The dark-haired Desert Gnome felt the merit of his idea fading along with the gloom that fled from the breaking day.
Attaching flying animals to one's body doesn't equate to that body being able to fly. It just means you have a lot of
flapping animals deciding -through flight, to do what individual animals do when presented with a situation not natural
to their standard behaviour.
Peggy Powler explained this quicker by pointing to the bats trying to get out of Dunnett's net.
Standing there in his sandy-coloured knee-length shorts and the obligatory multi-pleated desert vest, Peggy felt like
she'd stolen something from him, came to his home and kicked his dream from under his bare dusty feet.
Ceding to the rationale of the kindly Witch, the crestfallen young Fae knelt down and began to release the engine of
his desire of soaring above the desert and undoing the release-lace of the mesh, his sadly-looking face told Peggy
she should really cheer him up in some way.
As the shadows of the badlands began to strengthen in Wildhorn County, she looked around for something to entertain
the Gnome -now that she'd shattered his expectation and wondered if she dare mention the broom protruding from the
insects' home.
"Done it?" Peggy asked and then quickly corrected herself, "I mean, are they all away, me-lad?". Dunnett looked up
from his crouch with regretful eyes and nodded, the home-made Yucca-leaf net was neatly folded and that was another
trait of Desert Gnomes she recalled, they never wasted anything. As the skittering black sky-mice raced off in the same
direction that the couple's shadows were pointing, Peggy offered her idea.
And so finally, the last Witch of Underhill set out across the wilderness knowing that her first interaction in Wildhorn had
began with an unsteady start, but was repaired when fully appreciated. The little Gnome boy was now hurrying towards
a partially-defunct flying broom with a hope that their was still enough life in it to fulfil his wish and Peggy was on her way
to find out about a poem that told of something that humans shouldn't know about.
And the day was only starting.
...................................................
'Welcome To Barren Wayz. Pop: 38' the weathered sign proclaimed as Ms Powler came off the desert floor and followed
the stony track into town. The sun was still in its morning stage, but with the walk and her recent sitting around on her fanny
at Myrddin's home for the last few weeks, Peggy would have to concede that she wasn't glowing -as ladies are quoted to do,
in the Witch's common parlance, she was 'sweatin' like a bugger'.
Out to Peggy's left, a group of single one-storey cabins hunkered like pariahs waiting for an invitation to join the Barren Wayz
population count. "Maybe miners" Peggy mumbled to herself as she lost sight of the log-walled structures and the regular town
buildings took over the meagre scenery.
Taking off her sweat-stained hat as she passed the placard, she had to squint to take in the vista of the slowly-waking community
that couldn't spell. A typographical-irony in a way -the panting Witch mused as she pondered dunking her head in a nearby horse
trough.
Seeing the water held a greenish tinge, Peggy -instead, eyed the wooden commercial buildings huddled together in what she
guessed was Main Street and even though the morning heat had sapped some of her usual jovial attitude, she still managed
to smile when she realised the dusty thoroughfare of Barren Wayz was their only street.
There was the usual Dry Goods store with shadowed windows offering everyday household items and a range of groceries.
Two structures seemed to offer nothing for a visitor to the desert community and so Peggy took a guess that these were private
homes.
After a typical freight wagon-sized gap, a one-floor office where the Midnight Mail was picked-up and dropped-off stood beside
a prestigious-looking Bank that also advertised itself as an Assay Office. Peggy's red-rimmed eyes moved back to the 'we-sell
-everything' trader and wondered if basic mining equipment was available too.
A Butcher's shop and a Baker's outlet were next, Ike and Mike -they think alike, and then a drinking establishment branded 'The
Wildhorn Wet' stood as the final building before the desert waited to purloin such a boastful claim.
Peggy peered down into the algae-kissed water and saw the reflection of one the buildings that made-up the opposite of what
locals may call Main Street. The word in the planked-trough said 'fferihS', but the Witch knew that the bars on the windows told
a passer-by everything and that included the stone-faced man watching her from one of the glass apertures.
A Blacksmith's with its doors open was next and another type of clock resided there for those still snoozing in Barren Wayz.
If there's no sound of a hammer beating against hot metal, then it's still early and every farrier knows this to be true.
With a small fenced-off space to stable a couple of horses, a quaint barber shop joined the queue to pamper a visitor to the
town in the desert. An off-white sign in its window advertised tooth-pulling was also available.
Then a few more private homes stood along the boardwalk, finishing with another store that sold hardware and a three-floored
wooden building holding a scrolled sign with the imaginative name 'Board & Lodgings House'. Peggy showed an amused face
in the shadow of her wide-brimmed hat as she noticed there was no house of worship in the passel that made up Main Street.
Maybe Father Jacobs' spiritual journey needed to be lengthened?
