It might have been hours, it might have been days before Grimmbros' weary eyes re-opened. But when they did, he felt the warmth of soft bedding, the touch of fresh cotton on his skin, smelled the gentle odour of potpourri in a jar. A roaring log fire burned at the side of the cosy, candle-lit room. Someone had put a smooth, silken, bottle-green pyjama suit on him. This was bliss. Deep in the comfort of an enormous bed, Grimm stretched and turned to the window - it was snowing outside - that was odd!

Yet, everything felt so inviting here, so comforting, so... His attention shifted as he heard the sound of straining footfalls on creaking stairs; louder, louder, getting closer. His eyes alighted on the doorknob that was turning, the door beyond the foot of the bed was opening. Grimmbros' head whomped onto the pillow in a pretence of slumber. Heavy breathing alerted the apprehensive urgh-bane to the arrival of what could only be the hefty Norris. He sensed her massive presence move past him and risked a quick peep as she placed a tray laden with hot brewing tea and current-cakes with homemade jam beside the bed.

Through one, barely-open, squinting eye, Gimm noticed the heavy hammer dangling from the monster’s waist. He shrank back further into the mattress, his ankles feeling strangely vulnerable. She bent, picked up a log and walked to the foot of the bed. Grimmbros squeezed his eyes shut, expecting the worst. He felt the sheets being lifted carefully off his feet.

“How nice this is,” he heard her muse, “How nice, a guest at last.” Then, she swung the log, flinging it into the sparking fire with a flourish.

Grimmbros suppressed a gasp. Norris tucked the sheets in more tidily and carefully placed a small yellow flower into a small vase on the tray, gave Grimm a gentle pat on his forehead and was gone again, labour ing down the groaning staircase.

Despite the rest, Grimmbros felt drowsy; he couldn’t begin to grasp what was happening here. He knew he should rise, explore his surroundings, examine the exit routes, check the... check ? He was too weary, all that could be done later. He found himself drifting off to sleep again. As his eyes drooped and the world around him grew dark again, he noticed a bookshelf to his right. Books - books were good things.

Outside, on the far side of the river, two small figures huddled together, shivering under a bush.

"It's her isn't it?" said Razzles, "The snow I mean. It's the lady up the cloud - she’s snowing."

"I think you're right," agreed Fürgůïn, watching his breath form a dense mist cloud just in front of his pale face, "She's probably angry that we're not getting on with this wretched quest. Look, it's only snowing in our area. If you look far enough in the distance it's still sunny!"

"So, now what? Grimmbros has been taken captive by that, that - what is it - a half-oafe?"

"Yeah, half oafe, half hyppoh or something” Fürgůïn muttered bitterly.

The pair smirked a bit before Razzles added, "Half oafe, half bog-yaque!"

Fighting back laughter, the renling sighed, and said, "Suppose we'd better rescue him."

Razzles took a deep breath and pictured himself swinging into the bridge house with swashbuckling heroism, a grateful Grimmbros greeting his rescuers with undisguised admiration. Of course, that was never what was going to happen.

Suddenly though, Razzles' romantic notions of heroism were shattered by a shriek that pierced the snow-damped air all around them.

“What was that?” squealed Fürgůïn.

“It sounded like... like... Grrrimm... Grimmbros !” replied Razzles, as his brain stumbled into action at the now-familiar sensation of impending trouble. “G-R-I-M-E-B-R-O-S !”

“It did sound like him and it sounded like he’s in real trouble because that was a particularly high-pitched scream for a creature of his... er... girth!” Fürgůïn exclaimed.

“Now we definitely have to save him, I tell you... H-A-V-E T-O! She’s going to kill him or eat him or do something horrible to him with that fat, smashy hammer of hers. We need him or we’ll be stuck here and have snow here forever and we’ll never finish the quest. The cloud lady will freeze us I tell you.

F-R-E-E-Z U-S!” shrieked Razzles, beginning to dance around in a fit of worry, setting the

icicles that were forming on his beard jangling like a set of wind chimes.

