What Peggy Powler witnessed moments after Accam Dey announced that she and the Beast of Hexham were no longer alone
haunted the little limping Witch for days afterwards. Her leg wasn't healing as well as she'd liked and even with help from selected
plants found in the verges of remote lanes and forgotten trails, Peggy's physical health emulated her mental well-being during those
haze-filled days and the nights had only brought vivid dreams of frightening proportions.
She'd been bilked, hoodwinked and tricked. Feverishly leaning against a rotten fence post, the last Witch of Underhill retold herself
the events of that night and every time, the repeating of the account brought hot tears to her already flushed cheeks. With a wipe
of her hand across her eyes and an examination of her damaged limb, Peggy would shake the anger of her betrayal from her head
and lurch on towards who-knew-where and come-what-may.
How could she have been so blind to what was right under nose? In one instant, the truth of what had been going on in Puddledown
hit home to her like a lightning-bolt and standing there amongst the ancient ruins, the reality of the situation had turned the so-called
'canny woman' into something resembling one of the broken monoliths.
The long-game, a scheme so devious and composed that only the culprit performing the years-long design would see its purpose.
Vomiting for the second time today, Peggy washed her mouth using the canteen from the only trusty thing left in her life and patting
her satchel, she lumbered on.
...................................................
Chester Connor's description of what had attacked his fellow-hunters was all wrong. The creature that crouched on the perimeter of
illumination from Peggy's lantern looked more like a desert-lion. A long unkempt mane covered it's head and shoulders and -although
the animal's face did appear dog-like, the sorceress knew at once it wasn't a wolf.
There were no canine paws, but hands tipped with ragged claws and a tail far longer than anything lupine. Yet, it was no riotous
Werewolf or insane Barghest that had fed on the innocent villagers of Puddledown, it was something Peggy had only read about
in one of Myrddin the Great Wizard's old tomes.
Staring at the squatting thing's face, the bare-footed Witch -who was respected across all of the counties, in lowly peasant cottages
and imposing manor houses, who was listened to by Magi of note and the simple farmer wishing to expel a noisome Boggart from
his barn, in that mocking gaze, Peggy had seen the true soul hiding beneath the mystery of Puddledown.
He could've hidden himself behind the dark fur and knotted muscles, maybe with the poor radiance from the flickering lantern could've
helped to hinder the discovery of who had killed for the sake of killing, but now as the grinning freak acknowledged Peggy's realisation,
Phineas Stappen's eyes told her everything.
"It's quite a thing to chance upon the shackles that are shrouded in the word 'friendship', isn't it my dear Peggy?" Accam Dey growled
softly and gently stepped in front of the little Witch with the haunted face. It had been Phineas all along... the little boy who'd watched
the deaths of his own family at the teeth of the very animal now standing between him and herself.
"And look, no shoes?" Accam Dey mockingly whispered.
The old Magician's book had called it a Gandy-Padfoot, a single being manifested from a unique setting involving a particular demon
gladly welcomed into a host that that hid a murderous streak within. Peggy would later wonder when this evil occupancy had originally
occurred, but for now, the killing of Phineas Stappen was all that mattered.
With a spell in mind to levitate the smirking brute from the ground, the diminutive Witch readied herself and what happened next had
caught her completely off-guard. It was like an unsaid accord that Accam Dey and the Gandy-Padfoot had arranged, one moment the
large wolf stood before her, in the next instant they both leapt at each other and the fight commenced.
...................................................
On the third day, Peggy collapsed near a small pond surrounded by jasmine bushes and tall cedars. She'd guessed she'd been heading
towards the coast for some time now, but in her delirium, the uncultivated land had looked all the same since yesterday. This far out from
Calder's Way, there were no sun-baked farmhouses spilling out ruddy-faced children and parents only too eager to help, no golden fields
of ripe wheat and no fat domesticated animals to dumbly watch the Witch's laboured journey.
The injury to her leg was no better and after clearing the wound on her thigh of some foul-smelling pus, the little Witch began to believe her
febrile body was following a similar course to the path that the retired Shoemaker had wandered. Her spirits were at low-ebb and her body
cried out via its unwillingness to heal itself. In her own words, Peggy would say it was an ideal time for the bad to make a visit.
Stumbling through the tangled tendrils of a massive growth of dark-brown creeper, the dazed Witch felt a tug on her foot and down she went.
The warm sand of the pool's edge was welcoming as she crumpled forward and in the shade beneath her wrinkled hat, Peggy drifted back
to the moments when Accam Dey protected her from from someone she'd once considered a friend.
...................................................
The Conner-boy may have misspoke when he'd described the animal that invaded the barn that night, but he'd got the colouring correct.
In the flurry of slashing talons and fangs, Peggy glimpsed the dark streak along the Gandy-Padfoot's back and the lad's comment about
its mouth not being right was that the features were a mix of animal and human.
