Shivering under her hat and the constellation of Hettan Major, Peggy Powler mulled on what she knew of the Wildhorn enclave
and rued that she hadn't utilised her satchel as a passenger seat. She'd have been snuggled-up in her bag and certainly warmer
if she'd thought it through -the last Witch of Underhill mentally grumbled to herself.
Nearly thirty years must've passed since she'd visited the desert region and even then, it was only due to a request to drive out
a vicious Bug-Goblin that was contaminating a village well. The expulsion occurred during her journey from the Billings Heights
and after the exorcism, the wind-blown community of Piedmont had promised a memorial would be erected in her honour.
Peggy had been happy just have her canteen refilled.
Dropping ungainly through the dwindling clouds and saying farewell to the myriad of twinkling stars, the little sorceress braced
herself for an untidy descent. The broom had been twitching for some time now and as the dark arid terrain appeared beneath
her dangling legs, Peggy wondered if the magic had all but gone. A minute later, her misgivings were proven.
Some believe birds do not accomplish true flight, their debate is based on the idea of feathers managing air-flow through their
barbules and should really be classified as a form of 'slow-falling'. Bats -by some, could be said to accomplish sustained flight.
But brooms belonging old Magicians and arm-waving Witches cannot fly under natural means and as the sandy bank raced up
to meet the half-naked woman falling from the sky, such discussions become moot.
Thanking Herne the Hunter for her tumbling coming to a halt before a rather nasty-looking cactus, Peggy gathered herself whilst
surveying the chaparral landscape of the Wildhorn district. A couple of miles in the distance, faint lights could be seen emulating
the fading celestial pin-pricks in the velvet firmament above.
Closer to the rump-rubbing spellbinder getting to her feet, she noticed her hat had survived the poorly-executed landing and was
convalescing beneath a tall termite mound with the magic-spent besom sticking out of it. Picking her favourite headwear from the
ground and shaking the dust from its wrinkles, she eyed the hazel-handled aerial vehicle and silently agreed flying is for the birds.
...................................................
Wildhorn was an odd place -Peggy mused as she tramped towards the small town ahead. The winters here never took on the
same weather conditions that other counties endured. Snow did fall on the mountains to the east, but rarely did those who lived
in the hundred mile-wide basin ever feel the cold flakes on their well-tanned faces.
As the sun was still behind those same high sierras, the little Witch soaked in the coolness of a land that never really went cold.
A dark shape fluttered past a few feet away and believing it was late-for-home bat, Peggy shook her head jovially and produced
a smile she hadn't aired since yesterday. It was good to be wandering again in her usual mode and those who used the skies for
travel can keep it. "And that means you, Mr Bat" Peggy said good naturedly.
But only a few seconds later, she thought she heard a faint squeak and was sure she heard a soft rasping voice coming from the
direction that the long fingered mammal had been heading. A small amount of scrambling beneath some shadowy underbrush
informed the little Witch that the bat had been snatched as an early breakfast.
Looking towards the sleeping community and then back to where the strange sounds emanated, Peggy gambled that a few
minutes of nosiness wouldn't do any harm. She knew what killed the cat and it wasn't curiosity.
...................................................
There was a grove of young Yuccas on the upper-part of the rise with desert-holly surrounding their bases. Peggy squinted in her
early-morning enquiry of the area and wagered the sage bushes guarding a tall cactus was where the ambusher was hidden.
"Stay quiet" a whisper slipped from beneath a clump of foliage near her bare foot and furnishing a smile again, Peggy hunkered
down and was careful to hide her lack of under-garments.
There was a net full of fluttering bats, a stick with an almost-dead moth impaled on its whittled point and a pair of apprehensive
eyes staring back from the obscurity of the bush. "G'morning" the squatting sorceress stated and after two rather slow blinks,
the eyes answered "Good morning".
...................................................
Desert Gnomes or as some like insult them with, 'Boonie-Jingles', usually inhabit the foothills due to their penchant of subterranean
living. The one hiding under the sage bush was a little off his accepted stomping ground, but Peggy put it down to his mysterious
act of capturing -what looked like, twenty bats.
"You are Fae?" the young-sounding shadow asked warily and Peggy nodded that he was correct. This gesture brought a bit of
jostling as the small fledgling Gnome came out of hiding and got to his feet with his flapping pre-dawn catch.
"Dunnett" the jet black-haired lad said and bowed watchfully. "Thank yer' son, but no... it gives me terrible wind, this early in the day"
Peggy replied and widened her smile at the potential joke. The Gnome with the boyish gaze merely frowned at the comment and
stated his position once more, "No... my name is Dunnett"
Taking off her wide-brimmed hat and presenting a bare foot forward, the wicked Witch introduced herself and resisting the urge to
ask if he had a brother called 'Bin-There', Peggy Powler asked about the contents of his fluttering net.
and rued that she hadn't utilised her satchel as a passenger seat. She'd have been snuggled-up in her bag and certainly warmer
if she'd thought it through -the last Witch of Underhill mentally grumbled to herself.