"Just passing through, Ma'am?" a deep voice from the Sheriff's Office asked.
Attaching flying animals to one's body doesn't equate to that body being able to fly. It just means you have a lot of
flapping animals deciding -through flight, to do what individual animals do when presented with a situation not natural
to their standard behaviour.
Peggy Powler explained this quicker by pointing to the bats trying to get out of Dunnett's net.
Standing there in his sandy-coloured knee-length shorts and the obligatory multi-pleated desert vest, Peggy felt like
she'd stolen something from him, came to his home and kicked his dream from under his bare dusty feet.
Ceding to the rationale of the kindly Witch, the crestfallen young Fae knelt down and began to release the engine of
his desire of soaring above the desert and undoing the release-lace of the mesh, his sadly-looking face told Peggy
she should really cheer him up in some way.
As the shadows of the badlands began to strengthen in Wildhorn County, she looked around for something to entertain
the Gnome -now that she'd shattered his expectation and wondered if she dare mention the broom protruding from the
insects' home.
"Done it?" Peggy asked and then quickly corrected herself, "I mean, are they all away, me-lad?". Dunnett looked up
from his crouch with regretful eyes and nodded, the home-made Yucca-leaf net was neatly folded and that was another
trait of Desert Gnomes she recalled, they never wasted anything. As the skittering black sky-mice raced off in the same
direction that the couple's shadows were pointing, Peggy offered her idea.
And so finally, the last Witch of Underhill set out across the wilderness knowing that her first interaction in Wildhorn had
began with an unsteady start, but was repaired when fully appreciated. The little Gnome boy was now hurrying towards
a partially-defunct flying broom with a hope that their was still enough life in it to fulfil his wish and Peggy was on her way
to find out about a poem that told of something that humans shouldn't know about.
And the day was only starting.
...................................................
'Welcome To Barren Wayz. Pop: 38' the weathered sign proclaimed as Ms Powler came off the desert floor and followed
the stony track into town. The sun was still in its morning stage, but with the walk and her recent sitting around on her fanny
at Myrddin's home for the last few weeks, Peggy would have to concede that she wasn't glowing -as ladies are quoted to do,
in the Witch's common parlance, she was 'sweatin' like a bugger'.
Out to Peggy's left, a group of single one-storey cabins hunkered like pariahs waiting for an invitation to join the Barren Wayz
population count. "Maybe miners" Peggy mumbled to herself as she lost sight of the log-walled structures and the regular town
buildings took over the meagre scenery.
Taking off her sweat-stained hat as she passed the placard, she had to squint to take in the vista of the slowly-waking community
that couldn't spell. A typographical-irony in a way -the panting Witch mused as she pondered dunking her head in a nearby horse
trough.
Seeing the water held a greenish tinge, Peggy -instead, eyed the wooden commercial buildings huddled together in what she
guessed was Main Street and even though the morning heat had sapped some of her usual jovial attitude, she still managed
to smile when she realised the dusty thoroughfare of Barren Wayz was their only street.
There was the usual Dry Goods store with shadowed windows offering everyday household items and a range of groceries.
Two structures seemed to offer nothing for a visitor to the desert community and so Peggy took a guess that these were private
homes.
After a typical freight wagon-sized gap, a one-floor office where the Midnight Mail was picked-up and dropped-off stood beside
a prestigious-looking Bank that also advertised itself as an Assay Office. Peggy's red-rimmed eyes moved back to the 'we-sell
-everything' trader and wondered if basic mining equipment was available too.
A Butcher's shop and a Baker's outlet were next, Ike and Mike -they think alike, and then a drinking establishment branded 'The
Wildhorn Wet' stood as the final building before the desert waited to purloin such a boastful claim.
Peggy peered down into the algae-kissed water and saw the reflection of one the buildings that made-up the opposite of what
locals may call Main Street. The word in the planked-trough said 'fferihS', but the Witch knew that the bars on the windows told
a passer-by everything and that included the stone-faced man watching her from one of the glass apertures.
A Blacksmith's with its doors open was next and another type of clock resided there for those still snoozing in Barren Wayz.
If there's no sound of a hammer beating against hot metal, then it's still early and every farrier knows this to be true.
With a small fenced-off space to stable a couple of horses, a quaint barber shop joined the queue to pamper a visitor to the
town in the desert. An off-white sign in its window advertised tooth-pulling was also available.
Then a few more private homes stood along the boardwalk, finishing with another store that sold hardware and a three-floored
wooden building holding a scrolled sign with the imaginative name 'Board & Lodgings House'. Peggy showed an amused face
in the shadow of her wide-brimmed hat as she noticed there was no house of worship in the passel that made up Main Street.
Maybe Father Jacobs' spiritual journey needed to be lengthened?
"Just passing through, Ma'am?" a deep voice from the Sheriff's Office asked.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.