As an alleged sentient species, it's accepted that we have a need to seek connections in life to assist us in continuing our existence.
Single events demand that organ between our ears to instantly pursue possible patterns -even when no obvious designs are there.
We need to see the relation, the network that began and ended to create an event or incident. Often that linkage is far-beyond our
understanding and we simply resign the whole reckoning to the category of 'mysterious'.
This was the label Peggy Powler was now resisting as she mused on what the unusual burden in her satchel had said in regards
of her friend driving the cart to Puddledown. Was the severed head of Accam Dey being deceitful when he'd spoken of Phineas
Stappen's survival from the slaughter of the retired Shoemaker's sister and mother? Or was there a enduring path of destiny that
had led her, Phineas and the Wolf of Hexham to this juncture?
One thing was certain as the morning rolled in and the sun began to bathe the approaching village in its Summer warmth, Peggy
needed to sleep on it.
...................................................
Passing Walter Dawson's property, Peggy made sure Phineas was aware of her instructions when unloading the remains packed
into his soiled jacket from the back of the buggy. It wouldn't do to have anyone snooping on the baleful contents of the bundle
and that included the residents of Puddledown -as well as the animal currently intimidating that little neighbourhood.
It was only when the plodding horse brought them onto the wall-lined lane where the Cobbler lived that the little Witch realised
she hadn't asked permission from Phineas to use his premises to temporarily store Accam Dey's cadaver and the neglected request
brought a flush of ruddiness of the tired sorceress' cheeks.
"Ah've been an ingrate and Ah'm sorry..." Peggy said and surveyed the weary features of the shoulder-sagging man steering the
mare towards home. "...but Ah'm at a loss fur' where to hide yon remains" she added with a dirty thumb aimed behind herself.
Peggy knew Phineas had been through a lot recently and here she was, loading his burden with more of her own.
Phineas Stappen had never married, he was someone who enjoyed his own company and believed his way of life had brought
him a comfort, although he was aware that the lack of family ensured his solitary journey would leave no trace when he left this
world for whatever lay ahead. He'd come to terms with his chosen journey and presumably, a lonely death.
But whether his detachment was due to that time of hiding in his mother's kitchen and being in the presence of such an evil fiend,
he didn't know. However, he accepted that no man was an island and from that time-to-time, others would wash up on his shore.
Sometimes, they were terrible beasts that knew your very soul and other times, they were scrawny Witches who declined the use
of underwear.
"We've got to hide him somewhere and I guess the Meeting House or the tavern isn't a grand idea" Phineas quipped and kept
his eyes on the lane to his home. He didn't need to sleep on it, but he did need to sleep.
...................................................
Where the Dill and Sage huddle together in the Stappen garden, there's a stunted pear tree and since the Cobbler had first moved
into the pretty cottage, it had never bore fruit. As the sun slowly nudged the tree's shadow across the variety of herbs and vegetables,
a canvas bag now hung from the twisted perennial plant in a false representation of the crop that it failed to generate.
But unlike the seed that resides in any fleshy berry or kernel, the lump in the sun-warmed bag did not require the hopes of a grower.
Meanwhile, the domain of the potatoes and carrots endured their own kind of unusual visitor, a weather-worn hessian sack laid between
the rows of buried tubers and orange root vegetables. Again, the cargo inside the time-worn tote was not typical of a Gardener's haven.
Heck, even the resident robin never arrived to investigate the unmoving invaders.
For the Last Witch of Underhill, she snored soundly in an armchair next to an unlit fireplace. Not one for a normal style of bed, Peggy had
accepted the invitation to sleep on the piece of furniture gratefully and without complaint. She and Phineas jovially agreed that the current
resident of her usual place of slumber would not make an ideal bed-fellow.
...................................................
It was noon when the glare from the window roused Peggy from her dreamless dormancy and moaning at her aching bones, she rose from
the chair and smacked her lips in hunger. Her long-suffering host had risen earlier and was now warming a kettle on his stove alongside a
pan of spluttering eggs. After checking on the unconventional denizens of Phineas' vegetable plot, the little Witch came in and assisted the
quiet man in devouring the welcomed meal.
"What do we do next?" the proprietor of the garden and late-breakfast provider asked as he cut some more bread for his ravenous friend
and waited until Peggy's masticating allowed her speak. The scene was homely and considering what lay out in the back of his house and
what was possibly laying in wait at the front of his cottage, Phineas felt confident that the Seer's answer wouldn't catch him off-guard.
Washing down her food with sugared-tea, his guest replied.
