Hob Goodfellowe

Three bent figures stood close together, their heads leaning into a bent-necked huddle. They had gathered together on a hillside, cold and wind-scoured. Their rather desolate place of meeting stood some distance from Sorcery Tor, though if a person chose to look west from the slope, the great peak would still be visible: albeit a…

Most of the company parted ways outside Samarkarantha’s tent, with the tor making a shadow of the sky behind them. Dapple and Caewen, along with the two Forsetti siblings, walked a winding path north for about an hour. Just as the sun was reaching noon, they found themselves standing at the north crossroads, within sight…

It was somewhere more than an hour before Caewen was dried off and dressed, though, truthfully, she had lost track of the time. Eventually, the urgent need for sleep, rest and warmth was replaced by the more low-grade pangs of hunger. A look around the main tent revealed that no Biloko were at the cook…

The way back to the tent was devoid of people, and if there were ghosts about, Caewen saw no signs of them either. Dapplegrim sniffed the air now and then, swivelling his ears as if listening attentively, but he never paused in his stride and he said nothing. As they neared Samakarantha’s tent, they discovered…

By the time she heard Dapplegrim returning, the birds had settled down into a low murmur of peeps and whistles and lulling coos. He approached slowly, his hooves hitting the soft turf as muffled thumps, turn by turn. Caewen looked up, blinked, smiled. It was the sort of deep, genuine smile that wells up like…