She knew that it must be a dream, an hallucination conjured from the blight that cavorted in her body and now pranced in her
fevered mind like the demon that once infested Phineas Stappen. Somewhere far off, a crow cawed its annoyance at the silly
pomp and ceremony, a midnight cherub announcing the terrible union of the damned.
In a dress made from a stitched-together flour sack proclaiming John Turnipseed as Puddledown's finest Baker, Peggy Powler
stood at a golden altar in the church of the new religion and watched through a veil spun by spiders as the priest pulled down
the hood of his vestment to reveal his gleaming grinning skull.
The straight-laced voice of Finley Teasel came from her left and turning to see the little Brownie smiling up at the Witch in her
bridal gown, he advised "Don't take this one for granted" and adjusted the remains of his front door under his arm. Then the
strange music began and Peggy felt the reverberation coming through her bare feet from the tall pipes that stood behind the
shimmering table.
Staring up through her filigree mask, the light-headed enchanter observed the huge ducts become gangly cedar trees swaying
in a sea-breeze against a beautiful blue sky. The chantry was gone and now, she was poised near a broken dolmen where a
Myrddin the greatest of wizards waited with an open book resting on the remains of the stone monument.
"Do you -Peggy Powler, take this soul to be your lawfully wedded husband...?" the old man said and glanced to the right of his
once-upon-a-time pupil. Struggling to breathe, Peggy slowly turned to see Accam Dey standing beside her, all gore-covered
and grinning like the cat that had got the cream.
"...A canny Spellbinder would take me home with her" the great wolf hissed menacingly and glimpsing the dark-blue silk cravat
around his blood-soaked neck, the little Witch welcomed her unhinged world suddenly turning to black.
...................................................
Tara Cornfoot cooled the gasping woman's brow and waited for Percy Barleycorn to finish dressing the red-raw wound on the
Witch's thigh. The Fern-leeches had done their task and now all they could do was wait, Old Barleycorn had said so. Tara felt
her usual impatience bubble up, but dowsed it with practical fact that the Fae Witch was in a battle with a fever and only time
would know the outcome. Rising to bring more water, she hoped it would be soon.
...................................................
The pond was a strange phenomena, although if you asked Ezra Coldpot or Pookie Nimbles, they would say it just a place
where pliny-mussels came to play and sometimes saltwater crabs visited for reasons the pair of Elves hadn't quite worked
out yet. The truth was that when the tide was high, water was forced through a league-long subterranean fissure in the
terrain and kept the small pool filled with marine creatures from the Great Sea.
"Ah' spoke to Tara this mornin' and she said the woman might pull through..." Ezra said absently and wriggled his toes in the
squelchy sand. "...She reckons she's been fightin' wiv' a wolf" he added and rolled his pants up further like Tara had warned
him to do. Pookie nodded from the shore and taking off his stockings, he tucked them into his shoes.
For a moment, the small item of footwear held his attention and he couldn't fathom why. It was a shoe, a simple moccasin that
his Pa had made him two years ago and yet, it meant something that alluded the innocent youngster. Then a vivid blue butterfly
left its perch of a Jasmine flower and fluttering past Pookie Nimbles on an uncharted journey, his introspectiveness of his own
shoe vanished.
...................................................
She was in a large, but dimly-lit underground chamber where someone presumably lived. Peggy sluggishly blinked as she
surveyed the root-bound ceiling and as she slowly became more aware of her surroundings, felt the heavy material that laid
across her naked body. She was in a bed.
There was a flickering fireplace where a stone hearth was filled with a steaming cooking pot, surrounded by large metal basins
and smaller porringers for the eating of stews. The silhouette of a small woman knelt in front of the flames and seemed to be
preparing a meal. Peggy searched her cobweb-strewn mind for how she'd arrived in this place and could only find an image of
an Elf-boy stammering a jumble of words beyond her grasp.
