Author: Hob Goodfellowe

He stared at the pages. Leaf after leaf was crammed with the black lines he knew to be writing, but there were splendid illuminations too–beautifully inked and water-hued illustrations of ancient heroes and battles, enchanted forests, snowy mountains guarded by strange giants, and dragons with scales that were violently red and gold and black. As…

They did. Caewen left the room first and the boy followed. It was only on the mention of light that the boy realised that the air itself was suffused with a glow, as if the stone that made the walls were faintly aflame. He realised then also that he was not casting a shadow, and…

The boy came back to consciously slowly. It felt as if he ascended to wakefulness through layers of water, first dark, then blue, then the azure of the sky brimming with light. Without knowing where he was or how he had got there, he choked awake, sat upright, coughed and looked about in a panic….

“I am Caewen.” She indicated a hand towards the boy. “And this one has no name. We carry no arms.” There was silence. She continued. “We mean no harm and will do none. I come only seeking those things that the dead do not need. Things left behind, and unwanted.” Another of the weird laughters…

The air grew colder and the space opened up on either side of them, and above also: as they went deeper the ceiling receded until it was lost from sight. Their torchlight no longer fell on damp grey stone and streaks of mould, but instead it glistened against a white stone that was marbled with…

The torch sputtered to life as the flame was coaxed, caught, and flared. It gave off a resinous smoke that looked more brown than grey. And it stung the boy’s eyes too. When he took the torch in his hands he had to blink and squint against the smoke. The instruction was clear enough: Caewen…

By the time Dapplegrim returned, Caewen was asleep again. The boy and Fleat tried as best they could to explain what had happened. The shadow-demon was unhelpful and only said, “Tssch. What needed to be done, was done,” and was afterwards silent. It now sat curled up in the nook of Caewen’s neck, the way…

It had been a wearying day, followed by a more wearying night. Although the boy did his best to keep his eyes open in the deepening evening, it was a struggle, and a struggle he eventually lost. He slept in a curled up ball, fitfully and uncomfortable, twisted inside his clothes and lying on the…

The boy retreated a few steps. He looked around and saw Fleat: the hobbe had moved off, and was now sitting alone on a tumbled piece of overgrown stone. Flourishes of stone leaves and living woodbine erupted around his feet. He looked pensive. The boy walked over. They exchanged glances and worried little expressions. “I…