walking through the imaginary
world, while the victim's very feet tread the earth of reality."
Gossamyr stepped right up to the man to meet his mocking stare.
The embroidered trim of his cape brushed her knees. Must and earth
surrounded his air. No longer did anything about him appeal, not even
his fine white teeth. "You. Are rude."
"And you are most snappish. And much too close. Have you no
sense of propriety? Back off, warrior woman."
She hooked her hands at her hips and fixed him with the mongoose
eye.
"Not at all the same," Ulrich muttered as he stepped
away and drew a glance down her form. A sorry shake of his head shook
his loose curls. "In twenty years women have truly lost all
their graces. Pity."
"What do you mumble about now?"
"Nothing that concerns you, Faery Not."
That moniker, most cruel, set Gossamyr to a stomp.
"Very well." Ulrich slapped his arms across his chest
and faced her again with that preening expression. "I promise to
stand back and allow you all the glory next time we are set upon by
supernatural beasties."
"It was a bogie."
"If you say so."
"I do."
Next time? Hmm... Very possible, considering they walked the edge
of the Netherdred, and would soon have to cross through it to reach
the mortal city of Paris.
A scan of the horizon sighted a line of lindens and a wispy ghost
of smoke, likely a fire roasting a family's evening meal. The distant
yowl from a night creature gave her wonder to the rampant wolves her
mother had documented in the bestiary. Not so vicious as a Netherdog,
frequently found wandering the sandy borders of the marsh roots, but
certainly ferocious. She'd had no time to gather expectations of her
journey, but already it proved more perilous than she might have
imagined.
Adventure? Yes, please. She could stand down any threat that
challenged.
I hope, a small voice deep inside whispered.
"I wonder what it was doing here?" she said with a
glance to the block of bogie lying in a growing puddle of brown ooze.
"Is it common for bogies to charge from out of nowhere? Such
creatures generally keep to cinder caves and the night. For all the
rage it possessed, one would think we'd done it a grievance."
"Do you wish me to answer according to my world?"
Ulrich tugged at the saddlebag, secured to Fancy's flank. "As
opposed to your skull world?"
With a glance to the battleground, peppered with brown bogie
blood, Ulrich let out a heavy exhalation. He squeezed an eye shut at
the blast of setting sun that beamed him in the face. "Never, in
my extremely pitiful life, have I seen one of those things. Said life
being much too short of late. Or be it too long?" A tilt of his
head revealed the modena on his cheek. "But I trust you have
encountered such? You knew exactly how to take the thing out."
"Training."
"Oh? Did I miss something in my schooling? Attack and conquer
abecedarian?"
She delivered him a sneer to match—nay, defy—his
mockery. "Just answer me this: are we close to a village? I
tire, and have worked up a hunger."
"One would never guess from the brilliant sparkle you put
out."
His constant reminder she glimmered troubled. A touch to her
throat discovered the highest agraffe was open. The carved bone clasp
had broken, most likely during the fight.
"A village? Indeed, Aparjon lies just ahead. But tell me, why
do you not simply fly there? Ah!" He made show of bending and
peering around to study her shoulders. Gossamyr twisted her back away
from his view. "No wings!"
"We have already discussed this."
"Indeed. Not a faery." Now his jesting tone returned and
that brilliant smile flashed like a beam of sunlight. "But
plenty faeries do not have wings."
"How know you such?"
"Every child learns the facts before they are out of infant
skirts." He made a merry skip and danced around Gossamyr.
"Faeries come in all manner of shape, size and wing. Some walk
amongst the mortals undiscovered, some flitter up to a man's ear to
stand inside it. But one thing they all have in common is
world, while the victim's very feet tread the earth of reality."
Gossamyr stepped right up to the man to meet his mocking stare.
The embroidered trim of his cape brushed her knees. Must and earth
surrounded his air. No longer did anything about him appeal, not even
his fine white teeth. "You. Are rude."
"And you are most snappish. And much too close. Have you no
sense of propriety? Back off, warrior woman."
She hooked her hands at her hips and fixed him with the mongoose
eye.
"Not at all the same," Ulrich muttered as he stepped
away and drew a glance down her form. A sorry shake of his head shook
his loose curls. "In twenty years women have truly lost all
their graces. Pity."
"What do you mumble about now?"
"Nothing that concerns you, Faery Not."
That moniker, most cruel, set Gossamyr to a stomp.
"Very well." Ulrich slapped his arms across his chest
and faced her again with that preening expression. "I promise to
stand back and allow you all the glory next time we are set upon by
supernatural beasties."
"It was a bogie."
"If you say so."
"I do."
Next time? Hmm... Very possible, considering they walked the edge
of the Netherdred, and would soon have to cross through it to reach
the mortal city of Paris.
A scan of the horizon sighted a line of lindens and a wispy ghost
of smoke, likely a fire roasting a family's evening meal. The distant
yowl from a night creature gave her wonder to the rampant wolves her
mother had documented in the bestiary. Not so vicious as a Netherdog,
frequently found wandering the sandy borders of the marsh roots, but
certainly ferocious. She'd had no time to gather expectations of her
journey, but already it proved more perilous than she might have
imagined.
Adventure? Yes, please. She could stand down any threat that
challenged.
I hope, a small voice deep inside whispered.
"I wonder what it was doing here?" she said with a
glance to the block of bogie lying in a growing puddle of brown ooze.
"Is it common for bogies to charge from out of nowhere? Such
creatures generally keep to cinder caves and the night. For all the
rage it possessed, one would think we'd done it a grievance."
"Do you wish me to answer according to my world?"
Ulrich tugged at the saddlebag, secured to Fancy's flank. "As
opposed to your skull world?"
With a glance to the battleground, peppered with brown bogie
blood, Ulrich let out a heavy exhalation. He squeezed an eye shut at
the blast of setting sun that beamed him in the face. "Never, in
my extremely pitiful life, have I seen one of those things. Said life
being much too short of late. Or be it too long?" A tilt of his
head revealed the modena on his cheek. "But I trust you have
encountered such? You knew exactly how to take the thing out."
"Training."
"Oh? Did I miss something in my schooling? Attack and conquer
abecedarian?"
She delivered him a sneer to match—nay, defy—his
mockery. "Just answer me this: are we close to a village? I
tire, and have worked up a hunger."
"One would never guess from the brilliant sparkle you put
out."
His constant reminder she glimmered troubled. A touch to her
throat discovered the highest agraffe was open. The carved bone clasp
had broken, most likely during the fight.
"A village? Indeed, Aparjon lies just ahead. But tell me, why
do you not simply fly there? Ah!" He made show of bending and
peering around to study her shoulders. Gossamyr twisted her back away
from his view. "No wings!"
"We have already discussed this."
"Indeed. Not a faery." Now his jesting tone returned and
that brilliant smile flashed like a beam of sunlight. "But
plenty faeries do not have wings."
"How know you such?"
"Every child learns the facts before they are out of infant
skirts." He made a merry skip and danced around Gossamyr.
"Faeries come in all manner of shape, size and wing. Some walk
amongst the mortals undiscovered, some flitter up to a man's ear to
stand inside it. But one thing they all have in common is
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