Chapter 7: An Uninvited Guest
The broom soared through the night, its bristles cutting through the damp air as it pursued the swarm of Night Flitterers. Their leathery wings beat furiously as they swooped and dove, their dark shapes almost invisible against the starless sky. Ahead, a roiling black cloud loomed, its edges flickering with faint bursts of lightning. The broom hesitated for only a moment before plunging into the storm after its quarry.
Inside, the air crackled with energy, the swarm vanishing into the depths of the cloud. The broom darted left and right, searching frantically for any trace of them when a sudden flash of light illuminated the darkness. A bolt of lightning struck the broom squarely, sending a searing jolt through its frame. It fell like a dead weight, plummeting toward the earth below.
At the last moment, it pulled up sharply, its bristles skimming the ground as it regained balance. Shaken but intact, the broom swerved back toward the camp, leaving the cloud—and the Night Flitterers—behind.
It rushed into the group’s makeshift shelter, landing with an agitated shake that sent droplets of moisture scattering. Kalo stood immediately, his face tense.
“Where is it?” he asked.
The broom swayed weakly, then slumped forward in defeat.
“You lost them?” Kalo’s voice rose, frustration etched in every word.
The broom quivered apologetically before gesturing with a sharp twist—first upward, then downward—its bristles flicking like fingers pointing toward the heavens.
“They escaped into the storm,” the Faun interpreted, stepping in to calm the tension. “The hare and the Night Flitterers are gone.”
Silence fell over the group, heavy with disappointment and dread. Kalo slumped back down, gripping the silver key around his neck tightly. The Faun plucked a reed from his coat and began to hum a soft, meandering tune, his calm demeanor grating against the tension in the air.
“What do we do now?” Kalo asked finally, his voice low.
Before anyone could answer, a strange sound stirred behind them—low and guttural, followed by a rasp of shifting stone. All heads turned toward the rubble wall at the edge of their camp. The shadows seemed to quiver as something heavy shifted behind it. Kalo gripped his broom, the Faun stood poised with a hand hovering near his coat pocket, and the others braced themselves for a fight.
Peering cautiously over the wall, they saw it. A Night Flitterer—one of the winged fiends from the earlier attack—lay groggy and battered, its dark, leathery wings splayed awkwardly. It groaned and twitched, slowly regaining consciousness.
“Now’s our chance!” hissed Kalo.
They rushed as one, throwing themselves at the creature. Though dazed, it thrashed wildly as they held it down, its claws raking against stone and dirt. Its sharp teeth snapped dangerously close to Kalo’s hand, and for a moment, it seemed as though the beast might break free.
“Hold it steady!” barked the Faun, digging into his waistcoat with deliberate precision.
With a flourish, he produced a thin silver chain, its charm glinting in the moonlight—a small token shaped like his pan flute. He stepped forward confidently, even as the creature hissed and spat at him.
“Now, now, little friend,” he said with a chuckle. “Play nice.”
In one smooth motion, he looped the chain around the creature’s ankle and tightened it. The Night Flitterer froze mid-struggle, its body stiffening unnaturally. A strange blue light pulsed along the chain, and the creature let out a shrill, strangled cry.
The Faun grinned, his eyes glinting with mischief. “This, my groggy little guest, is Faun silver. And now, you’re under my control.” He knelt closer, his voice dripping with mock sweetness. “So, let’s chat, hmm? Who is your master? Where is our friend? Speak quickly, or things will become… unpleasant.”
The Night Flitterer snarled, its sharp teeth bared in defiance. It twisted its head toward the Faun, hissing through clenched teeth. “Foooools…” it rasped, its voice like rusted metal. “The hag knows you are coming. She sent us… for a surprise. To get that… tasty hare. Maybe… you’re toooo late.”
Kalo’s face darkened, but the Faun remained unfazed. He snapped his fingers, and the chain pulsed again, this time brighter, sending a jolt of energy through the creature.
It screeched in pain. “Ahhh! Stop! STOP!”
“Where is the hag?” the Faun asked, his grin fading, his tone sharp.
The Night Flitterer writhed before finally choking out, “To the west! Over the horizon… where the heath is thick with brambles. You’ll know when you see it.”
With that, it slumped, its body heaving with exhaustion.
Satisfied, the Faun loosened the chain. The Night Flitterer’s eyes snapped open, and a wicked grin spread across its face.
“Stupid! Stupid!” it cackled, leaping into the air. “The old hag will have yoooou for supper! Hahahaha!” Its laughter echoed into the night as it disappeared into the clouds.
The group turned to the Faun, alarmed, but he waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry,” he said with a sly smile. “It’s insurance. If he lied, the broom will follow and warn us.”
Despite the Faun’s confidence, unease lingered. But at last, they had a direction, a shred of hope. They took turns keeping watch as the others drifted into fitful sleep.
