnessed last night.
The village was abundant enough with tales of ghostly visitations and night-time strangers being glimpsed from twitching
curtains, to relate his story of the weird thing he'd seen during his time up in the large oak tree might just bring questions
of why he was up there in the first place.
For a few years, Glaston County had become famous for those with a bent towards maintaining the old ways. With the
new religion slowly seeping into the rustic way of life, the change from old to new was a slow process. For many who'd
adhered to abiding with nature and a semi-coactive partnership with the land, such a notion was being eroded and the
brand 'Pagan' wasn't too-far from becoming a slur.
The annual Pumpkin Festival and the Spook Lantern Parade had already been frowned upon by the magisterial Elders of
Mornington. This year, the sole reason of why the sheltered little settlement sitting below a man-made hill still could draw
some pre-winter income from the meteorological event, appeared on the committee minutes of those who enacted laws
for those who elect them.
Maybe it was time to move on, maybe the eternal clock of life ran on the need to change and kept the spider-webs of
social-hebetude from holding back better ways of living? But even for the ten year-old tree-climber listening to his stomach
growling, he knew Mornington would feel the impact of such adjustment. New religions meant new styles of worship and
Jasper's village drew income from purely being situated in a place where those who followed the old ways came to see
an example of what they believed in.
However, the cloud-phenomena hadn't happened last year or even the year before. The medium-sized crowds of those who
had believed that the celestial reflections were connected to a dying culture that involved folklore and Fae fables had now
dwindled down to some bare-footed vagabond that Jasper had seen wandering into the village yesterday afternoon.
Making sure Mrs Goodwin -or Herne-forbid her daughter Rosalie, wouldn't catch sight of him wandering through the brush
at this early hour, Jasper Forster pulled his coat-collar up to his chin and made for home and a much-needed breakfast.
.................................................................
If it hadn't been for a nosy stoat and her need to make water, Peggy Powler would have slept on in her satchel and the
Last Witch of Underhill may have gone on her way oblivious to the problem that had taken-up home in the greenwood
around Mornington.
The button-eyed weasel realised that the dark hollow of what it had thought might be a bird's nest contained something
that snored like a predator and so discreetly moved off in search of similar style of nourishment a certain tree-climbing
Peeping-Tom was currently seeking.
A few moments later, the owner of the canvas bag arrived at a comparable conclusion after she'd squatted beside the
tree she'd slept in and after resetting her large hat on her head, Peggy believed a nice bowl of unsalted porridge would
be just the ticket right around now.
If the need for sustenance isn't deemed a connection between the lonely Jasper Forster leaving the leaf-littered woods
of Mornington and the poncho-wearing Witch fulfilling one of her favourite pilgrimages, then maybe their similar thought
-processes during their respective travels might imply some-sort of signpost showing that their morrows could well meet.
Not quite Peggy and Jasper sitting in a tree -as the schoolyard rhyme goes, but certainly musing instead of kissing.
The legend behind Mornington's financial gains is that every so often in a twenty-league area of Glaston County and at
a particular time of the year, a large formation of rain-heavy clouds gather and offer a performance of nature that is not
only breathtaking, but is said to fortify the spirit of those fortunate to witness the event.
As Summer transmutes into Autumn, the fading sun can afford -for just two or three days, to shine on the bellies of these
gossamer bundles of water particles and create a type of mirror that reflects the countryside below. Those who follow the
variegated myths of the old ways believe that this rare spectacle reveals a mishmash of a design that is said to lead to
secrets that humans and Fae alike, are never meant to know.
But what none of the residents of Mornington or the wayfarers to the little hamlet knew was why this village below an
artificial tor was the prime location to observe the aerial experience. Peggy Powler did and also she knew it explained
the reason that soil had been gathered together in ancient times in order to create the manufactured hill above young
Jasper Forster's home. The answer is Calcite.
Many alchemists have gushed with ebullience about the commonly-found mineral and for many of them -in Peggy's
opinion, divna' know their arses from their elbows. Maybe in the future, such auditors of chemicals will stumble across
Myrddin the Great Wizard's scrutiny of the supposedly-bland crystal and learn that a large deposit of Calcite lay beneath
the village of Mornington.
Through Myrddin's earlier investigations of the cloud phenomena and why it seemed devoted to the region, such hopeful
modifiers of base metals would discover that this off-white mineral holds the ability to attract salt particles held within the
moisture of clouds.
Due to this rare alluring, a faint effulgence is manifested between the droplets of water and the reacting mineral, this is
known in mystic-circles as a 'Sky Mirror'. By the way, Calcite is also a major ingredient in the magician's famous cloak
of invisibility, an item still scoffed at by those who prefer a different doctrine and maybe a tale for another time.
Nevertheless, two people for entirely different reasons, glanced up to towards the high green mound of clipped-grass and
wondered if Mornington would be blessed by the appearance of the Sky Mirror.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.