Meanwhile, Grimmbros was lying safe and sound in his bed alone. He certainly was screaming and he certainly did need rescuing, but not in the way the two halflings would ever have imagined. He had drifted into a deep slumber and experienced a sudden jarring flashback that took him hurtling back to the moment of his dramatic rescue from the gushing river.

When he had regained consciousness earlier on the riverbank, Grimmbros had heard muffled voices around him and above him. His vision was blurred, dim forms shifting like black clouds somewhere ahead. Then, amongst the voices he heard that of Razzles issuing a series of frantic commands, "Try it again, try it again, his eyes are opening, I can see them. Look there. See! Once more ought to do the trick.”

“But that’s four times now.” replied another voice which sounded much like the renling Fürgůïn.

“Yes, I know, but it’s best to be safe,” said Razzles, with a disappointed tone.

Suddenly, to Grimmbros’ horror, a large, fat face, which he recognised as being that of Norris, lowered itself purposefully downward right at him, blocking out the light. It was fronted by what resembled the lips of a large, bloated catfish.

“This will help you breathe my luvvy,” puffed the looming face with a gust of hot breath that made the urgh-bane blink. The large lower lip quivered a little on approach yet Grimmbros' attention was diverted to a fat, black mole to one side topped by a very tiny mushroom formation.* The catfish lips fell heavily onto his own, but not before they were copiously moistened by the appalling sweep of a spotty, crimson tongue that made the mole-fungi look comparatively appealing. Locking on to their target, the lips formed an airtight seal. Grimmbros strained frantically, thrashing his arms and legs as a rush of foetid air threatened to choke him. Soon though, the breath of Norris once more rendered him fully unconscious.

* Oaves are known for sporting a variety of vegetation about their persons. Older, larger oaves often completely moss over and develop lush displays of ferns, toadstools and lichens. Many an oafe has not been spotted until too late by virtue of this natural camouflage. Urban oaves, however, or oaves wanting to present a more ‘civilised’ appearance usually shave, or mow as the need dictates.

See endnote #3

Grimmbros, recalling this horror, awoke drenched in cold sweat and let out a huge echoing scream.

“Well, let’s do something?” wailed Razzles, whose frantic hopping caused him to lose balance and fall backwards into the heavy snow settling below him. For a moment the agitated knohm just lay there watching the snowflakes fall from the sky and gather on his nose. The place was actually quite picturesque, the twigs on trees of the distant woods each frosted and sparkling, the air bright and crisp. Razzles’ breath formed a small misty cloud that hovered above his face.

“Hmm, don’t know about that... we need to think this out,” replied Fürgůïn cautiously, shifting from one cold foot to the other and blowing into his clasped hands.

“What’s there to think about?" Razzles whined, still lying, but now making a snow angel with his arms and legs. "We have to save him. The cloud woman told us to get her thing back and we need Grimm for that. We have to do something, I tell you. D-O S-O-M-E T-H-I-N-G!” The final G was emphasised by more vigorous arm and leg motion.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“Yes, but is it the right thing to do?” questioned Fürgůïn stuffing his shivering tibmibling into a fold of his murky black cloak.

Razzles sat up. "You’re up to something. I knew it! I knew we couldn’t trust you. You’re doing it again!

You’re hiding something. Stop it! Stop I-T I tell you I-T!" The manic rabbit twitch was back.

“What do you mean?” Fürgůïn replied calmly.

"You know what I’m talking about. Let me see your pockets!” snapped Razzles, back on his feet now and covered from head to jingly toe with snow.

Razzles snatched at the renling's cloak, but missed as his friend jumped clumsily backwards. Indeed, Fürgůïn did know exactly what Razzles was talking about. He was referring to an incident that had occurred the previous night after Grimmbros had been dragged off to the bridge by Norris.

Razzles and Fürgůïn had witnessed Grimmbros’ dramatic rescue from the clutches of watery death by the intervention of Norris. They had both scampered off after Razzles had pressed Norris to resuscitate Grimmbros “just one more time”. Grimmbros had clearly been conscious that final time, but the urges of knohms are not always rational urges and Norris had caught the mischievous knohm smirking as he had said, "Go on! Go on! Just one more! G-O O-N !!!"

