Peggy Powler & The Puddledown Incident.

[BIAD]

Two Winters ago, Walter Dawson trudged through the snow from his home on the outskirts of Puddledown and went
half-heartedly to check in on his two cows. The blizzard had arrived a couple of days before and had only let-up some
time during the night. Now due to his age, the drifts were the only worry for the little man in his late-father's overcoat.

Walter's wife had told him she'd thought she'd heard one of the animals calling out during the night and considering the
strength of the storm that was battering Wheatland County, the fifty year-old peasant had informed the mother of his two
children that if he had to sleep out in the snow, he'd be moaning too. Martha had then farted in the bed and went back to
sleep, Walter -the ever-tolerant, took it as an evaluation to his terse suggestion.

The scene was a bloodbath. The heifer had been eviscerated and one its rear legs was missing. The full-grown calf that
his daughter had named Daisy was slumped over near the manger with a hole in its throat that Walter believed he could fit
his head into. Panting steam into the cold air, Walter tried to get a grip on the situation and what the impact would be on his
family.

Fearing the future without his precious livestock, the little man shuddered when his watery eyes alighted on the single large
paw print in the slushy-red snow. "Wolf" the terrified villager whispered and crossed himself.
...................................................

When eight year-old Edith Liddle went missing on her way back from church a week after the slaying of the cattle, a search
was immediately arranged to find the little russet-haired girl. Being taken in broad daylight didn't make sense in regards of
a predatory animal and fears that a person had grabbed the lass could bring the village's residents to second-glance each
other with suspicion.

They all knew this and it was only late into the first night and under the glow of one of the searchers lantern's glow that such
potential misgivings were sadly extinguished. A deviant in their midst, they could deal with, but an unknown was just that and
the possibilities of what this alien could be, had the potency to rot the the village from within.

The horrible solution to the notion that one of their own had grabbed little Edith was a track of well-defined paw prints and
whatever had left them was big. The depressions were deep and the gait was long, the spoor of the wolf -because the men
all agreed the creature that had passed this way was just that, went eastwards towards Calder's Way.

Even though no trace of the Liddle-girl accompanied the trail, those younger men who crossed themselves and injected
voiceless benediction into their steamy breathing, couldn't help but wonder if Puddledown had paid its dues and the wolf
had gone to seek further redress elsewhere. Peering out into the bleak darkness of the leafless woods around the hamlet,
Walter Dawson and some of the older men would look at each other and spoke an inner-knowing with their eyes.

Edith's blood-stained bonnet was found three miles from where her mother had taken her eyes off her for a moment on that
cold Sunday morning and only a few yards further on, the predator's tracks just stopped outside the remains of an earthworks
from a forgotten time. Despatching the Baker's fourteen year-old son to run back to the village with the news, those who had
hunted these neck-of-the-woods shook their heads at the puzzle of the evaporation of the animal's tread.
It just didn't make sense.

Under candlelight at the small community's Meeting House, the Elders of Puddledown met and discussed the repercussions
of the grizly discovery. The Chairman of the group was Edmund Munday and with what some of the committee secretly told
their families was overt theatrical affectation, warned the hoary congregation that overreacting over this awful emotive incident
shouldn't necessarily mean the village should be locked down. Munday suggested in a experienced tone that one winter-hungry
wolf didn't equate to safe-guarding by families hiding in their attics until Spring.

Among the old men was Phineas Stappen -a retired shoemaker who'd moved to the village fifteen years-ago and lived with his
wife in the cottage next to the Dawson family. In fact, it was Stappen who the trauma-ridden man had come to for advice after the
incident with the livestock.

During their low-muttered congress, Phineas had spoken of a similar abomination that had terrorised communities in and around
the counties of Summertide and Barnstead. A beast possessed with a calculating manner that many believed was the correlative
to mankind. Phineas' parable was mocked for its fear-essence and the Elders reminded him that -they too, had heard the scary
yarn and that the famous wolf named Accam Dey was slaughtered close to the village of Hexham. 

What the same elderly conclave weren't aware of was that the renowned monster had ventured into a home on the edge of the
hamlet called Horton's Glebe in Barnstead County and taken Stappen's sister and mother. The talk went on until dawn and even
though the old cobbler felt his concerns had gone unheeded, stepping out into the slowly-melting snow he recalled what he had
witnessed from the darkness of his mother's kitchen cupboard and shook his head in the cold light of the day.

With a sigh of resignation, the maker of footwear went back to his little home and waited for the next thing to happen.
As it turned out, Phineas Stappen didn't have to wait long.
...................................................
Two years later.

The Midnight Mail Carrier was happy to see the twinkling lantern-lit windows of Puddledown as he steered his weary horse off the
main highway called Calder's Way. Slowing his snorting steed down to a steady walk, the messenger listened to the evensong of
the birds in the hedgerows and felt the serenity of the warm Summer evening wash over him. Stout wheat was well underway in the
surrounding fields and the orchards in the village's gardens hung heavy with fruit. Somewhere far off, a male fox barked its one-note
courting ballad and slumbering Puddledownion dogs twitched an ear then went back to dreaming of plump rabbits in the shrubbery.

"It's a pretty time of the day, wouldn't you agree?" the deliverer of news-sundries cooed softly over his shoulder to his fellow passenger
and the little woman in the big hat and grubby poncho agreed by nodding, but said nothing. The steady clip-clop of the mount fell in
with the end-of-the-day pace of the fifty-or-so community that had once been haunted by a ferocious beast and just like the Postman,
the town of Puddledown believed those days were far behind them.

The rump-sore little hitchhiker on the horse held no such ethos, for Peggy Powler -the Last Witch of Underhill, clutched a more practical
attitude. The damned thing had never been caught and from what she'd heard over the years, the devastation the creature had wrought
was beyond the usual level of self-survival. Thirteen dead, all taken during times that even a starving wolf wouldn't dare chance its luck.

The little Witch knew she was too-late to effect the horrible events that had made Puddledown a place to captain one's journey around,
but Peggy had always felt there was more to the gory tales of when a wolf came to specifically prey on the quaint vicinage that she now
entered.
...................................................

"...Aye, well Ah'll be sure to remember that" Peggy Powler informed the drunken man with the terrible breath. The tavern was quite full
for a work-day evening and the woman sitting near the lead-lined window was enduring the usual burden of supposedly being someone
of note.

There two standard archetypes she had accepted a long time ago. Either she was a person to keep clear of because of her powers and
beliefs or Peggy was a magnetic planet of wonder that drew the easily fascinated into her orbit.
It seemed the intoxicated man called Walter was one of the latter.

"You'll never know what we went through, back then..." the inebriated villager slurred as he ignored the dismissive tone from the little
Witch's comment. "...Big it t'were, with an appetite that coudn't be... couldn't be..." Peggy glanced towards the window once more
and murmured "sated" just before Walter Dawson continued his warning. "...Couldn't be sated, it was the Devil -himself Miss Powler,
Old Scratch on four legs and with a pelt that no arrow or bolt could penetrate" he cautioned with a hiccup.

A voice from the Inn's counter drew the drunk's attention and with it, a slight stagger away from the reluctant seated audience that had
already gleaned the facts about the Beast of Puddledown. Livestock, Children and adults, in that order. But it was the short leap from
domestic animals to humans that had caught Peggy's attention. For such a supposed bloodthirsty lupine, cattle and sheep was be the
far-easier choice of predation. Yet to the little Witch waiting for her update, it all seemed contrived, too calculated for a famished single
wolf aware that its invasive need would undoubtedly bring persecution.

Watching the shuffling silhouette of Phineas Stappen approach the tavern, Peggy wondered if she was wrong and the old Shoemaker
she hadn't spoken to for many years may be the jury to that possible verdict.
...................................................

A couple of sips from the flagon of ale seemed to ease Stappen's apprehension of visiting old memories and an old aquaintence, he
looked across the table at the sorceress and marvelled that it seemed age had been too busy elsewhere to make a call on the smiling
woman before him. Peggy was thinking the same about the retired Cobbler that had been the only living soul -apart from herself, that
had heard Accam Dey speak.

The many meetings and deliberations after the affair in the Summertide and Barnstead Counties had not discovered Stappen's secret
due to his young age and the ignorance from the Elders of those parishes believing testimony from a child brought nothing of interest
about the horrific attacks. It had been the next day after Peggy's all-night discourse with the decapitated head of Accam Dey that she'd
tenderly approached the wide-eyed boy and whilst watching the lad tuck into a syrup-coated apple on a stick, she had gently pried open
the abnormal fact that nobody wanted to hear.

"It's been a while..." the older version of the taffy-apple-eating teenager said, leaning forward onto the table to scrutinise the face of the
kind woman from his past. "...It's sad that our only connection is tragedy" Phineas admitted and checked the bar that nobody was paying
unwanted attention to the covert couple. Peggy patted the old man's hand and whispered "Aye, but we also have those spoken words of
your family's killer" and felt a little lame for being so patronising. The man who once fixed shoes for a living saw the Witch's features betray
her feelings and quickly agreed that there was another -more intimate bond.