The confusing thoughts of why Phineas had become this horror caused any sense of charm-making to flee her mind and all she could do
was watch the viciousness of two predators fighting for the crown of superiority. Several times, Accam Dey hurled the furry hodgepodge
of a creature across the mound and in the dim light, the little terrified sorceress would see stones that had stood for centuries, clunk into
the grass like fallen grave markers.
The air stank of sweat and blood as they battled, sounds of rage and pain rang across the ancient place and realising that fatigue could
a decider, Peggy stepped forward and focused on drawing up a spell to rid the land of the Gandy-Padfoot. If she had only stayed where
she'd been stood when the brute had first appeared, she later concluded she'd have been safe. Accam Dey had already tallied the site
for the combat and had deliberately lured the what-was-once-Phineas away from the dolmen. This wasn't his first rodeo.
But now as the little Witch raised her hand to deliver a spell to momentarily lift the brawling pair into the dark sky, Phineas must have
seen Peggy's movement and threw Accam Dey towards her. They both crashed into one of the dolmen plinths that supported the
headstone over the pit and caused it to rock alarmingly. With her head aching from from the impact and a jarring pain in her thigh,
Peggy blinked through her stunned muddle to see the Gandy-Padfoot standing a few feet in front of them and grinning in the same
rare manner a younger Phineas Stappen had when he'd gratefully accepted a taffy-apple from a young woman in a poncho all those
years ago.
For a second it was him, the tolerant kind-hearted Cobbler who lived alone and kept his front-garden tidy. the mousy chap who enjoyed
quietly pottering amongst his herbs when the day was nearing its end. The detached man of Puddledown who listened and accepted the
decision of others, it was -above all, the man Peggy had once known as a friend.
Then the smile became a hateful snarl as the monster of Puddledown leapt upon his prone prey.
...................................................
"Do yer' think'n she's dead, then...?" whispered Ezra Coldpot to his staring friend beside him and try as he might, he couldn't stop his
eyes alighting on the exposed buttocks of the woman laid in their usual camping spot. "...Mebe' she's sleepin' then" he said after a few
moments -to comfort himself more than the Elf beginning to carefully step through the barrier of interlaced creeper.
Pookie Nimbles glanced back at his inquisitive comrade with a look of caution as he made his way down to where the stranger was
sprawled and remained silent. Ezra slowly followed and stored his questions for a later date.
They could see that she was injured and surveying the surroundings, the two Elves arrived at the relieved opinion that the female under
the large headwear had acquired her damage from somewhere else. Except their appraisal didn't come in so many words. Ezra knelt
down and gently covering the unknown woman's modesty, he nibbled his bottom lip as he failed to dare himself to lift the sagging pointed
hat.
"Me-thinks Ah'should fetch Tara Cornfoot, she'll know what to do" Pookie said seriously and receiving a nod of approval from his mollusc
-capturing colleague, set-off to bring someone who was more competent in such mature situations. Tara was better at this stuff and after
all, he and Ezra only knew how to fish for mussels, anyway -he reasoned as he climbed back through the lattice of overgrown vines.
Ezra Coldpot suddenly realised he was alone with an unconscious woman. The Elf wasn't one for getting into grown-up situations like this,
he preferred paddling in the pond and feeling for mussels with his toes. That was what he was good at, not nursing people back from death
and what was worse, this stranger could be dangerous if she woke up.
"Oh Tara, be quick" he murmured and forced his attention towards the sea-fed pool that didn't hold such weighty responsibilities.
The sun moved slowly across the sky and surfacing from her fever-ridden dreams, Peggy felt the roughness of the warm sand on her face
and wondered where in Herne's name she was. Her mouth was dry and from beneath her hat, she pondered whether her canteen was close
enough to reach without moving her swollen leg. The poison was in the wound, she was sure of it and all the herbs and crudely-made poltices
had failed to keep the Devil's venom at bay.
"Bugger" Peggy croaked and heard a gasp from outside of her hat's shade. Then a young fearful voice trailed the shocked expression.
"Ah'm just an Elf lookin' fur' mussels, Ma'am... just lookin' fur mussels". Too weak to lift the obstacle that hid the unknown speaker, the little
sorceress slapped her lips together and whispered that she needed water. It was then she heard another speak, a more stronger tone and
a woman who seemed to hold some status above the the original scared chatterer.
"Out of the way, Ezra Coldpot, de' yer no' have any idea who this is...?" the woman announced and as Peggy felt the blackness of her faint
return, she managed to capture the name of who owned the dominant voice. It was Tara... she was called Tara and holding tightly to the
identity, down the calignosity of oblivion Peggy tumbled.
