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Daragon. The strength of one root is equal to the power of the druid who made it grow. And although I don’t want to brag about it, a dozen or more woodcutters using heavy axes would not be able to cut these roots off.”
    Amos turned his trident nervously toward the man. His challenger had a long and dirty gray beard. His hair was also very long and tangled with twigs, dead leaves, and hay. He was wearing a brown robe, stained and threadbare. Wooden clogs, a belt made of braided vines, and a long twisted walking stick completed his attire. A huge red mushroom was growing from his neck, and his hands were covered with the kind of moss that usually covers boulders. The blind cat was at his feet, rubbing his head against the man’s legs.
    “Stop threatening me with your weapon, young man! You scare me! Oh! You scare me so much!” the old druid said, laughing. “Let us talk a little instead. I must know if you are worthy of the trust Crivannia put in you before she died.”
    Amos was not listening to him. “Your cat stole my white stone and I want it back right now!” he yelled.
    The old man seemed surprised by Amos’s assertive tone. “Mr. Daragon is very demanding,” he snickered. “He gives me orders and threatens me with his ivory trident! It is indeed a dangerous weapon, but since it’s obvious that you don’t know how to use it properly, I don’t fear for my life.”
    The druid opened his hand and Amos saw that the white stone lay between his dirty fingers.
    “You already know my cat, I think,” the druid went on. “I’ve been observing you through his eyes for quite a while. You’re clever, my dear boy. I can feel your question coming: Why is this cat sometimes blind and sometimes not? Good question, Mr. Daragon! I’ll answer you now. When I look through his eyes, he’s not blind. It’s as simple as that. One more question? Yes! Am I the magician of darkness who looks for his pendant and reigns over the army of gorgons? No, Mr. Daragon, I told you, I am a druid. A druid who’s a little bit dirty, I reckon; a druid who does not always smell good, I agree; but I’m not nasty and I don’t work for the forces of darkness. Neither do I work for the forces of light. You’ll understand later on. Ah, really! You’ve another question! What am I doing here, at this hour and on this very day in the center of a city where people are now statues and with your white stone in my hand? I’ll come to that. In the meantime, be patient! It’s your turnto answer my questions. I want to know if you’re intelligent enough to become a mask wearer.”
    “Free Beorf first,” Amos demanded. “Then I’ll answer your questions.”
    The druid smiled. His teeth were yellow, rotten, and wobbly. With a twitch of his nose, the old man called off the curse in order to gain Amos’s trust. The roots that had ensnared the humanimal fell softly to the ground and dried up instantly.
    “Think fast, young friend,” said the old man. “What goes over a house once and not twice?”
    “Simple! An egg,” Amos answered without hesitating. “Thrown by someone, it could easily fly over a house, but I doubt that it could jump anywhere but in a frying pan after landing.”
    The old man seemed surprised by Amos’s confident answer.
    “I always start with an easy one to warm up a bit,” he went on. “The next one is more difficult. What animal can go over a house but cannot cross a puddle of water?”
    “You think that’s more difficult?” Amos burst out laughing. “It’s much easier than the other. An ant, of course.”
    The druid was becoming agitated. He had never met someone endowed with such a quick mind.
    “Good luck with this one!” he said. “What goes around wood without ever entering it?”
    “The bark,” Amos answered, sighing with exasperation. “Too easy, much too easy!”
    “The next is my best one! Listen carefully!” the druid went on, sure of the difficulty of his next riddle. “What gives shade in