Before any more small-talk could ruin the parley, Phineas modernised his old friend's knowing of what been happening in Puddledown
and the reason for him sending her the message. It didn't lighten the mood and it would take another jug of beer to lubricate the telling.

[ABNARTY]

So... when are we getting a Peggy P. action figure? 

[guohua]

So... when are we getting a Peggy P. action figure? 

Yeah, that is a good idea.
What I think of when I read the stories,,,,,, 

[BIAD]

So... when are we getting a Peggy P. action figure? 

There's a problem with the casting-moulds, they said it was the size of her hat.
We have top people looking into it... top people.

[BIAD]

Peggy Powler thanked Phineas Stappen for his request to stay at his little home, but declined the offer citing she needed
some time to mull over what he'd related back at the tavern and during their walk back to his cottage. Standing at the
gate of Stappen's tidy picturesque abode, the little Witch watched the man who'd felt the cold evil of Accam Dey and lived
to tell about it, shamble down his neatly-raked gravelled garden path and close the door behind him.

Accam Dey was in the ground, the beaten body buried alongside his head and those who had surreptitiously interred the
malevolent creature were sworn to secrecy never to tell where the wolf was hidden. Almost forty years ago and never a
hint that Accam Dey had risen from the dead.

The night was fully developed now and turning towards Puddledown's Meeting Hall, Peggy wondered if somewhere in the
small populace, a future victim was already tossing in their troubled sleep with a dream of a lupine-shaped shadow silently
lumbering towards them. What Stappen had said indicated that whatever the beast was, it hadn't roamed far away from its
feeding ground.

Peggy shook her head and got back to thinking about the current elusive raider that carefully -and deliberately, browsed
the menu of Puddledown.
...................................................

After the Liddle girl had gone missing, the town had quietly braced itself for more attacks and ignoring Edmund Munday's
request for hesitancy, an appeal went out to lure the best hunters to come and take care of the situation. The Elders of
Puddledown agreed to provide a small amount of numma to pay the man who dispatched the killer of little children and
cows, but a body needed to be provided to collect the meagre bounty.

A week after the motley bunch of crossbow-carrying chancers arrived, a horse was mauled in the very lane Peggy was
walking down tonight. The wandering Witch eyed the hitching-rail that Phineas had pointed to during his recital of the
sporadic bloody forays of the mysterious wolf and thought again that the design of the wolf's interaction was too daring
for the average predator.

With these bounty-hunters scouring the lands around Puddledown, the residents continued with their daily chores and
waited for a large corpse of a mutilated beast to be strung up outside of The Stag's Head tavern. Days turned into weeks
and as some of the less-zealous trappers walked away from the pursuit, Puddledownions whispered over suppers that the
furry enemy was smarter than the stalkers.

When the ripped-up body of Father Carrington was found in the graveyard of St. Luke's church, reality struck home and the
community and Elders that had perceived a danger that outweighed anything they'd appreciated in the past. St. Luke's was
in the centre of Puddledown and that meant the daring wolf held no fear of being in a confined less-escapable situation.

As the priest's simple casket was being lowered into a hole of his own cemetery, Francis Proctor was snatched from his
task of baling hay in the field at the rear of the church. The small congregation at the funeral heard his cries and ran to help
the forty year-old who was renowned for not having truck with the religion that Father Carrington observed.

Proctor was dead, his throat was ripped out. In an open field with eight piles of straw and wooden fencing surrounding the
pasture, no spoor gave away the monster's route of departure. It would be another day before one of the embarrassed hunters
provided a possible reason for this assumed vanishing and his suggestion would send shivers through those who had looked
on the body of the cantankerous unmarried farmer.

A large heap of corn-stalks nearest the back of the meadow had a large space where something had been hiding inside. Many
snorted at the idea that the murderous culprit had been watching the shocked villagers as they'd come across the latest victim,
but with an assurance from another of the trackers -Mitch Tanner, 'something' had made that hole in the pile of hay.

The die had been cast and there was no turning back from what was going on. A large killer had chosen Puddledown as its
dining table and now all the residents could do was wait and watch for the next seating. Three nights later and in a barn that
the hunters use to rest-up after their failed halieutics, there was an attack so ferocious that the only survivor was a teenager
who'd managed to climb into the eaves of the outbuilding as the creature caused ruin amongst the ones who had sought to
kill it.

Clutching a gnarled roof-support, Chester Connor watched in horror as a wolf that was high as a man's chest savaged the five
hunters that had remained to earn the reward. When Puddledown's Blacksmith -Elijah Cox and Phineas Stappen had eventually
coaxed the trembling young man down from his roosting-spot, the carnage that they had come across after wondering why the
hunters hadn't shown, was to be explained.

Walter Dawson's drunken comment in the tavern had been correct, the wolf was big and as Chester stuttered out his testimony,
the appetite that the first sufferer of the Beast of Wheatland County had also mentioned was in line with what the juvenile wannabe
-hunter had offered. Except, the hunger hadn't been for food. Connor's account displayed a craving for killing more that sustenance
and as the wide-eyed lad stammered his story out, that was the first time Phineas had considered sending a message to someone
who knew about evil.

[ABNARTY]

Peggy Powler thanked Phineas Stappen for his request to stay at his little home, but declined the offer citing she needed
some time to mull over what he'd related back at the tavern and during their walk back to his cottage. Standing at the
gate of Stappen's tidy picturesque abode, the little Witch watched the man who'd felt the cold evil of Accam Dey and lived
to tell about it, shamble down his neatly-raked gravelled garden path and close the door behind him.

Accam Dey was in the ground, the beaten body buried alongside his head and those who had surreptitiously interred the
malevolent creature were sworn to secrecy never to tell where the wolf was hidden. Almost forty years ago and never a
hint that Accam Dey had risen from the dead.

The night was fully developed now and turning towards Puddledown's Meeting Hall, Peggy wondered if somewhere in the
small populace, a future victim was already tossing in their troubled sleep with a dream of a lupine-shaped shadow silently
lumbering towards them. What Stappen had said indicated that whatever the beast was, it hadn't roamed far away from its
feeding ground.

Peggy shook her head and got back to thinking about the current elusive raider that carefully -and deliberately, browsed
the menu of Puddledown.
...................................................

After the Liddle girl had gone missing, the town had quietly braced itself for more attacks and ignoring Edmund Munday's
request for hesitancy, an appeal went out to lure the best hunters to come and take care of the situation. The Elders of
Puddledown agreed to provide a small amount of numma to pay the man who dispatched the killer of little children and
cows, but a body needed to be provided to collect the meagre bounty.

A week after the motley bunch of crossbow-carrying chancers arrived, a horse was mauled in the very lane Peggy was
walking down tonight. The wandering Witch eyed the hitching-rail that Phineas had pointed to during his recital of the
sporadic bloody forays of the mysterious wolf and thought again that the design of the wolf's interaction was too daring
for the average predator.

With these bounty-hunters scouring the lands around Puddledown, the residents continued with their daily chores and
waited for a large corpse of a mutilated beast to be strung up outside of The Stag's Head tavern. Days turned into weeks
and as some of the less-zealous trappers walked away from the pursuit, Puddledownions whispered over suppers that the
furry enemy was smarter than the stalkers.

When the ripped-up body of Father Carrington was found in the graveyard of St. Luke's church, reality struck home and the
community and Elders that had perceived a danger that outweighed anything they'd appreciated in the past. St. Luke's was
in the centre of Puddledown and that meant the daring wolf held no fear of being in a confined less-escapable situation.

As the priest's simple casket was being lowered into a hole of his own cemetery, Francis Proctor was snatched from his
task of baling hay in the field at the rear of the church. The small congregation at the funeral heard his cries and ran to help
the forty year-old who was renowned for not having truck with the religion that Father Carrington observed.

Proctor was dead, his throat was ripped out. In an open field with eight piles of straw and wooden fencing surrounding the
pasture, no spoor gave away the monster's route of departure. It would be another day before one of the embarrassed hunters
provided a possible reason for this assumed vanishing and his suggestion would send shivers through those who had looked
on the body of the cantankerous unmarried farmer.

A large heap of corn-stalks nearest the back of the meadow had a large space where something had been hiding inside. Many
snorted at the idea that the murderous culprit had been watching the shocked villagers as they'd come across the latest victim,
but with an assurance from another of the trackers -Mitch Tanner, 'something' had made that hole in the pile of hay.

The die had been cast and there was no turning back from what was going on. A large killer had chosen Puddledown as its
dining table and now all the residents could do was wait and watch for the next seating. Three nights later and in a barn that
the hunters use to rest-up after their failed halieutics, there was an attack so ferocious that the only survivor was a teenager
who'd managed to climb into the eaves of the outbuilding as the creature caused ruin amongst the ones who had sought to
kill it.