She had concluded that Razzles was making a mockery somehow, snapping, "I'm not a doctor you know!" Seeing the potentially explosive look of offence gathering on her face, Razzles and Fürgůïn had legged it, scarpering in the direction of some nearby trees as Norris lugged Grimm’s limp body off to the bridge.

After that event, the halflings had decided it would be good for them to set up camp for the night. They had agreed that it may be best to find a quiet spot some safe distance from the bridge. This, they felt, would ensure that neither Ebore nor Norris would ‘hunt them down and eat them,' as Razzles had put it. They had wandered away among the trees, feeling somewhat more secure among the large oaks and beeches and had finally stumbled upon a small forest clearing ringed with yellow yobogas and silver birches about an hour’s distance from the bridge. A carpet of magenta cyclamen added to the appeal of the location and there was wood for a fire. The darkness of the dense woodland combined with the approach of evening and the halflings sensed a fresh nip in the air as they picked a spot to settle into. It was a clear night with little cloud cover and both Fürgůïn and Razzles felt the chill of the open sky. Eventually, Fürgůïn was able to get a fire going, gathering some dried-out sticks and twigs from the yoboga trees all around them and rubbing a couple of fireflies together, then they settled down for a good night's rest.

Huddling close to the flicker of the flames, the pair began to relax.

“I miss him, you know,” said Razzles, having gone all thoughtful now that things were quiet. “His happy, little green face, his chirpy, little personality – do you think he’s thinking of me wherever he is?”

“Probably,” said Fürgůïn, “Probably remembering how you used to pull him around by the ear, or that time you stuffed his pillow with your old socks and waited to see his reaction.”

“Ahh, how we laughed. Laughed and laughed we did. Laughed...”

“Well, you certainly did,” Fürgůïn shrugged, poking the sparking logs with a spare stick.

Razzles was undeterred. “Yes, I miss him... I wonder where he is now. Will we ever look upon Hob’s fair countenance again? Will our dear friend find his way back, will he, will he? Or perhaps it’s just too much for a simple nibblin in the great steam of things… It was him made the business a success you know.

I could translate anything into nibblin and back again with his help. He got us noticed...”

An introspective silence set in for a while. Razzles fingered his false eye and stared into the dancing flames with a fixed expression.

Lying close to the flicker of the flames, Fürgůïn pointed up at the sky. "That's the big dobber there."

Razzles blinked in a waft of smoke and followed the long burrowing finger of his companion upwards with his eyes and pretended to know what the renling was pointing at. "And that star over there on its own, that's Old Spawny. You can always spot it. It's the twinkly one right at the tail end of Rancy Major."*

* Rancy Major and Rancy Minor (otherwise known as the Great and the Lesser Frustratants) were a pair of stars that twinkled in a repeating pattern that gave the viewer a headache if he didn’t try to stop working out the pattern.

Fürgůïn yawned and stretched, the stars began to look a little blurry. He was starting to feel quite tired and just smiled contently when Razzles began to talk about dinner. It is a well-known fact that renlings can survive long periods of time without food when the need arises. Knohms though, have no such tolerance and Razzles was no exception. So, Razzles waited patiently for his fellow halfling to drift off to sleep beside the fire, before taking out the leaf-stuffed mouse that he had been keeping warm under his hat.

“What shall it be Razzles? Barbeque or chargrilled?” he whispered quietly to himself. He had experienced an extremely anxious event on the bridge and was eager to make amends by enjoying this tasty meal. With a flourish, he held the dead rodent up high above his head and let it drop straight down into his mouth. “Lovely! Always tastes better fresh!” he muttered in an undertone.

“Now, what can I use to clean my hands?” Having used his hands to wipe mouse-juice off his beard, he pottered around looking for a suitable leaf or a nice mossy bit of tree trunk before his eyes alighted upon Fürgůïn’s cloak. Snuggled in the glow of the fire, Fürgůïn was lying on it like a blanket. Dare he? Nothing else looked as suitable. As Razzles edged closer, flexing his grubby fingers he noticed something tucked into what was normally a concealed pocket. Leaning over so as not to disturb the renling, Razzles teased the article from Fürgůïn’s cloak and held it up in the glimmering orange glow of the firelight.