"Accam Dey knows how te' catch the bugger that's preying on Puddledown..." Peggy said said softly and took another slice of -what she
guessed was fare from John Turnipseed's bakery. "Ah' divna' know what he'll want in return, but Ah'll pay it to run this monster to his death"
she assured her friend and with a wink, snapped her jaws at the slice of bread to demonstrate her fortitude.
...................................................
"Can you love, Peggy...?" Accam Dey asked from his place on the soil under the pear tree, "...Do you ever see yourself cleaving to a man
and taking his name?" he appended and glanced towards the kitchen window of Phineas' house. The kneeling sorceress before him tilted
her head and maintained a smile of genuine intrigue for the thing that could converse on the level of philosophers and kill with the clout
of a skilled butcher.
The renown wolf had always held an allurement for her ever since she'd first heard of his notoriety during her young days at the Carnival.
Accam Dey was said to be a ferocious beast that could make you believe you were an important part of history, based on his reasoning
of eating you. Peggy the child had heard all of the tales of his exploits, where this sanguine slayer would elude his hunters and then render
his own style of reciprocation on those who sought his demise.
"Ah've a problem tha..." Peggy began, but the huge head seated among the aromatic herbs interrupted her monologue and continued his
own narrative. "Oh, I know of your current plight, it seems one of my kind is attempting to portray my past..." Accam Dey quickly responded,
but stretching his wicked jaws in a masquerade of a winning smile, he added "...But it's your problem regarding your future that concerns me
more".
Tucking her dirt-smudged feet further under her legs, the little Witch sighed and waved a hand to invite the monstrosity to continue.
"Aye, carry on then" she whispered and waited for the unwanted study from a beast that could function without a torso. The tongue
that had tasted blood peeked between the teeth of the predator as Accam Dey gathered his thoughts to deliver his sermon. The seated
necromancer failed to hide a smile at the lofty notion that the Wolf of Hexham so-liked to have the correct mode of his conveyance.
It seemed that a sapient articulation was everything to a thing that killed for enjoyment.
"Let's begin at the beginning, shall we...?" the grinning gourd of whetted fangs suggested. " It is said that you never knew your father and
I am not personally convinced that your rearing from the famous Madame Powler aided in your growth towards companionship".
Peggy sucked in a breath of forbearance and accepted the situation, this was going to take some time.
Single events demand that organ between our ears to instantly pursue possible patterns -even when no obvious designs are there.
We need to see the relation, the network that began and ended to create an event or incident. Often that linkage is far-beyond our
understanding and we simply resign the whole reckoning to the category of 'mysterious'.
This was the label Peggy Powler was now resisting as she mused on what the unusual burden in her satchel had said in regards
of her friend driving the cart to Puddledown. Was the severed head of Accam Dey being deceitful when he'd spoken of Phineas
Stappen's survival from the slaughter of the retired Shoemaker's sister and mother? Or was there a enduring path of destiny that
had led her, Phineas and the Wolf of Hexham to this juncture?
One thing was certain as the morning rolled in and the sun began to bathe the approaching village in its Summer warmth, Peggy
needed to sleep on it.
...................................................
Passing Walter Dawson's property, Peggy made sure Phineas was aware of her instructions when unloading the remains packed
into his soiled jacket from the back of the buggy. It wouldn't do to have anyone snooping on the baleful contents of the bundle
and that included the residents of Puddledown -as well as the animal currently intimidating that little neighbourhood.
It was only when the plodding horse brought them onto the wall-lined lane where the Cobbler lived that the little Witch realised
she hadn't asked permission from Phineas to use his premises to temporarily store Accam Dey's cadaver and the neglected request
brought a flush of ruddiness of the tired sorceress' cheeks.
"Ah've been an ingrate and Ah'm sorry..." Peggy said and surveyed the weary features of the shoulder-sagging man steering the
mare towards home. "...but Ah'm at a loss fur' where to hide yon remains" she added with a dirty thumb aimed behind herself.
Peggy knew Phineas had been through a lot recently and here she was, loading his burden with more of her own.
Phineas Stappen had never married, he was someone who enjoyed his own company and believed his way of life had brought
him a comfort, although he was aware that the lack of family ensured his solitary journey would leave no trace when he left this
world for whatever lay ahead. He'd come to terms with his chosen journey and presumably, a lonely death.
But whether his detachment was due to that time of hiding in his mother's kitchen and being in the presence of such an evil fiend,
he didn't know. However, he accepted that no man was an island and from that time-to-time, others would wash up on his shore.