Clutching a gnarled roof-support, Chester Connor watched in horror as a wolf that was high as a man's chest savaged the five
hunters that had remained to earn the reward. When Puddledown's Blacksmith -Elijah Cox and Phineas Stappen had eventually
coaxed the trembling young man down from his roosting-spot, the carnage that they had come across after wondering why the
hunters hadn't shown, was to be explained.

Walter Dawson's drunken comment in the tavern had been correct, the wolf was big and as Chester stuttered out his testimony,
the appetite that the first sufferer of the Beast of Wheatland County had also mentioned was in line with what the juvenile wannabe
-hunter had offered. Except, the hunger hadn't been for food. Connor's account displayed a craving for killing more that sustenance
and as the wide-eyed lad stammered his story out, that was the first time Phineas had considered sending a message to someone
who knew about evil.

Awesomeness!!!

I really like what's going on. Thanks for writing it.

[BIAD]

Awesomeness!!!

I really like what's going on. Thanks for writing it.

Thank you!
...................................................


It had been mid-Spring when Phineas Stappen listened to young Chester Connor explain what he'd witnessed in the refuge
of Puddledown's assumed saviours. The boy's story was bloodthirsty -to say the least, but after Peggy Powler had checked the
old lychgate of St. Luke's for twisted sixpences and knotted ropes of horse-mane, she quietly picked her way around the leaning
gravestones and probed the tale again for clues to hint at what the sinister wolf that felled the five hunters, was primarily thinking.

Conner had said it didn't eat any of its victims and the appalled lad clinging to the king post in the roof of the barn continued
with his notion that there was a mark of cruelty in the brute's behaviour. Twice, the beast had struck an almost-fatal blow to an
individual, but instead of persisting in its savagery, it instantly turned to face the next hunter who threatened danger. It was only
after the fifth man was enfeebled by his wounds, did the wolf return to extinguish the lives of those suffering.

The manner that the prowling creature had entered the barn of the would-be slayers was never asked and that little piece of the
jigsaw irked the Last Witch of Underhill as she sought a haven for the night. Just past the rough-stone south-transept of village's
chapel, a large elm tree stood beside the fence that bordered the field where Francis Proctor was attacked and with a grunt of
acceptance, the bare-legged necromancer believed she'd found her goal. Peggy needed more time to process the rudimentary
information she'd been given and up there among the high branches, she could nestle in her magical satchel and collate what
she'd been told.

After a couple of unfortunate instances of her poncho getting snagged on the occasional twig and any passing night-prowler
acquiring a bizarre display not generic to deciduous flora, Peggy Powler eventually settled down in to her comfortable dangling
canvas-pocket of safety and began to untangle the lore of the shadowy visitor of Puddledown.
...................................................

As tall as an average man, a dark sooty pelt with a chestnut-hue streak along its back and down its tail. The head was unusually
wide for a wolf -Chester had often impressed on his wide-eyed audience and the beast's muzzle held the customary amount of
teeth, but the mouth was said to 'look all wrong'.

Peggy stared up at the flap of her faithful bag and resisted to align the likeness to Accam Dey, the description of the animal's coat
was the same and the head-dimensions smacked of what she'd seen in the glass-case at Hexham all those years ago. But the clue
was in what she'd seen... just the head. Accam Dey was dead, beaten, killed and decapitated. Peggy knew of no wizard deranged
enough to resurrect the beast that thought like a man, nor any of the Fae-folk to dare and bring such an abominable creature from
out of the ground. And anyway, if it had been Accam Dey, Connor wouldn't have been alive to tell his tale.

Peeking out of her satchel into the darkness of the cemetery and annoyed that sleep was not visiting, Peggy cleared her mind of
'could be' or 'might be'. Right now she needed to focus on what is. Folding her hat into a pillow, she curled up and went back to
her examination.

Chester Connor's testimony added that the wolf's feet were slightly splayed and he didn't see any long claws. This might explain
the earlier account of a horse tied-up near Phineas' home only receiving a slight wound, but why would such a random act be so
perilous to the predator and hardly detrimental to the potential victim? It was a waste unless it was an attempt to distract from a
more treasured goal. Peggy hoped she would recall in the morning to ask Phineas if anyone -anyone at all, had gone missing
around the time of the equine mauling.

The final part of the Witch's mulling of the young hunter's account was something the pendent shaman could appreciate considering
her source for the comment. The old shoemaker knew well of Accam Dey's logic and acumen, the cunning demeanour clothed in
cruel astuteness had been audible to the once-young lad that had hid in his mother's cupboard.

Chester had looked up from beneath the horse-blanket and over his trembling mug of tea and murmured to Elijah Cox and Phineas
Stappen of what the wolf had done before leaving the blood-covered storage building. As the Sandman finally promised to give the
spellbinder amongst the leaves her much-needed slumber, the kid's words followed Peggy down to Dreamland.

"Then it looked up at me and smiled... I swear to Herne, it smiled and then left".
...................................................

The next day brought another Summer's chorus of morning birds celebrating the season alongside their prowess of parenthood.
It was still too early for flying insects, so the swallows waited on the surrounding branches and twittered to each other. The clipped
chatter from the dark-blue acrobats of the skies doubled as an alarm clock for the waking magician in her own kind of nest.

After carefully descending the huge elm and patting its bark in gratitude, Peggy set her bare feet towards the Stappen residence
and wondered if her reliance on humans could be adverse to her investigation. After arriving in Puddledown, it had been too dark
to seek out out any Fae assistance and now as she peered over towards the surrounding woods and wheat-filled acreage, she
concluded that it would be prudent to find those who lived inconspicuously beside the frightened community and ask for advice.

Nearing the gate that she'd leaned against last night, the little Witch saw a movement that caught her breath for a second until she
realised what had caused the sprouting fern on the opposite wall to waver. It was no snooping lip-licking wolf, but a dark-green hat
that ducked down behind the un-cemented barrier that contoured the lane. Peggy smiled to herself and stepped onto the gravel that
divided Phineas' tidy garden. Best not to scare the little-being at this time -she mused as the little Witch waved back at her friend's
invite through the window and heard the agreement from her empty stomach.
...................................................

Over two mugs of hot coffee and a plate of bacon and eggs, Phineas repeated what he knew about the deaths in Puddledown and
answered the odd question from his guest. Someone had gone missing when the horse had been disfigured, but the retired cobbler
assured Peggy that John Turnipseed had merely moved a day earlier than his original plan to his new business on the far side of
Wheatland County.

Turnipseed was a Baker and after teaching his son how to emulate his patriarch, he'd waited until Garret Turnipseed was wed to the
girl of his dreams -and coincidentally Edmund Munday's daughter/ Then he had left to start a new branch of his wholesome ovened
-delights in a village called Swan Portcullis. A place Peggy had once ousted a very unpleasant Spriggan from.

Maybe this was a simple truth and the Witch peering out the window into the bright sunlight was merely fearing furry canines around
every corner, but believing the beast of Puddledown held an intellect far-higher than the usual rogue wolf, Peggy looked at her host
and told him he would like to speak to this Turnipseed-the-younger and ask him if he'd heard from his father recently.

But first -and meekly excusing herself from the table, the fabled Witch went in search of the out-house.

[ABNARTY]

The baddy (the wolf) is a good one. I like how the environment develops as the story unfolds. 

Somehow it keeps reminding me of how the Predator was treated in the first movie. You heard stories about it. Saw what he was seeing now and then. Kind of like Jaws. You are nervous about it and you haven't even seen the shark yet.

Please don't take that the wrong way. I am terrible at describing stuff. I loved that aspect of those movies and I like it in your story too.

[BIAD]

The baddy (the wolf) is a good one. I like how the environment develops as the story unfolds. 

Somehow it keeps reminding me of how the Predator was treated in the first movie. You heard stories about it. Saw what he was seeing now and then. Kind of like Jaws. You are nervous about it and you haven't even seen the shark yet.

Please don't take that the wrong way. I am terrible at describing stuff. I loved that aspect of those movies and I like it in your story too.

That's how I saw it developing in my head! Keep the monster off-stage for most of the story!

[ABNARTY]

The baddy (the wolf) is a good one. I like how the environment develops as the story unfolds. 

Somehow it keeps reminding me of how the Predator was treated in the first movie. You heard stories about it. Saw what he was seeing now and then. Kind of like Jaws. You are nervous about it and you haven't even seen the shark yet.

Please don't take that the wrong way. I am terrible at describing stuff. I loved that aspect of those movies and I like it in your story too.

That's how I saw it developing in my head! Keep the monster off-stage for most of the story!

I am glad you are not upset about that and I agree with you on the plan.
I really like stories where it is a little more Lovecraftian. The monster is a mystery. Not something easily handled. And it doesn't really care about you. 
In one readers opinion, there are too many Mighty Mouse-esque stories out there. The protagonist easily wins every round. Just by showing up, things return to normal. There is nothing relatable in that. Life doesn't let you win every round. 
When the good-guy is challenged or knocked around, it makes for a richer story. Here, Peggy has to think quite a bit to figure out where the whole thing even starts. She doesn't fly in, cape waving in the breeze, to save the day. There are a lot of unknowns (for the reader) flapping around and it makes you really want to find out what is going on along with PP. 
Thanks for doing this.