Nearly thirty years must've passed since she'd visited the desert region and even then, it was only due to a request to drive out
a vicious Bug-Goblin that was contaminating a village well. The expulsion occurred during her journey from the Billings Heights
and after the exorcism, the wind-blown community of Piedmont had promised a memorial would be erected in her honour.
Peggy had been happy just have her canteen refilled.
Dropping ungainly through the dwindling clouds and saying farewell to the myriad of twinkling stars, the little sorceress braced
herself for an untidy descent. The broom had been twitching for some time now and as the dark arid terrain appeared beneath
her dangling legs, Peggy wondered if the magic had all but gone. A minute later, her misgivings were proven.
Some believe birds do not accomplish true flight, their debate is based on the idea of feathers managing air-flow through their
barbules and should really be classified as a form of 'slow-falling'. Bats -by some, could be said to accomplish sustained flight.
But brooms belonging old Magicians and arm-waving Witches cannot fly under natural means and as the sandy bank raced up
to meet the half-naked woman falling from the sky, such discussions become moot.
Thanking Herne the Hunter for her tumbling coming to a halt before a rather nasty-looking cactus, Peggy gathered herself whilst
surveying the chaparral landscape of the Wildhorn district. A couple of miles in the distance, faint lights could be seen emulating
the fading celestial pin-pricks in the velvet firmament above.
Closer to the rump-rubbing spellbinder getting to her feet, she noticed her hat had survived the poorly-executed landing and was
convalescing beneath a tall termite mound with the magic-spent besom sticking out of it. Picking her favourite headwear from the
ground and shaking the dust from its wrinkles, she eyed the hazel-handled aerial vehicle and silently agreed flying is for the birds.
...................................................
Wildhorn was an odd place -Peggy mused as she tramped towards the small town ahead. The winters here never took on the
same weather conditions that other counties endured. Snow did fall on the mountains to the east, but rarely did those who lived
in the hundred mile-wide basin ever feel the cold flakes on their well-tanned faces.
As the sun was still behind those same high sierras, the little Witch soaked in the coolness of a land that never really went cold.
A dark shape fluttered past a few feet away and believing it was late-for-home bat, Peggy shook her head jovially and produced
a smile she hadn't aired since yesterday. It was good to be wandering again in her usual mode and those who used the skies for
travel can keep it. "And that means you, Mr Bat" Peggy said good naturedly.
But only a few seconds later, she thought she heard a faint squeak and was sure she heard a soft rasping voice coming from the
direction that the long fingered mammal had been heading. A small amount of scrambling beneath some shadowy underbrush
informed the little Witch that the bat had been snatched as an early breakfast.
Looking towards the sleeping community and then back to where the strange sounds emanated, Peggy gambled that a few
minutes of nosiness wouldn't do any harm. She knew what killed the cat and it wasn't curiosity.
...................................................
There was a grove of young Yuccas on the upper-part of the rise with desert-holly surrounding their bases. Peggy squinted in her
early-morning enquiry of the area and wagered the sage bushes guarding a tall cactus was where the ambusher was hidden.
"Stay quiet" a whisper slipped from beneath a clump of foliage near her bare foot and furnishing a smile again, Peggy hunkered
down and was careful to hide her lack of under-garments.
There was a net full of fluttering bats, a stick with an almost-dead moth impaled on its whittled point and a pair of apprehensive
eyes staring back from the obscurity of the bush. "G'morning" the squatting sorceress stated and after two rather slow blinks,
the eyes answered "Good morning".
...................................................
Desert Gnomes or as some like insult them with, 'Boonie-Jingles', usually inhabit the foothills due to their penchant of subterranean
living. The one hiding under the sage bush was a little off his accepted stomping ground, but Peggy put it down to his mysterious
act of capturing -what looked like, twenty bats.
"You are Fae?" the young-sounding shadow asked warily and Peggy nodded that he was correct. This gesture brought a bit of
jostling as the small fledgling Gnome came out of hiding and got to his feet with his flapping pre-dawn catch.
"Dunnett" the jet black-haired lad said and bowed watchfully. "Thank yer' son, but no... it gives me terrible wind, this early in the day"
Peggy replied and widened her smile at the potential joke. The Gnome with the boyish gaze merely frowned at the comment and
stated his position once more, "No... my name is Dunnett"
Taking off her wide-brimmed hat and presenting a bare foot forward, the wicked Witch introduced herself and resisting the urge to
ask if he had a brother called 'Bin-There', Peggy Powler asked about the contents of his fluttering net.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.