"Where am Ah'?" the little Witch croaked and felt a thirst she hadn't encountered in a long time.
fevered mind like the demon that once infested Phineas Stappen. Somewhere far off, a crow cawed its annoyance at the silly
pomp and ceremony, a midnight cherub announcing the terrible union of the damned.
In a dress made from a stitched-together flour sack proclaiming John Turnipseed as Puddledown's finest Baker, Peggy Powler
stood at a golden altar in the church of the new religion and watched through a veil spun by spiders as the priest pulled down
the hood of his vestment to reveal his gleaming grinning skull.
The straight-laced voice of Finley Teasel came from her left and turning to see the little Brownie smiling up at the Witch in her
bridal gown, he advised "Don't take this one for granted" and adjusted the remains of his front door under his arm. Then the
strange music began and Peggy felt the reverberation coming through her bare feet from the tall pipes that stood behind the
shimmering table.
Staring up through her filigree mask, the light-headed enchanter observed the huge ducts become gangly cedar trees swaying
in a sea-breeze against a beautiful blue sky. The chantry was gone and now, she was poised near a broken dolmen where a
Myrddin the greatest of wizards waited with an open book resting on the remains of the stone monument.
"Do you -Peggy Powler, take this soul to be your lawfully wedded husband...?" the old man said and glanced to the right of his
once-upon-a-time pupil. Struggling to breathe, Peggy slowly turned to see Accam Dey standing beside her, all gore-covered
and grinning like the cat that had got the cream.
"...A canny Spellbinder would take me home with her" the great wolf hissed menacingly and glimpsing the dark-blue silk cravat
around his blood-soaked neck, the little Witch welcomed her unhinged world suddenly turning to black.
...................................................
Tara Cornfoot cooled the gasping woman's brow and waited for Percy Barleycorn to finish dressing the red-raw wound on the
Witch's thigh. The Fern-leeches had done their task and now all they could do was wait, Old Barleycorn had said so. Tara felt
her usual impatience bubble up, but dowsed it with practical fact that the Fae Witch was in a battle with a fever and only time
would know the outcome. Rising to bring more water, she hoped it would be soon.
...................................................
The pond was a strange phenomena, although if you asked Ezra Coldpot or Pookie Nimbles, they would say it just a place
where pliny-mussels came to play and sometimes saltwater crabs visited for reasons the pair of Elves hadn't quite worked
out yet. The truth was that when the tide was high, water was forced through a league-long subterranean fissure in the
terrain and kept the small pool filled with marine creatures from the Great Sea.
"Ah' spoke to Tara this mornin' and she said the woman might pull through..." Ezra said absently and wriggled his toes in the
squelchy sand. "...She reckons she's been fightin' wiv' a wolf" he added and rolled his pants up further like Tara had warned
him to do. Pookie nodded from the shore and taking off his stockings, he tucked them into his shoes.
For a moment, the small item of footwear held his attention and he couldn't fathom why. It was a shoe, a simple moccasin that
his Pa had made him two years ago and yet, it meant something that alluded the innocent youngster. Then a vivid blue butterfly
left its perch of a Jasmine flower and fluttering past Pookie Nimbles on an uncharted journey, his introspectiveness of his own
shoe vanished.
...................................................
She was in a large, but dimly-lit underground chamber where someone presumably lived. Peggy sluggishly blinked as she
surveyed the root-bound ceiling and as she slowly became more aware of her surroundings, felt the heavy material that laid
across her naked body. She was in a bed.
There was a flickering fireplace where a stone hearth was filled with a steaming cooking pot, surrounded by large metal basins
and smaller porringers for the eating of stews. The silhouette of a small woman knelt in front of the flames and seemed to be
preparing a meal. Peggy searched her cobweb-strewn mind for how she'd arrived in this place and could only find an image of
an Elf-boy stammering a jumble of words beyond her grasp.
"Where am Ah'?" the little Witch croaked and felt a thirst she hadn't encountered in a long time.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.