[BIAD]

It was a weird place and the little Witch peering along the naturally-formed conduit realised that for anyone travelling along
the lane outside Phineas Stappen' home, they wouldn't see the fern, bramble bushes and cow parsley-covered ditch behind
the stone wall.

In the abundance of plants that comprised the long tunnel-like scurry-way, Peggy Powler noticed Ox-Eye Daisy and Jack
-by-the-Hedge vying with other wild herbage to create a strange dank corridor than had seemed to have gone unnoticed.
The obscure place smelled earthy and bygone, aromatic with decaying vegetation untouched by the sun and to the little
woman avoiding squashing a vigilant toad, it was a welcoming sight.

After leaving Phineas and her empty breakfast plate, the sorceress had stood in the quiet road on the edge of Puddledown
and adjusted her mind in order to properly apply a plan on discovering what was really going on. From the accounts she'd
just re-heard over her morning meal, Peggy believed her nasty prey was as smart -if not smarter, than those who saw the
wolf as a mere audacious carnivore and to get to the monster's level, she needed to leave the environment the killer was
becoming more and more confident in.

Furtively making sure her recent host wasn't watching from his window, Peggy scrambled over the wall outside of Phineas'
house and dropped into a world that was more fitting to her Fae station. One moment, she was just Peggy Powler, the little
woman who wandered the highways and byways, fixing the problems where the extraordinary sometimes kissed the harsh
reality of this realm. Now she was one with the throat-inflating amphibian that slowly slid away from the larger interloper, an
outsider who wants to come home.

The floor of the culvert hinted -that at times, flash-flooding could occur to bring refreshment to the tangle of foliage, but its
current state was merely damp with spongy soil and the occasional smooth stone. Squatting close to the ground, Peggy spied
a small shod-footprint and thankfully, no sign of a canine paw imprint. With a smile to expose her original guess at who had
showed a bottle green hat earlier, the Witch tucked her own kind of headwear into her satchel and set off along the shadowy
cloistered channel.

Where the dried-out passageway left the village and turned west towards the woodland, Peggy wondered if the gully was
once pertinent to drainage for the surrounding arable land. But due to the water-less rindle's current state, the abandonment
allowed those -rarely believed to exist and to reside outside of human communities, to utilise the frondescence privacy.

Relishing in her journey, the scuttling spellbinder pressed on in search of the being she was certain was a Brownie and if
the little Silkie was true to the real lore, his home would be close to the village, but not apparent to those who who lived
in Puddledown. Brownies were said to be adherents to the human home and delivered domestic tasks like cleaning and
other chores. In reality, these small beings used the ignorance of people for their own ends, but occasionally paid through
work for whatever they took.

She almost missed it and peering across at the camouflaged mud-covered door in the ditch's embankment, Peggy silently
chided herself for spending too much time among those on the other side of the wall. The small portal consisted of old oak
smeared with dark soil and decorated with tiny pebbles and baby ferns. Carefully auditing up and down the forgotten trench,
the little crouching necromancer lightly tapped on the two-foot high door of the elusive hat-wearer and whispered the arcane
tetrameter known only to the Good-Folk.
...................................................

Taking a sip of her warm nettle tea, Peggy looked at Finley Teasel and wondered what is lifestyle was like compared to hers.
After cautiously being invited into the small hole in the ditch's bank, the reticent Brownie had led his guest down a tunnel that
rivalled the outside for its aromas. The damp walls gave off a low mulchy smell and approaching a faint glow of a candle, the
Witch was pleased to pick up the scent of woodland fragrances ahead.

Finley Teasel might not own much, but his home indicated a wealth that those on the other side off the dank culvert would
never be able to appreciate.  Cuckooflowers, Primroses and Hyacinths sat in neat wooden boxes of earth on a carved-out ledge
of his little burrow. Wood anemones accompanied foxgloves in similar containers below a tiny whorled-glass window protected
by well disguised shutters. A kettle steamed softly on a small fire in a homemade stone-bound hearth and a handcrafted table
stood as a centrepiece to the small cosy room.

"Ah've got te' thank thee' fur' yer' assistance in what Ah'm tryin' te' do, Mister Teasel" Peggy said softly and lamented breaking
the comfortable silence between them. Finley was peering out of the porthole at the sun-kissed leafy ambience beyond and the
brow beneath his dark-green hat still held his concerns of what he'd said and what he'd heard. As a Brownie, he'd always keep
his ear to the ground, but these horrible forays by the wolf was just beyond what his simple rustic existence was used to.

Finley glanced towards his guest and showed his deep-tawny eyes, "the problem with the villagers is that they perceive their
problem only when it effects them and fail to understand what the real problem is" he murmured in his usual hushed voice .
The Brownie rubbed the side of his head under his agrarian hat and revealed the long-eared trademark of his species.

"The beast is more than just a wolf looking for an easy meal, it's a tormentor for a reason" he added and went back to viewing
the untamed glades enjoying the noon sun. The cramped Witch delicately placed her empty cup on the table and nodded at
Finley's grounded assumption. "Aye, well it's that reason that'll catch the bugger, iff'n Ah' can find out what it is" Peggy agreed
and forced a smile to herself at the long flowerpots decorated with acorns.

With a confined gesture towards a curtsy, the taller of the two scrambled back along the tunnel and she noticed Finley had the
good manners not to immediately follow her due to her lack of underwear. It was only when Peggy was back outside among the
jungle of plants, did the Brownie finally appear at the doorway. "Fair travels Peggy and don't take this one for granted..." he
advised from the threshold of his home, "...this fiend knows you as well as you do yourself" he added and nodded his farewell.

Contemplating Finley Teasel's words, the little Witch turned to retrace her steps back towards Puddledown. Finishing adjusting
the strap of her satchel, Peggy's eyes widened when she saw something that she was certain hadn't been there earlier. A large
paw-print had audaciously been left just outside the Brownie's subterranean dwelling.

"Yer' little bugger!" she exclaimed in a bitter hiss and after surveying her surroundings for danger, the inwardly-fuming Last Witch
of Underhill hurried back down the overgrown thoroughfare for Witches, Brownies and now, a taunting wolf.

[BIAD]

After receiving much-needed answers from Phineas Stappen in regards of certain questions, Peggy Powler chose to spend
the rest of day standing alone outside of the Meeting House and for the odd villager that passed by, would be seen as just
a visitor idling her time away watching the comings-and-goings of a usual circadian of Puddledown.

The warm summer sun slowly stretched the little Witch's shadow as she quietly processed what she had learned so far and
with the idea that she was being outmatched by her slippery foe, Peggy struggled to formulate a plan to turn defence into an
attack.

Seeing that newly-placed paw-mark outside the Brownie's burrow really got to the bantam figure in the dowdy poncho and
letting the time tick by during her ruminations, that annoyance was slowly boiled into a hardened sphere of determination.
Nodding and smiling at anyone who greeted the bare-footed transient in the big hat, Peggy made sure her features hid that
pique at being outwitted by something she had always believed belonged in the category of bestial.

Tugging the brim of her hat lower to hide her eyes, the Last Witch of Underhill launched her own style of cerebral study.
...................................................

Question: Were the cattle and Edith Liddle's demise relevant to any assumed plan?
Answer: Taken at face-value, domestic and penned animals would make sense as an opportunity for a hungry predator. The act
of killing the cows and to some extent -the girl, holds no feasible inkling that any other intention -apart from acquiring food, was
the motive.

The single print in the snow that Walter Dawson stated he'd seen didn't make sense, but the considering the disruption at the
setting, the wolf's path may have been lost in the mess. If the report that during the Liddle-girl's search is to be taken as factual,
the sudden halt of the beast's tracks near some ancient earthworks needed more investigation. Wolves -no matter how cheeky,
don't just vanish into thin air.

Conclusion: A starving predator had took advantage of a situation due to understandable reasons.
There's nothing to imply anything of intellectual design and the sudden jump from livestock to human could be put down to the
fundamental need for nourishment.

Plucking a canteen from her satchel, Peggy glugged down a couple of mouthfuls of cool water as she mentally discarded any
attempt to judge the wolf's intent in the manner of cunning planning when it came to Father Carrington's death. It could be offered
as a coincidence that the killer had used the burial of the priest as a mocking cover for its attack on the hay-farmer.

Proctor's slaying and the proposition that the wolf had been monitoring the fallout of the discovery also seemed a little bit of a
stretch. Simply based on the origin that for Francis Proctor to be killed at that moment, meant the wolf would have to know when
Father Carrington's funeral was to take place and be sure the farmer was positioned in the field at that time.

Conclusion: The death of the farmer was either from someone who knew when the vicar's interment was to occur -which indicates
a resident of Puddledown, or a confluence of separate instances that just seemed to look like a flow of a single action.