"...Go and fetch some others to carry her, yer mule-head, she's the Last Witch of Underhill and can't yer see she's dyin' here" Tara Cornfoot
snapped and watching the young Elf scamper away, she wistfully hoped she was wrong.
haunted the little limping Witch for days afterwards. Her leg wasn't healing as well as she'd liked and even with help from selected
plants found in the verges of remote lanes and forgotten trails, Peggy's physical health emulated her mental well-being during those
haze-filled days and the nights had only brought vivid dreams of frightening proportions.
She'd been bilked, hoodwinked and tricked. Feverishly leaning against a rotten fence post, the last Witch of Underhill retold herself
the events of that night and every time, the repeating of the account brought hot tears to her already flushed cheeks. With a wipe
of her hand across her eyes and an examination of her damaged limb, Peggy would shake the anger of her betrayal from her head
and lurch on towards who-knew-where and come-what-may.
How could she have been so blind to what was right under nose? In one instant, the truth of what had been going on in Puddledown
hit home to her like a lightning-bolt and standing there amongst the ancient ruins, the reality of the situation had turned the so-called
'canny woman' into something resembling one of the broken monoliths.
The long-game, a scheme so devious and composed that only the culprit performing the years-long design would see its purpose.
Vomiting for the second time today, Peggy washed her mouth using the canteen from the only trusty thing left in her life and patting
her satchel, she lumbered on.
...................................................
Chester Connor's description of what had attacked his fellow-hunters was all wrong. The creature that crouched on the perimeter of
illumination from Peggy's lantern looked more like a desert-lion. A long unkempt mane covered it's head and shoulders and -although
the animal's face did appear dog-like, the sorceress knew at once it wasn't a wolf.
There were no canine paws, but hands tipped with ragged claws and a tail far longer than anything lupine. Yet, it was no riotous
Werewolf or insane Barghest that had fed on the innocent villagers of Puddledown, it was something Peggy had only read about
in one of Myrddin the Great Wizard's old tomes.
Staring at the squatting thing's face, the bare-footed Witch -who was respected across all of the counties, in lowly peasant cottages
and imposing manor houses, who was listened to by Magi of note and the simple farmer wishing to expel a noisome Boggart from
his barn, in that mocking gaze, Peggy had seen the true soul hiding beneath the mystery of Puddledown.
He could've hidden himself behind the dark fur and knotted muscles, maybe with the poor radiance from the flickering lantern could've
helped to hinder the discovery of who had killed for the sake of killing, but now as the grinning freak acknowledged Peggy's realisation,
Phineas Stappen's eyes told her everything.
"It's quite a thing to chance upon the shackles that are shrouded in the word 'friendship', isn't it my dear Peggy?" Accam Dey growled
softly and gently stepped in front of the little Witch with the haunted face. It had been Phineas all along... the little boy who'd watched
the deaths of his own family at the teeth of the very animal now standing between him and herself.
"And look, no shoes?" Accam Dey mockingly whispered.
The old Magician's book had called it a Gandy-Padfoot, a single being manifested from a unique setting involving a particular demon
gladly welcomed into a host that that hid a murderous streak within. Peggy would later wonder when this evil occupancy had originally
occurred, but for now, the killing of Phineas Stappen was all that mattered.
With a spell in mind to levitate the smirking brute from the ground, the diminutive Witch readied herself and what happened next had
caught her completely off-guard. It was like an unsaid accord that Accam Dey and the Gandy-Padfoot had arranged, one moment the
large wolf stood before her, in the next instant they both leapt at each other and the fight commenced.
...................................................
On the third day, Peggy collapsed near a small pond surrounded by jasmine bushes and tall cedars. She'd guessed she'd been heading
towards the coast for some time now, but in her delirium, the uncultivated land had looked all the same since yesterday. This far out from
Calder's Way, there were no sun-baked farmhouses spilling out ruddy-faced children and parents only too eager to help, no golden fields
of ripe wheat and no fat domesticated animals to dumbly watch the Witch's laboured journey.
The injury to her leg was no better and after clearing the wound on her thigh of some foul-smelling pus, the little Witch began to believe her
febrile body was following a similar course to the path that the retired Shoemaker had wandered. Her spirits were at low-ebb and her body
cried out via its unwillingness to heal itself. In her own words, Peggy would say it was an ideal time for the bad to make a visit.
Stumbling through the tangled tendrils of a massive growth of dark-brown creeper, the dazed Witch felt a tug on her foot and down she went.
The warm sand of the pool's edge was welcoming as she crumpled forward and in the shade beneath her wrinkled hat, Peggy drifted back
to the moments when Accam Dey protected her from from someone she'd once considered a friend.
...................................................
The Conner-boy may have misspoke when he'd described the animal that invaded the barn that night, but he'd got the colouring correct.
In the flurry of slashing talons and fangs, Peggy glimpsed the dark streak along the Gandy-Padfoot's back and the lad's comment about
its mouth not being right was that the features were a mix of animal and human.
