Mibbet stepped up to the wagon to find herself in the middle of what was practically a convention of cats, combined with a veritable wall of witches. All told poor Trundles the wagon was packed fit to burst.

So Mibbet did what anybody would do in that circumstance, she weaponised her Princessness. (Of course this anybody only applies to individuals who just so happen to be Princesses, if you are not a royal you will probably be ignored.)

“So what exactly is going on here?” She asked, somehow managing to camouflage what should be a passive aggressive tone behind innocent curiosity. Rosalind had been teaching her well, Elvira meanwhile remembered that tone, and knowing the potential for claws it came with wisely decided to hang back.)

“Training,” Hestia replied, successfully explaining everything in a way that explained absolutely nothing.

“Training for what exactly please?” Mibbet tried, desperately grasping at straws in the hope somebody would help.

Unfortunately for Mibbet she should have pleaded more precisely for a source for those particular answers. As it seemed Song was ready, willing and able to fill the silence.

“The Le Wans Air Race, we do it every year you know? Great fun, and the only way to get enough magic stones to keep modding brooms. Since the mages are big stinkfaces who hog all the good magic stones. They don’t even use them that much, but they buy them up. The prize money would let us keep buying what we need. It isn’t like it’s our fault people assume witches are evil and knock up the price. I mean do I look evil to you, it’s soo meeeean.” She sobbed.

“So let me get this straight, you are fighting in a resource war in order to do something and the mages from the maze keep upping the price on the resources?”

“That’s right,” Hestia replied.

“So what exactly is it you do? I understand that you modify flying brooms, but I would be interested in learning more.”

You could practically hear that moment when the big old switch in Hestia’s brain flipped. Plus even if you could not the sudden light in her eyes, and reappearance of a maniacal grin would definitely have given you something of a hint as she suddenly dashed over. (It was hard not to notice when Hestia approached, a dainty little flower she was not. With the sleeves off her jacket, and a vest cut dress underneath the word buff sprang to mind, then leapt up and down for attention, which it could definitely get. Inside their head Rosalind gulped.)

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“You actually want to learn? Well you’ve definitely come to the right place. Those Pegasi of yours are hella sweet, but you can’t use a magic stone on them. (Mibbet was fairly sure you could but even as stoic as they were that would just be cruel so she quickly refrained from commenting.) “Well let’s start from the ground up, after all you want a real boom stick not some silly little besom. We may need to fit stabilisation at first but you’ll get the hang of it in no time, you’ve definitely got the power. But for now we’ll start with the basics of being a bristlehead.”

The next few hours of Mibbet’s life were an equal mix of fun, and terrifying. Rosalind drooling in her head did not help matters. How did humans ever get anything done if they were like this all the time? But for now at least she was learning a lot, and given that it would allow her to fly up really high and drop things on owls Mibbet was more than happy to learn everything she possibly could about flight magic, while the others fussed around making repairs to the existing broom.

First off she was dragged off into the woods to gather a stick to start her off, it took quite a long time, but at this point it was virtually impossible to turn back given that Hestia could literally drag her. Eventually after she fell into her third holly bush, and second patch of poison oak Mibbet found a really good straight bit of a hazel tree that would do the job perfectly.

Then the chase was on once again, as they dredged the woods for suitable bristles. There were always rushes if she was in a.... hurry. But Hestia insisted she could do better, and Mibbet couldn’t help but find herself agreeing. The entire woods were painstakingly scoured, inch by inch. Before eventually Mibbet emerged triumphant clutching in her hands a large number of whippy willow withes that Hestia insisted were perfect for the role, and who was Mibbet to argue with an expert? From what Mibbet had learned during their talk so far Hestia was pretty much the main broomstick craftswoman for the team, and had even produced in her dad’s old forge many metal modifications. These existed to 1. look cool, 2. help with stability, and 3. because all those fancy metal bits looked, how did she put it again? Oh yeah sweet as hell. Mibbet had to doubt that the metal carried much flavour, meaning that sweet must be one of those daft human words that held multiple meanings. Could they not just pick a single use for a term? It was really really confusing. Though Mibbet found that she didn’t mind so much if it was for her new friend.

Soon enough they were on the road again, heading towards the town of Shadevaille. As it was impossible to finish the broom in the middle of the woods apparently unless they wanted it to look like hell. (Well that and because the carriage was getting rather crowded, and unleashing a veritable army of cats in the middle of a woodland is a recipe for mass extinction events for local wildlife. so getting them to a place with cat chow was a pretty big priority. Especially with a former prey animal in the group who had encountered cats en-masse before and escaped by the skin of her butt. Since predators don’t usually aim for the teeth and all.)