Author: Hob Goodfellowe

“Looking for you,” hissed the boy. He’d meant it to be a whisper, but it had come out as an angry shrillness instead. He forced his voice quieter. “And the others,” he added with a touch more caution, and a touch less indigence. Fear was underlying his sudden anger, he realised. It had been frightening…

He was suddenly and awfully and painfully awake. It seemed as if the noises of the air and the glimmer of the moonlight on blades of grass and the small flecks of glowing embers were all powerfully strong in his eyes and ears and mind. He could even smell sharply. Everything smelled: the wet night-earth,…

He found himself on a grey and wind-chased plain. The grass moved like waves of water, churned by endless winds. In patches, high above, the sky was the most translucent of twilight blues. But there were clouds too. Across one side of the sky, the clouds were patchy, white and pale grey: they let through…

The dream was strange. In it, he dreamed that he was standing beside a dead tree, overlooking a village in the valley below. It wasn’t anything like the lands he knew: the houses were strangely shaped and the earth was sere, pebbly and harsh, encircled everywhere by hard, cold hills. He dreamed that he could…

As Dapplegrim stumbled sideways, the boy grabbed onto his mane with white-knuckled fists. A huge branch crashed down out of the canopy, and then a tree fell, and then another massive branch. The way ahead was cut off. The ambushers did not intend to let them get away. More of the black bolts flew and…

Dapplegrim was waiting for them, much as they had left him. He looked irritated as he stamped a hoof, snorted and said, “Well you took you time. I was worried.” “Whyever would you be?” said Caewen. Although she made a teasing pretence of her own annoyance, there was an unsuppressed note humour in her voice,…

“I have decided,” said the great elder owl, “after much deliberation, much consideration, much conversation, much rumination–“ “Oh, get it out of you!” snapped the granddaughter. “The sky will freeze, and the oceans will boil, and the rock of the mountains will turn to dust before you’re done.” “Well. Yes. Of course. Haste and nonsense….

One of the other Hobs spoke up. He was a rough-looking sort, dressed in hunting clothes. “Help? How? I do not know what we can do that would not bring unwanted eyes.” “We have little ones to think of,” said another, older woman. She shook her head and muttered. A general murmur of discontent went…

After a span of silence, she asked, “Is it true that the Sorthe nobility ride flying beasts? I was told that at the Wizard’s Moot. But no Sorthemen attended, so I don’t know the truth of it.” “That is true, more or less. They have tamed great flying beasts for their knights: something akin to…