The confusing thoughts of why Phineas had become this horror caused any sense of charm-making to flee her mind and all she could do
was watch the viciousness of two predators fighting for the crown of superiority. Several times, Accam Dey hurled the furry hodgepodge
of a creature across the mound and in the dim light, the little terrified sorceress would see stones that had stood for centuries, clunk into
the grass like fallen grave markers.
The air stank of sweat and blood as they battled, sounds of rage and pain rang across the ancient place and realising that fatigue could
a decider, Peggy stepped forward and focused on drawing up a spell to rid the land of the Gandy-Padfoot. If she had only stayed where
she'd been stood when the brute had first appeared, she later concluded she'd have been safe. Accam Dey had already tallied the site
for the combat and had deliberately lured the what-was-once-Phineas away from the dolmen. This wasn't his first rodeo.
But now as the little Witch raised her hand to deliver a spell to momentarily lift the brawling pair into the dark sky, Phineas must have
seen Peggy's movement and threw Accam Dey towards her. They both crashed into one of the dolmen plinths that supported the
headstone over the pit and caused it to rock alarmingly. With her head aching from from the impact and a jarring pain in her thigh,
Peggy blinked through her stunned muddle to see the Gandy-Padfoot standing a few feet in front of them and grinning in the same
rare manner a younger Phineas Stappen had when he'd gratefully accepted a taffy-apple from a young woman in a poncho all those
years ago.
For a second it was him, the tolerant kind-hearted Cobbler who lived alone and kept his front-garden tidy. the mousy chap who enjoyed
quietly pottering amongst his herbs when the day was nearing its end. The detached man of Puddledown who listened and accepted the
decision of others, it was -above all, the man Peggy had once known as a friend.
Then the smile became a hateful snarl as the monster of Puddledown leapt upon his prone prey.
...................................................
"Do yer' think'n she's dead, then...?" whispered Ezra Coldpot to his staring friend beside him and try as he might, he couldn't stop his
eyes alighting on the exposed buttocks of the woman laid in their usual camping spot. "...Mebe' she's sleepin' then" he said after a few
moments -to comfort himself more than the Elf beginning to carefully step through the barrier of interlaced creeper.
Pookie Nimbles glanced back at his inquisitive comrade with a look of caution as he made his way down to where the stranger was
sprawled and remained silent. Ezra slowly followed and stored his questions for a later date.
They could see that she was injured and surveying the surroundings, the two Elves arrived at the relieved opinion that the female under
the large headwear had acquired her damage from somewhere else. Except their appraisal didn't come in so many words. Ezra knelt
down and gently covering the unknown woman's modesty, he nibbled his bottom lip as he failed to dare himself to lift the sagging pointed
hat.
"Me-thinks Ah'should fetch Tara Cornfoot, she'll know what to do" Pookie said seriously and receiving a nod of approval from his mollusc
-capturing colleague, set-off to bring someone who was more competent in such mature situations. Tara was better at this stuff and after
all, he and Ezra only knew how to fish for mussels, anyway -he reasoned as he climbed back through the lattice of overgrown vines.
Ezra Coldpot suddenly realised he was alone with an unconscious woman. The Elf wasn't one for getting into grown-up situations like this,
he preferred paddling in the pond and feeling for mussels with his toes. That was what he was good at, not nursing people back from death
and what was worse, this stranger could be dangerous if she woke up.
"Oh Tara, be quick" he murmured and forced his attention towards the sea-fed pool that didn't hold such weighty responsibilities.
The sun moved slowly across the sky and surfacing from her fever-ridden dreams, Peggy felt the roughness of the warm sand on her face
and wondered where in Herne's name she was. Her mouth was dry and from beneath her hat, she pondered whether her canteen was close
enough to reach without moving her swollen leg. The poison was in the wound, she was sure of it and all the herbs and crudely-made poltices
had failed to keep the Devil's venom at bay.
"Bugger" Peggy croaked and heard a gasp from outside of her hat's shade. Then a young fearful voice trailed the shocked expression.
"Ah'm just an Elf lookin' fur' mussels, Ma'am... just lookin' fur mussels". Too weak to lift the obstacle that hid the unknown speaker, the little
sorceress slapped her lips together and whispered that she needed water. It was then she heard another speak, a more stronger tone and
a woman who seemed to hold some status above the the original scared chatterer.
"Out of the way, Ezra Coldpot, de' yer no' have any idea who this is...?" the woman announced and as Peggy felt the blackness of her faint
return, she managed to capture the name of who owned the dominant voice. It was Tara... she was called Tara and holding tightly to the
identity, down the calignosity of oblivion Peggy tumbled.
"...Go and fetch some others to carry her, yer mule-head, she's the Last Witch of Underhill and can't yer see she's dyin' here" Tara Cornfoot
snapped and watching the young Elf scamper away, she wistfully hoped she was wrong.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.