Sometimes, they were terrible beasts that knew your very soul and other times, they were scrawny Witches who declined the use
of underwear.
"We've got to hide him somewhere and I guess the Meeting House or the tavern isn't a grand idea" Phineas quipped and kept
his eyes on the lane to his home. He didn't need to sleep on it, but he did need to sleep.
...................................................
Where the Dill and Sage huddle together in the Stappen garden, there's a stunted pear tree and since the Cobbler had first moved
into the pretty cottage, it had never bore fruit. As the sun slowly nudged the tree's shadow across the variety of herbs and vegetables,
a canvas bag now hung from the twisted perennial plant in a false representation of the crop that it failed to generate.
But unlike the seed that resides in any fleshy berry or kernel, the lump in the sun-warmed bag did not require the hopes of a grower.
Meanwhile, the domain of the potatoes and carrots endured their own kind of unusual visitor, a weather-worn hessian sack laid between
the rows of buried tubers and orange root vegetables. Again, the cargo inside the time-worn tote was not typical of a Gardener's haven.
Heck, even the resident robin never arrived to investigate the unmoving invaders.
For the Last Witch of Underhill, she snored soundly in an armchair next to an unlit fireplace. Not one for a normal style of bed, Peggy had
accepted the invitation to sleep on the piece of furniture gratefully and without complaint. She and Phineas jovially agreed that the current
resident of her usual place of slumber would not make an ideal bed-fellow.
...................................................
It was noon when the glare from the window roused Peggy from her dreamless dormancy and moaning at her aching bones, she rose from
the chair and smacked her lips in hunger. Her long-suffering host had risen earlier and was now warming a kettle on his stove alongside a
pan of spluttering eggs. After checking on the unconventional denizens of Phineas' vegetable plot, the little Witch came in and assisted the
quiet man in devouring the welcomed meal.
"What do we do next?" the proprietor of the garden and late-breakfast provider asked as he cut some more bread for his ravenous friend
and waited until Peggy's masticating allowed her speak. The scene was homely and considering what lay out in the back of his house and
what was possibly laying in wait at the front of his cottage, Phineas felt confident that the Seer's answer wouldn't catch him off-guard.
Washing down her food with sugared-tea, his guest replied.
"Accam Dey knows how te' catch the bugger that's preying on Puddledown..." Peggy said said softly and took another slice of -what she
guessed was fare from John Turnipseed's bakery. "Ah' divna' know what he'll want in return, but Ah'll pay it to run this monster to his death"
she assured her friend and with a wink, snapped her jaws at the slice of bread to demonstrate her fortitude.
...................................................
"Can you love, Peggy...?" Accam Dey asked from his place on the soil under the pear tree, "...Do you ever see yourself cleaving to a man
and taking his name?" he appended and glanced towards the kitchen window of Phineas' house. The kneeling sorceress before him tilted
her head and maintained a smile of genuine intrigue for the thing that could converse on the level of philosophers and kill with the clout
of a skilled butcher.
The renown wolf had always held an allurement for her ever since she'd first heard of his notoriety during her young days at the Carnival.
Accam Dey was said to be a ferocious beast that could make you believe you were an important part of history, based on his reasoning
of eating you. Peggy the child had heard all of the tales of his exploits, where this sanguine slayer would elude his hunters and then render
his own style of reciprocation on those who sought his demise.
"Ah've a problem tha..." Peggy began, but the huge head seated among the aromatic herbs interrupted her monologue and continued his
own narrative. "Oh, I know of your current plight, it seems one of my kind is attempting to portray my past..." Accam Dey quickly responded,
but stretching his wicked jaws in a masquerade of a winning smile, he added "...But it's your problem regarding your future that concerns me
more".
Tucking her dirt-smudged feet further under her legs, the little Witch sighed and waved a hand to invite the monstrosity to continue.
"Aye, carry on then" she whispered and waited for the unwanted study from a beast that could function without a torso. The tongue
that had tasted blood peeked between the teeth of the predator as Accam Dey gathered his thoughts to deliver his sermon. The seated
necromancer failed to hide a smile at the lofty notion that the Wolf of Hexham so-liked to have the correct mode of his conveyance.
It seemed that a sapient articulation was everything to a thing that killed for enjoyment.
"Let's begin at the beginning, shall we...?" the grinning gourd of whetted fangs suggested. " It is said that you never knew your father and
I am not personally convinced that your rearing from the famous Madame Powler aided in your growth towards companionship".
Peggy sucked in a breath of forbearance and accepted the situation, this was going to take some time.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.