Peggy nodded to herself in agreement this time, as any speculation of firm resolve from the farmer's killer would have to include
the murder of Father Carrington as a part of such a scheme. Wolves don't vanish and wolves don't design such a complicated
web to terrorise or take sustenance.

Then as quickly as the little Witch had purged the faint flame of paranoia from her examination, Finley Teasel's whisper arrived
from his little underground home. "...Don't take this one for granted, this fiend knows you as well as you do yourself"
"Bugger!" was the terse response and Peggy continued.

Question: Why not attack the hunters individually in open space where approach and escape would be more feasible?
Answer: The barn would hinder the hunters and the wolf's manoeuvrability, but since the wolf didn't use external weapons -and
assuming the hunters' weapons weren't near to hand, it would assist in overcoming the wolf's victims.

It had been determined that the wolf had entered the barn -where Chester Connor and his hunting colleagues were resting,
through a hole in the rear wall of the structure, a breach that William Buckles -the owner of the outbuilding was certain hadn't
been there when he'd last checked the barn the day before the carnage. During an enquiry by the Elders, the farmer had
repeated the mundane reasons why he knew his property was sound and solid.

But what Billy hadn't mentioned was why he was behind the wooden building the day before the horrible bloody assault on
the hunters. Martha Dawson could've answer that, but she was never asked.

Peggy surmised that the animal had visited the old barn whilst its pursuants were out in the meadows and woodlands around
Puddledown and that offered the notion that the beast had to begin its scheme to slay the hunters with the purpose to make
sure nobody would hinder its covert work in creating the hole. But why such an elaborate plan...? What did the miscreant gain
from such a dangerous attack?

The little Witch tapped her foot and waited for a conclusion, Chester Connor's voice came to her like a faint breeze and with it
the urge to grab towards a predetermined strategy. "... I swear to Herne, it smiled and then left", a quote that considering the
wolf didn't devour any of the hunters, coyly tempted the idea of an elaborate scene for those with the eyes to see it.
"Bugger!" Peggy hissed again and moved on.

Question: The impudence of such an incursion -if successful, would also send a signal of the beast's confidence in its actions.
But would this gesture of daring boldness be appreciated by the audience of Puddledown?
Answer: Only if the target was the patrons of Puddledown.

Peggy licked her lips at the possibilities of what she'd just mentally suggested. Two years was a long time to slowly arrange a
scheme that -to an average rationally-thinking onlooker, would seem as mere random attacks around a focal point and yet, be
a tickling display for someone capable to reason via the logistics of that scheme.

Breathing slowly through her nose, the slight sorceress slowly scanned her surroundings and resisted the urge to name that target.
It's often a mistake to insert one's ego into a situation and Peggy had always prided herself on defying that act. The decision to
come to this little hamlet was her own solely based on the rumours she'd heard during her travels. Thirteen deaths over two years
from a wolf -the same wolf it was presumed, was something she'd found intriguing, but not something she would typically connect
to herself or anything supernatural.

Mr Teasel softly advised again from under the little sorceress' wide-brimmed hat "...it's a tormentor for a reason" and with a sigh
of exasperation, Peggy Powler couldn't have agreed more. It was.
...................................................

Leaving the Meeting Hall and wandering towards the priest-less church, she soaked in the sunshine and allowed the chattering
demons of her internal enquiry to be cast out in the name of reality. 'Maybe the later killings could unearth an answer?' Peggy
mused as she ambled around the etched stone-markers of those who had passed beyond this complicated soup of concern.

The leaves of the surrounding trees of the graveyard fluttered in a welcoming breeze and muttered their own special dialogue
of existence. Swallows flew low to the grass and like red-throated versions of the Witch's current quarry, flitted in and out of
view on their way to fill the eternal hunger of their young.

However, the ugly dark stain of urine on the bark of the great elm she'd slept in last night...well, that sight stayed with Peggy
for quite some time.

[BIAD]

It was the first time in a long time that she'd felt such a thing, but Peggy Powler knew right at the moment that she'd
noticed the visual-insult darkening on the craggy bark of the elm tree, the insidious wolf of Puddledown was watching
her and laughing.

Slowing her pace just a tad, the little Witch guessed in that one moment that the stain was a crude inducement for her
to display her emotions within the empty graveyard. Conjointly within those couple of seconds of awareness, Peggy
heard the words of Finley Teasel reverberate in her mind once more. "...this fiend knows you as well as you do yourself".

With a slight theatrical distortion, she whirled around and gave the impression of feminine-alarm. Raising her arms
-and at the same time, hoping no innocent cemetery visitor observes her revealing gesture, the shocked-looking Witch
gave an over-the-top impression of an exasperated vertically-challenged sorceress confused with what was going on
around her.

Bombastically stomping around the scene of damp affront and still gazing about Puddledown's only potter's field with
the masquerade of someone out-of-their-depth, Peggy hoped the monitoring perpetrator of the urine-stain would see
her display for what it really was. A sham reaction and mordant reply to the antic.

As the warm breeze ruffled the neatly-clipped grass and tickled the leaves above the assumedly-confounded shaman
the Last Witch of Underhill showed a large grin, bowed flamboyantly and wondered if a certain hidden Lupus was stewing
in its own anger right now.

The late-afternoon sunlight couldn't help but sustain a blithe disposition to anyone visiting the pastoral place of rest and
dramatically turning to leave the cemetery, Peggy maintained her smile but viciously murmured "Chum Mandy's Bull".
A slur that Carnival-folk may appreciate.
...................................................

"Well, I can... but are you sure?" Phineas Stappen asked as he poured his bare-footed guest a cup of chamomile tea.
Since moving to Puddledown, the retired bachelor had been growing his own herbs in homemade boxes on his kitchen
window-sill. The hobby had been so successful, that his back-garden was now an eternal battleground where potatoes,
cabbages and carrots fought for space against a fearsome foe of mint, parsley, dill and many other condiments.
War -sometimes, isn't Hell.

Peggy looked out of the front-window of her friend's little home and thought again about her decision to visit the outskirts
of Hexham. Walking back from the graveyard, the privately-annoyed little Witch had pondered on the simple fact that her
goal would always be one step ahead because of who she was and the now-obvious truth that the wolf knew how she
thought.

"Ah've looked at this till' Ah'm blue-in-the-face, Phineas... " Peggy said distantly, she was once more running through the
maze of rationality in her head and arriving at the same worrying conclusion. "...and all Ah' can come up wiv' is to catch
a rat, yer' need a rat-catcher" she added and smiled the smile of the cursed towards the man who use to repair things
she refuses to wear.

Phineas nodded and patted Peggy's hand, "Edmund Munday has a horse and cart that he'll lend me..." he whispered
and realised by his comment that he'd just accepted the pilgrimage he'd been dragooned into from when he'd been a
boy. "...We'll leave tomorrow morning, now drink your tea".
...................................................

A contemplating Miss Powler sipped her herbal refreshment and trawled the information on the others who'd fallen to the
fangs of the Puddledown Predator. The ninth and tenth victims had been secret lovers who's predilection towards covert
copulation demanded a discreet rendezvous, ideally out in the evening countryside.

After the hunters had been slain and the news of the horror had been spread around the village, the Elders felt that any
strong advice would be needless nimiety and so, the old men believed the seeping terror would do its work. Except -to
the pair of hush-hush sweethearts, it meant an opportunity where they could cuddle with the certainty of not being seen.
I mean, what would their spouses think if their tryst became the tittle-tattle of the village?

Mary Monkton and Daniel Duscot were found post-coitus during a rainstorm about a few yards from where the little Edith
Liddle's blood-stained bonnet was discovered. In the couple's last bond of fidelity to each other, both their heads had been
bitten off.
...................................................

Peggy stayed at the Stappen residence that night and hanging on a set of sturdy hooks in the small porchway beside
a few overcoats and the remains of a splintered walking cane Phineas had assured himself that he would fix one day,
a certain satchel dangled there with contents that struggled to sleep.

The Beast of Puddledown was besting her and no amount of prudence could bring her closer to the thing she sought.
From a safe distance, the adroit animal -that believes it can kill Peggy at any juncture, was now taunting her and by the
Witch's delay to act, also put the residents of Puddledown in peril.

Upstairs in his bed, Phineas' dreams were developing around the same unpalatable subject. Except in his, the enemy
wasn't the wolf that had tore his neighbours' cattle to pieces two years ago or decapitated the two sweethearts near the
old dolmens and mounds. In the restless Cobbler's nightmare, the creature he was running from was the one they would
be visiting tomorrow.
Accam Dey.

[BIAD]

The coolness of the morning brought a freshness that Peggy Powler felt she really needed considering her agitated
sleep last night and standing at the garden gate of her friend's house, the little Witch allowed the light sharpness in
the air to help in clearing the cobwebs around her thoughts.