Dawn would break soon, and with it, the monumental task of braving the brambles and finding the hag’s lair. Whether they were too late to save the hare… only time would tell.
Entered by: 0xe9a1…78d3
Chapter 8: Towards the Hag
Kalo whispered soft words of encouragement to the broom before it shot off again into the dark sky, weaving through the stars with purpose. This time, it played a clever game of hide-and-seek with the night flitterer, staying just far enough out of sight to avoid alarming the creature. The flitterer, maddened and skreaking to itself, bobbed and darted westward, unknowingly guiding the broom toward its destination.
The broom trailed its quarry across the varied landscapes of the heaths—over rolling hills, twisting streams, and shadowy copses—until, at last, the rise of brambles and thistles loomed ahead. Nestled within this wild and hostile expanse stood the hag’s eerie manor, shrouded in gloom. The flitterer spiraled down, its mad cackling fading as it disappeared through a cracked window.
Hovering for a moment, the broom watched carefully, ensuring no alarm was raised. Satisfied that its mission was successful, it streaked back to its companions, buzzing with pride at a job well done.
Meanwhile, Kalo, Sprig the asp, and the faun had risen early, determined to save Miri and confront the hag. They set out westward at dawn, trekking through thick scrub as the first rays of sunlight spilled over the horizon. The heather grasses glistened with dew, and wildflowers nodded in the breeze, their colors vibrant under the crimson-streaked sky. Skylarks sang high above, heralding the day with their melodies as the group followed a slim track that wound alongside a stream spilling from the distant loch.
The badger, Mr. Thornwick, was busy as ever, whittling a stick into a crude spear as they walked. His claws worked deftly, stripping bark and sharpening the point.
“Don’t you think that’s a bit... uninspired?” the faun said, glancing at the spear with a wry grin.
Sprig, coiled loosely on Kalo’s shoulder, flicked his tongue as if in agreement.
“For a proven warrior,” Kalo added, “a weapon worthy of a badger of your skill is required.”
Thornwick paused, holding the half-carved stick in his paws. He glanced at the group, his whiskers twitching. “Hmph. And what exactly do you have in mind?”
They rounded a bend in the path and came upon the dark maw of an old mine shaft, its entrance overgrown with ivy and brambles. The faun’s eyes gleamed with mischief, and with a quick wink to Kalo, they slipped into the shadows of the abandoned mine.
“Mmm? What’s this?” Thornwick muttered, craning his neck to peer after them.
Several minutes passed before the faun reemerged, their grin as wide as ever. In their hands, they held an old miner’s spade, battered and caked with dirt. Its wood was splintered, its metal blade dull and rusted from decades of neglect.
“Is this your idea of a joke?” Thornwick asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Patience, my friend,” the faun said, stepping forward. Kalo joined them, and the two huddled together over the spade. Holding their hands over the tool, they began to murmur incantations, their voices weaving together in low, rhythmic chants.
The badger’s eyebrows shot up as the spade began to hum and spark. An aura of swirling light engulfed the relic, glowing with vibrant blues, greens, and golds. The battered wood straightened, thickening into polished ironwood. The blade reshaped itself, gleaming with brass and edged with a sharpness that seemed to glint with otherworldly energy.
With a final pop, the transformation was complete. The faun held the newly reforged spade aloft, its weight perfectly balanced, its surface shimmering like a beacon in the morning light.
Thornwick stared for a moment, then broke into a toothy grin. “Yes, yes! This is exactly right! A weapon fit for a badger such as myself.”
The group burst into laughter, their shared camaraderie easing the tension of the journey ahead. But the moment of levity passed quickly, as they all knew time was urgent.
By midday, a sonic boom shattered the quiet as the broom streaked down from the clouds, spinning joyfully before hovering beside Kalo. It recounted its findings in a flurry of movement and subtle hums, describing the hag’s manor and its surroundings.
With the broom’s guidance, the party pressed on, their determination renewed. The landscape began to change as the sun dipped lower in the sky. The elevation rose steadily, and the soft heather gave way to brambles and thorny thickets. The air grew colder, heavier, as though the land itself recoiled from the presence of the hag.
As the last rays of sunlight faded, they made camp in a hollow surrounded by dense thickets, their fire hidden by careful craft.
Kalo tightened his grip on the broom. Mr. Thornwick traced the edge of his new weapon, his claws testing the sharpness of the blade. Sprig lay coiled near the fire, his tongue flickering occasionally as he rested.
The faun, sitting cross-legged just beyond the firelight, whispered a prayer to nature. Their voice was soft and reverent, blending with the rustle of the thorns and the whisper of the wind. For the first time, Kalo caught the faun’s name as they spoke it aloud in their prayer: Eryndor.
Tomorrow, they would face the hag. And none of them knew if they would all survive.
Entered by: 0xe9a1…78d3