“This is a strange parchment, me thinks... Can’t rightly wipe my hands on this now, can I? But what is it?”

He glanced momentarily back towards Fürgůïn, noting that he was still fast asleep, then shuffled closer to

the fire, unconcernedly wiping his grubby fingers on his own trouser legs, he opened out the folded sheets. He angled himself before the flames letting the light fall on the marks before his widening eyes - both real and false. The illumination revealed an unusual map. "Tullgotha? Forbidden Forest? Soglands... What’s this?” Razzles’ brain was working away like an hysterical woodpecker, trying to make sense of what he held before him. "It’s a map! M-A-P!” Razzles’ eyes beamed as he realised he was holding a chart mapping out their journey. “What are these though?” the captivated knohm was referring to a series of other documents loosely attached to the map. Scribbled drawings: a sketch of a strange tower, immense pillars of rock and some sort of tangled circle of trees. There were a couple of pages of writing too, talking about a big hole...

Suddenly, from behind him, a voice: “What you got there?” Fürgůïn stood, frowning, looking over Razzles’ shoulder.

“You’ve been holding out on us. You didn’t tell us about these! You’re up to something. I knew it!” Razzles’ bells jingled frantically, glinting in the firelight like startled fireflies.

“What do you mean?” replied Fürgůïn, quickly snatching the papers back from Razzles before he could tighten his grip.

“Give them back!” screamed Razzles, “You’ve been holding out on us! I knew we couldn’t trust you. You... You... Y-O-U !” No scurrility seemed sufficient.

“You can trust me, my good knhom. I was just protecting you. Here, have them back. Take a look,” Fürgůïn protested with an air of hurt of which Razzles doubted the veracity.

“What about the rest of them?” demanded Razzles with a gasp, “What have you done with them? There were more than these two measly parchments." He knew that there had been several items originally attached to the map, but Fürgůïn only handed back the map and the sketch of the tower that he had already seen. As the bickering continued for several more minutes (including a brief, frantic pursuit three times around the fire) Fürgůïn eventually managed to persuade Razzles of his good intentions and innocence. For the rest of the night, Razzles never did see ‘those’ documents and Fürgůïn almost convinced him that they really didn’t actually exist. However, a part of him knew better, he was sure he’d seen his own name written and whenever he thought the renling wasn't looking, he would peer suspiciously into the folded shadows of Fürgůïn’s cloak.

And so it was, the following day, in the snow-blanketed woods, two diminutive figures ran round and round in circles for a second time; the bare-footed renling again dodging the angry toe-tinkling knohm.

"Let me see them! Get back here you rabbity, eary beardist!" Razzles panted. *

"What? How? Beardy what? See what?" Fürgůïn called back, genuinely mystified.

"Them! T-H-E-M!" squeaked the knohm, frantically slapping his own forehead, "You know what them I mean."

* Knohms tend to assume that any negativity directed toward them is somehow due to their beards. Although this suggests a rather over-sensitive nature it is often true.

After a few circuits in the snow, it was obvious Razzles wasn’t going to drop the matter. Fürgůïn needed a plan. So he set off, dashing through the woods, hopping across a rocky stream and made a bee-line for the arches of the bridge. Hot in pursuit, Razzles dashed after him, waving his fists and yelling unintelligible things about facial hair. The renling deftly leapt onto the wall edging the bridge above the first arch and ran along it high over the river.

The renling deftly leapt onto the wall edging the bridge above the first arch and ran along it high over the river. He contemplated employing his whistling ability to check the whereabouts of the bridge's inhabitants but faltered as he saw Razzles scrambling up onto the icy wall behind him, glowering darkly. Turning his attention once more ahead, the renling sidled up to the central structure, pressed his body against the stonework and reached for the wood frame enclosing a big window overlooking the frozen river. Razzles still advanced doggedly, his feet slipping and sliding as he went. Swinging off the wall and dangling precariously, Fürgůïn shifted sidewards hand over hand until he was directly before the window. He stretched one toe downwards, balanced on the window-frame and dropped to the sill. There he waited for Razzles to follow.