When dawn had finally arrived, Phineas Stappen had gone to borrow the horse and cart from Edmund Munday and
after talking during a nibbled-at breakfast, received his instructions from his guest who seemed in a hurry to be on
the road. Glancing out of the window towards the little lane that led to Puddledown, the old Shoemaker could see
that Peggy was harried and refilling her cup, asked her what was was troubling her.

"We need te' travel towards Brennan County when we set off, Phineas..." she muttered as she sipped her brew and
fidgeted with the table cloth. "...When yer' return with the ride, we'll go out of Puddledown the way Ah' come in" she
continued in a bitter tone her host had never heard before.

Whatever was out there had really got under Peggy's skin, Phineas thought and knew that was a very rare state for
the eminent Last Witch of Underhill. For many years -years that the Cobbler had travelled with a lesser fee than the
middle-aged woman swaying her bare legs on the too-high chair had paid, those who knew of the august sorceress
had always settled with the notion that she carried a confidence like no other. The word 'flustered' was never used in
the same sentence where the Witch's name was mentioned.

"Aye" Peggy whispered and answered a thought that would remain unsaid over her hardly-touched slice of toast.
...................................................

As a Blackbird trilled its territorial tune, the overtly suspicious magician waited with an itchy patience that bordered
on fretfulness. Precious time was passing and Peggy felt her unwanted dawdling was something she couldn't afford.
Straightening her poncho and adjusting the strap of her satchel again, the waiting for Phineas' return seemed to be
submerged in thick winter-blessed treacle.

"Come on fella" she growled softly and turning her head back towards Puddledown, almost missed the top of a dark
-green hat appearing on the other side of the wall opposite to where she was waiting. Almost sighing with the relief
of something to do, Peggy walked slowly over to the stone barrier and kept her demeanour of someone tolerantly
waiting for a friend.

Finley Teasel kept his voice down to a whisper as he explained his situation and from what the Brownie said, the little
Witch's anger of the Puddledown Beast only heightened. Something she could've done without with right now.
"It tore my door off, last night..." Finley related to his fellow-Fae woman slouching against the wall and seemingly idly
staring up the lane towards the village. "...That damned wolf never dug in after me, it just wrecked my door" he added
and heard Peggy tut her answer.

A second or two passed between them before the concealed Silkie spoke again and this time it wasn't a complaint.
"When you vanquish the bastard and bring it low, give it an extra kick from me, will you?" Finley hissed with a slight lilt
of hopefulness in his voice. If there was ever a time when the disgruntled Brownie believed a pledge was absolute, the
restless Witch's response out-trumped that instance. "Yer' can bet yer' long-johns, Ah' will". 
...................................................

The journey was a form of relief to both Phineas and Peggy. The driver of the two-wheeled buggy welcomed in the quiet
of the Summer-drenched countryside, whilst his passenger absorbed the release of being back on the road. From time
to time, Phineas would point out places that he'd visited on his walks before the furry devil's haunting of Puddledown and
with a companionable interest, Peggy had kept herself from her earlier brain-fog by asking further about the locations.

It was during one of these light-hearted chats that Phineas mentioned a slim rarely-visited track that spurred off Calder's
Way and meandered between the many surrounding woods and the cereal-heavy farmland. "...It was the year after I first
moved here..." he informed the little woman beside him, "...I actually walked almost all the way back to Summertide and
I guess the lane is on an old ley-line or something" the retired Cobbler nonchalantly assumed and squinted as the buggy
emerged from beneath a group of large oaks into the bright sunlight.

Peggy's eyes didn't rebound from the shade but instead, her flinty-gaze disclosed a sudden thought that was like a faint
voice she'd hadn't heard in a long time. She was starting to feel like her old self again. "A ley-line yer' say...? Whey, we'd
better tek' a look at it, me-good friend" the little Witch suggested with a full-throated voice of congeniality and a amicable
nudge of her elbow.
...................................................

The nodding horse seemed untroubled by the bumpy terrain of the forgotten lane, but as Peggy folded the slim cushion
beneath her to dowse the impacts from the rutted track, she guessed the journey probably wasn't doing the cart any good.
With a mouthed spell, the smiling Witch ducked under another approaching branch and quietly urged the thin spokes of
the wheels to remain in favourable health.

"Not much traffic!" she joked to her companion as they bounced along the overgrown trail that dogged the mystical artery
of magnetism. It was just as Phineas agreed with the jovial bare-footed Witch that he suddenly felt a shift in the warm air
between them. The ride had been pleasant up until that point and he'd assumed the change in the route had just been to
cheer them both up, but now he sensed Peggy's suggestion was developing into something more than a refreshing day
out in the countryside.

"By Herne's ragged-antlers, there's the bugger!" Peggy exclaimed and without so much as a by your leave to the confused
man at her side, leapt from the cart and began running towards the remains of two gate-posts stood sentry-like to a field
where a sea of barley swayed in the noon breeze. Believing that the scampering ass-showing spellbinder wasn't choosing
place to have their lunch, Phineas Stappen was slowly becoming aware that his friend's strange ability to find a way out
of a puzzle had regained its former power.

With a smile of hope for the bantam Witch , the former cordwainer of Horton's Glebe disembarked from the cart and after
tethering the horse to one of the gnarled uprights, jogged to where Peggy was hunting through the tall grass that edged
along the field of cereal grain.

They'd hidden the grave well. Far off, the church clock of Hexham chimed midday and the clapper tolled the final note,
the woman who'd been merely a teenager when she'd spoken to the encased head of the one beneath the unkept plot
of sod, looked again on the final resting-place of the uncanny creature that could think like a man.

"Sepulcrum Impiorum" Peggy whispered as she stared at the mound concealed in the undergrowth and as Phineas
arrived beside her, he asked her between gasping for air to repeat the strange words. The little Witch looked up at her
friend and her features told him what they had originally set-out to search for, had been found.

"Grave of the Wicked, my friend..." she said with words that dripped with dread. "...Grave of the Wicked".

[BIAD]

The mound was almost gone as the long-ago excavated soil had attempted to resettle and became part of the landscape again.
Seasonally-pruned hawthorn hedges ran along the edges of the field and where they arrived at Accam Dey's grave, the bushes
implied reluctance to continue their growth as a barrier. It seemed even in death, the Terror of Hexham still smouldered trepidity.

Tall meadow foxtails, ripe dandelions and rogue clumps of rye grew around the odd boulder discarded by a ploughing farmer
into the verge and for anyone gaily browsing the cereal-filled fields, would just come across a forgotten place where only the
unwanted resided. Fitting really -Phineas Stappen thought, as he helped his friend unearth the remains of the illustrious beast.

Peggy Powler was on her knees beside him and burrowing like a frenzied dog in search for a bone, another applicable term to
describe their clandestine actions -the Cobbler mused as he lifted a smooth rock from their mission and lobbed it under a nearby
bush. A simple act that for some reason caught the Witch's attention for a moment, but then she returned to her digging.

With dust-filled nostrils and grime-covered hands, Peggy and Phineas gouged out the hole until they became aware of the mess
they were making. Piles of dirt lay on flattened grass and it would be obvious to the earlier-mentioned browser of pasturage that
something important was buried here. "Ah' think we've been a bit too keen" Peggy murmured jocularly to her smudged-friend as
they inspected the zone of their work and realised they wouldn't be able to return the abandoned grave back to its original state.

Peggy stood up and adjusted her poncho when she realised her comportment had been too revealing for a gentleman of Phineas'
polite station and mused on the wreckage they had unwittingly accomplished. To a farmer, it would seem like a fox had decided to
make its den along the hedges and that would demand exhumation of the chicken-killing critter. The bones of Accam Dey might be
found and that could lead to an entirely different problem.

"It's a bugger n' a half, Ah know..." the Last Witch of Underhill cussed and made a decision that -if she'd reflected about it later,
would realise it was another sign that her old-self had returned. "...but, Ah' think we'll have te' tek' Accam Dey with us" Peggy
advised with less mettle in her voice than she'd hoped for. Phineas merely lifted his chin in a manner to suggest an amiable
compliance and went back to scooping out handfuls of root and worm-riddled soil. Peggy fondly patted his shoulder and then
wiped away the dirt she'd left. Kneeling into the unfastidious trough, she joined in with the task of finding the monster's remains.
...................................................

It was nearing midnight when they reached the point where the simple neglected track met the sea-cobbles of the celebrated
Calder's Way and the sound of the horse's hooves hinted of a return to the civilised side of life that Peggy felt had been a factor
in her recent despondency. The exhausted passengers of the cart both smelled of sweat and the land, an aroma the begrimed
and weary sorceress found soothingly welcoming, like a friend who she hadn't visited in a long time.
This smile-provoking sentiment caused her to look at the man holding the reins beside her.

"Yer've done me a great favour, yer' know?..." Peggy cooed as the full moon came into view. "...Puddledown's problem was getting
to me, but with what we have tonight, Ah'm sure we can fix two problems at once" she whispered and hoped she didn't sound too
mysterious. Phineas clucked the horse to pick up its pace and nodded. "Whey Aye me-good woman..." he fondly burlesqued his
companion, "... I could see something was effecting you, but just know that whatever you're dealing with, be certain I'm here with
you if you need me". It was dark and whether the little grinning Witch saw his wink of fellowship or not, we'll never know.
...................................................

Two figures under the bright ball in the night sky. A horse tied to a dry-stone wall and allowing its tilted back-leg next to a pile of
drying dung, to indicate the nag was snoozing. A dirt-smudged jacket laying on the damp grass of a tranquil meadow where dullard
sheep huddle at the one end of the field and wait with regurgitated mouthfuls of grass for any signs of danger.

The contents of that coat were being carefully set-out by the smaller of the pair, whilst the other surveyed the darkness for any crafty
poacher chancing a careless rabbit or a concupiscent couple chancing a quick romp under the stars.
All deeds in a surreptitious tableau to a taboo-ritual that will bring Accam Dey from the dead... hopefully temporarily.
...................................................

The vacant sockets of the skull stared across to where Peggy dragged a stick through the soil of the pasture in a crude circle around
the rest of Accam Dey's skeleton. The little Witch had warned her cohort of two things when he agreed to stand guard during the dark
ceremony and made sure Phineas knew why.

"Divna' let him get near the bones..." she warned and looked up at the shadowed face of the man who'd once lived a quiet life and
who's only concern was whether his rhubarb avoided weevils this year. "...But stay over near the gate, Ah' divna' want him to clap
his eyes on yer', okay?" Peggy breathed huskily and patted Phineas' forearm in support.

The retired Shoemaker nodded at the peculiar mandates and felt a pang to be home in front of his fireplace. His world was safe and
warm, where the little bare-footed Mystic's domain was dressed in ill-boding gloom and fang-bearing demons. "Okay" he mumbled
and went to check on the dozing horse, he knew when he was out of his depth.

The stars rolled west as Peggy walked her homemade miz-maze and hushed the words of vivication. One hour turned into two as the
ancient conjuration spilled from the Witch's lips and tread the path that many spellbinders had never even heard, never-mind spoken.

From time to time, Phineas would begin to approach the area of the meadow where his friend muttered and occasionally waved her
arms in the air. But his step would falter when he noticed the skull of the murderer of his mother and sister pulse with an inner glow.
' Ah' divna' want him to clap his eyes on yer' his soul prodded the reminder and with that, he scurried back to the where roadside
flowers bathed in the moonlight and horse-droppings steamed the last of its heat into the cold air.

"It has been some time since we last met, my-Peggy?..." the muscle-wrapped jaws of Accam Dey pronounced as the lush velvet of
the night sky began to dissolve into a soft blue of dawn. "...And I have so missed our talks" the half-constructed head added and the
lid-less eyes of a devil watched his weary awakener continue her march of majick.

"We haven't much time, so Ah' need yer' te' help me" Peggy croaked absently in her spell as she neared the bulk of muscle and
appearing flesh. Accam Dey blinked, a physical act that he hadn't done in many decades. The world he'd been unceremoniously
taken from still looked the same and stretching the chunk of meat in his mouth, he found that he had lips to lick too.
This was going to be fun.

"A canny person would bundle me in her bag and find a more private place to blather.." the fur-sprouting wolf suggested "...a canny
Spellbinder would take me home with her". Peggy stared with scorn for a few moments at the grinning head of the worst creature
to ever walk the land and spitting into the dew of the grass, she swore a word not common to necromancers.
"Come on my lady..." Accam Dey answered and slowly glanced towards the man slouched beside the drystone wall, "...I must have
allowed your driver to live for a reason" he rasped in a voice that sounded like it was from the bottom of a tomb.
...................................................

A few minutes later, the confused subject of Accam Dey's comment was helping the grumbling Witch stow a coat-wrapped bundle
of bones onto the back of the buggy, but knew better than to ask what was going on. "We're going" was all Peggy hissed as she
climbed into her seat with a grunt. Leaving Peggy deep within her thoughts, Phineas slapped the reins and headed for Puddledown.
"A new day and with it, another journey" he murmured optimistically to nobody, but his slouched companion may've begged to differ.

Especially considering what was in her satchel.

[BIAD]

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.

[BIAD]

When Accam Dey had finished his subtly-hidden diatribe towards the diminutive woman under the wider-brimmed hat, 
she wondered if the expressive beast felt any better for the articulate re-telling of what he believed was the past -journey
of herself.

Peggy Powler imperceptibly grunted to acknowledge that the wolf had finished and now mentally prepared to ask for
guidance in ridding Puddledown of its current problem. She wondered if the Beast of Hexham was revelling in the hubris
of what he'd described, but it seemed by his expression that it was what he believed to be true and held no judgement
one way or the other.

"Yer've gotta fine way of tellin' a tale" the little Witch said absently and looked towards Phineas' house. The afternoon
was getting away from her and she needed the information from the only creature in the land who she believed had it.
Getting to her feet, Peggy brushed the dirt from her knees and nonchalantly putting her satchel back on her shoulder,
carefully arranged her thoughts to ask for that vital instruction.

"The people of this village need me-help and Ah' brought yer' back from the dead te' help me..." Peggy said with a note
of conviction. "...Now, the way Ah' see it is either yer' do this or Ah' just put yer' back in the ground and find another way"
she supplemented and again, feigned interest towards the Stappen abode.

"It is said that I am cursed with a wickedness, but I assure you if it exists, it is only outshone by the esteem I have for your
yeoman-esque frankness..." Accam Dey replied with a smile that would make a maiden blush. "...You are direct and display
your morality in that blunt, hayseed accent that I have always found delightful and beguiling" he added and then quickly
continued as Peggy opened her mouth to respond.

"When one cogitates on the scales of your offer, one might deduce that pretty thumb of yours is calibrating a result that is
in your favour..." the wolf said teasingly. "...An eternity of staring into the blackness of the dirt with only worms for company
or chance to fight alongside the lionised Last Witch of Underhill, all bare-thighs and yokel virtue... hmmm, now let me think".

In an instant and with a puckish change in muscle-assignment around his dangerous maw, Accam Dey's supposition of what
could be construed as a proposal, took his plum-shaped toned oration from jaunty badinage to acerbic mockery.
"I believe you already know the answer" he added as a statement.
...................................................

Phineas Stappen was preparing sandwiches that he'd guessed would be needed for what Peggy Powler may believe lay
ahead for ridding Puddledown of the elusive raider. Whether he -himself, would be required for such a quest, he wasn't sure
of, but he'd wagered that a hefty pile of hoagies and a water-filled canteen would be enough for them both.

Occasionally looking up from his menial chore and watching the very strange conversation taking place in his rear-garden,
Phineas wondered what confounding counsel was being exchanged. He would never doubt Peggy's magical abilities and
had accepted there were certain laws governing her use of the skills, but the sorceress' current stance out there amidst his
crops indicated she was struggling with those customs.

With a soft grunt of mild bewilderment -similar to his friend, he went back to doing he knew was real and tangible.
Buttering some bread, he assumed with amusement that the evil head under his pear tree wouldn't need anything to eat.
...................................................

Peggy laughed out loud and shook her head in amazement at what Accam Dey had told her, the actions from the Witch's
incredulity didn't seem to confound the furry head amongst the herbs and his only reaction was an enjoyment of her mirth.
"Tis' true, my sweet child... your quarry's confidence is based on his knowing that you look and behave like a human" he
quipped with a lighter note than his previous narration.

The bantam Witch quelled her amusement and peered over at the bag of bones laid near a row of carrots. The idea that
wearing the pelt of the monster of Hexham seemed featherbrained and she couldn't see how capturing her prey could be
implemented by pretending to look like damned-thing. "Don't be a silly-bugger!" Peggy exclaimed in a scorning inflection,
but Accam Dey saw that her features didn't support her tongue.

"Those scales that you used to force my assessment of your contract are back in play at this moment, Peggy..." the flinty
-eyed wolf voiced slowly. "...You must become myself or the only other way would be to..." and that was when the Witch
copied Accam Dey's earlier interception and quickly rebuked his unsaid suggestion. "NO BLOODY-WAY...!" she said loudly,
"... letting you loose on the realm again te' terrorise and maraud, yer' take' me fur' a daft oaf, der' yer?!" and shook her
head at the absurd idea.
Something Accam Dey couldn't do right now.

The late-afternoon still held some warmth as the air between the Witch and the Wolf seemed to become compact and heavy.
Accam Dey had moved his chess pieces with skill and now -instead of Peggy's bargaining-tool that the creature would be
buried again as a fulcrum to his surrendering of how to kill the wolf of Puddledown, the necromancer -herself, was now looking
at an entirely different transaction on the table.
One was foul, the option, fouler.

 "No" was the murmur from the Witch's lips that Accam Dey had been waiting for, the single word pronounced with a flavour of
doubt. The huge head held no friendly grin or appearance of benign companionship now, just a seriousness of demand for an
answer. With an appropriate pregnant pause, Accam Dey spoke again. "Of course, to release myself from my current latitude,
I would have to pledge my fealty to your stewardship, Miss Powler... I would have to agree to be your chattel". 

The air was almost crackling in the space between them as the horror that had been beheaded in Summertide spoke the words
that Peggy had never wanted to hear in her lifetime. The Promise is a high-secret and no human has ever heard the pact said.
Staring open-mouthed at Accam Dey has he uttered the sacred vow of obedience to the bare-footed Fae-woman, she felt the
sudden urge to urinate.

"Noooo!" Peggy breathed, but knew she could not renege on what was happening. When such austere duty is sworn to, just like
a marriage in the human world, no Fae can put asunder. It seemed the sunlight dimmed for a moment as a sound arrived at the
distraught woman's ears and remembering to inhale, Peggy gingerly turned towards the column of vegetables enjoying the last
of the summer day. The weather-worn container of Accam Dey's remains had began to move.
...................................................

The knapsack was full due to a couple of apples that Phineas had tossed in for good measure and with a glance towards the
dirty jacket that he and his guest had used to transport the rotting carcase of his mother and sister's killer back to his home,
he judged his sturdier coat hanging in the porch would be a better style of apparel -assuming he was needed.

Peggy's footfalls could be heard behind him on the kitchen floor as he drew the cord on the bag and smiled to himself at a grand
job done. With his back to the small scullery, he readied himself for his friend's decision on whether he would escorting her on the
hunt to slay the beast of Puddledown.

Then he heard a sound that made his soul freeze. He'd heard it before when he was a child, a skittering -but determined step
of something with evil on its mind and blood in its wake. "Hello there... doesn't time fly?".

[BIAD]

"Are yer'sure about this?" Peggy Powler whispered hesitantly as she hunkered down beside Accam Dey and surveyed the faint
impression in the dirt. The huge wolf's suggestion seemed absurd to the little Witch who was now -due to the beast's covenant
towards her, affianced alone with a killer under her instruction. "To a dullard villager, it might look like a wolf's paw-print, but it
is -in fact, a falsification..." Accam Dey announced with a slight note of admiration. "...And a good one -at that" he added with
eyes of someone who saw more than he was telling.

Even though it was a good Summer in Wheatland County, there was a coldness creeping into the woods as the day had faded and
being alone out here with the renown fiend only added to the Witch's uneasiness. Accam Dey smiled the way only a creature from
Hades could and nodded slightly. Peggy waited for a more enlarged view of the wolf's verdict on what they'd seen so far, but during
a glance towards her companion, couldn't help but notice the dark-blue sash she'd tied around Accam Dey's neck had loosened.

After his declaration to be the Witch's mediary and consort on this mission, the traditional act of the Fae was to give a physical sign
for such loyalty by the attachment of a ringlet or binding. Being that the Witch only owned a hat, a satchel and her poncho, she'd left
the fully-formed brute standing under Phineas' pear tree and gratefully acquired a piece of material from the arboreal's owner.

It was a rag that the old Cobbler had produced from a wooden chest in his living-room and handing it over, Phineas' sombre features
told Peggy that the strip of cloth somehow meant something to him. Yet, he'd remain silent and so she'd left to tie the cobalt coloured
ribbon onto the same creature that now offered the reason for their quarry's ability to elude those who hunted it.

"It explains many of the puzzles your precious villagers laid at the feet of mischievous magic..." Accam Dey disclosed softly, "...they
assumed it was a wolf and therefore, never looked up when the tracks suddenly stopped". The last Witch of Underhill grunted as she
got to her feet and and peered into the branches above. 

True, it was a pragmatic solution to why Puddledown's invader could avoid being seen during its retreat back into the countryside.
but staring at the gloomy foliage, she could see why her observations had been off-balance recently. "So what are we lookin' fur'...?
A squirrel that likes the taste of human flesh or a wolf that can climb?" Peggy asked sarcastically towards the leaves of the overhead
oak tree and again, considered her position alone with a marked killer of man.

Phineas Stappen had asked if he could remain in Puddledown in order to allay concerns from anyone who saw Peggy and her furry
companion during their investigation and seeing the sense in his proposal, she'd agreed that it was a good idea. With a rye-smile,
Peggy had guessed such peacekeeping would be done from the tavern.

But following Accam Dey through the abundant fields and into the wilds of the countryside, the little Witch had pondered on the other
reason why her friend had declined to join the hunt. Slaying the murderer of his family would be far too-much of a temptation for the
retired Shoemaker and would only hinder the opportunity to rid Puddledown of its current woe.

Plucking an apple from Phineas' bag of supplies, Peggy mused on what to do next and enjoying the tang of the rosy slack-ma-girdle,
she considered Accam Dey's analysis. The creature they sought used the trees to befuddle its would-be captors. This rational hunch
reinforced the notion that it could gauge the average thoughts of humans and taking into account the damage to Finley Teasel's home,
this thing even seemed aware of the Fae-folk.

Had the stealthy brute impersonated a wolf -possibly because it knew of the inborn fears of the villagers? Slowly turning to gaze at the
real lupine would was once a true butcher of humans, she frowned her confusion towards him as she pondered that such a disguise
would also benefit itself by not being the goal the same villagers pursued. But why...? and what animal could it really be?

Accam Dey stared back at the little woman in the poncho and waited for her to arrive at the answer he'd already reached.
...................................................

As Peggy's lantern offered little light among the ancient stones of a long-lost people, the unusual pair of hunters searched for further
clues to who-or-what thought like a man and yet foraged as an animal. As her cold breath plumed in the faint glow of her flickering lamp,
and the glimmer brought strange dancing shadows from the venerable plinths, the bare-footed sorceress thought about the others that
had been lost to this unknown savage.

Barnaby Grumman had been a farmer and a family man. He had been drunk and making his way home from the village tavern.
Relieving himself against the stone wall that followed the track towards Calder's Way, he'd been grabbed and dragged over the barrier
and then torn apart as he screamed his last words. Charlie Butters -the village Blacksmith, had raced from his nearby home and found
the shredded remains of the ploughman strewn across the field opposite his home.

Later, Butters was said to have seen a shape scurrying away into the darkness and swore that he'd heard laughter, something the other
Puddledownians put down to a vivid imagination or the fact that he too, had earlier visited the Inn. Peggy now wondered if there'd been
something to old Charlie's claim.

"It teases your brain and like a ghost, sails through your thoughts and mocks your grasp, yes?" the huge form murmured from the murk
next to a stone that resembled a crouching Goblin. Peggy stifled a gasp as Accam Dey stepped into the feeble effulgence of her lantern
and awaited an answer from the woman he had vowed to be obedient to.

Matilda Petticoat was the penultimate victim of what walked this dark night and during a check of her hens, came face-to-face with the
phantom monster. However, it was determined that the old lady died from her heart not being able to withstand the horror of seeing the
marauder and thus, still indexed as a fatality of the wolf of Puddledown. Yet, the body was left intact and Peggy reflected on whether the
villagers had just blamed the beast because it was a convenient reason of Mrs Petticoat's passing.

Accam Dey was inspecting the remains of what the little Witch believed was a dolmen, but arriving beside the large wolf, she saw a
blackness in the centre that hinted the forgotten burial site was much more. "The entrance to the Hell you people fear?" the ferocious
creature scornfully suggested from the side of his mouth set his focus back towards the trail they had come from.

Just as Peggy was about to peer down into the seemingly bottomless void between the broken chunks of monolith, Accam Dey breathed
a warning that sent chills up the bantam necromancer's spine. "It appears we are not alone".

[PLOTUS]

The baddy (the wolf) is a good one. I like how the environment develops as the story unfolds. 

Somehow it keeps reminding me of how the Predator was treated in the first movie. You heard stories about it. Saw what he was seeing now and then. Kind of like Jaws. You are nervous about it and you haven't even seen the shark yet.

Please don't take that the wrong way. I am terrible at describing stuff. I loved that aspect of those movies and I like it in your story too.

That's how I saw it developing in my head! Keep the monster off-stage for most of the story!

I am glad you are not upset about that and I agree with you on the plan.
I really like stories where it is a little more Lovecraftian. The monster is a mystery. Not something easily handled. And it doesn't really care about you. 
In one readers opinion, there are too many Mighty Mouse-esque stories out there. The protagonist easily wins every round. Just by showing up, things return to normal. There is nothing relatable in that. Life doesn't let you win every round. 
When the good-guy is challenged or knocked around, it makes for a richer story. Here, Peggy has to think quite a bit to figure out where the whole thing even starts. She doesn't fly in, cape waving in the breeze, to save the day. There are a lot of unknowns (for the reader) flapping around and it makes you really want to find out what is going on along with PP. 
Thanks for doing this.

Wow this is busy. zig and zag... still got the Wolf....

[BIAD]

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.