Oh, my goodness! Oh, my goodness! She’s finally done it! Our girl’s finally done it! She’s got the egg! I can’t believe—

**smack**

Ow! Was that really necessary?

**sigh** You’re right. That many exclamation points in a row is totally uncalled for by any standard. I appreciate the intervention. **rubs back of head** Though perhaps a little gentler next time? In any case…

Our girl has the EGG!

**ducks**

Seriously. Uncalled for.

Where was I? Ah, yes.

Meanwhile at the Withershins Inn…

Um. Oh, dear.

It appears our lovely Madame Sarsenet is unaware of sweet Elaine’s good fortune, as she is currently passed out drunk in her booth surrounded by the sticky remains of no less than a dozen or so Blue Hedgehogs.

Billy’s going to love this.

Oh, well. Not our problem.

As for the mysterious and sorcerous Tim… he, um, seems to have disappeared. I suppose he must be off to collect his hygienically challenged though still theoretically useful friends.

Hmm. Perhaps we had best check in on Elaine. Yes?

***

Right. Fairy forest at night. Fairy forest at night. Nothing happening. Let’s skip ahead a bit, shall we?

***time lapse forward***

Ah, here we are! After an excellent rabbit stew, which might possibly have been contributed to by Timothy’s purloined lagomorph—probably best not to ask. I mean would you really want to know if you were eating someone’s murderous, ensorcelled pet? Just imagine the potential digestive issues. Ick.

What? Oh, right. Sorry. Where was I? Ah, yes! After a superbly seasoned supper with surprisingly few side effects and a pleasant night’s sleep next to Sybil’s fire, our brave heroine is once more on the road, eager to return the rescued egg to its fire-breathing matriarch before she herself ends up on that articulate reptile’s menu. The morning sun is already high, burning the dew from the grass as our fair maiden carefully chooses her footing on the rock strewn path, clearly acutely aware of the fragility of the bundle in her arms. Though, to be fair, after all that egg has been through I hardly think a slight bump is going to harm it. In any case, our sweet Elaine hugs the beautiful golden treasure to her chest as if her body heat alone can protect it from the lingering chill in the morning air. And who can blame her? I’d not let the blasted thing out of my sight either, not after the week she’s had.

“[Ye jes genna tote tha thing ta whole way back en yer arms?]”

The voice of Thom breaks through the chittering birdsong and distant sound of rushing water, nearly causing our girl to stumble and her grip to slip on the egg in her arms. Apparently the diminutive daredevil has decided to tag along with our heroine for a bit, much to her annoyance if her muttered oath as she regains her balance and her careful grip is anything to go by. But honestly, it is rather amazing how such a small man can keep pace without even so much sound as a rabbit through a shrubbery.

Our sweet tempered Elaine—who appears to be vacillating between mild annoyance and full irritation at the near catastrophe—glances back to see Thom darting under a bush before jumping over a gopher hole that should have swallowed him whole.

“If anything else happens to this damned thing I’ll spend the rest of my lamentably short existence watching the sky for scaly death to hunt me down for hors devours,” she mutters. “You’d be hanging on for dear life too.”

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Thom ignores this profound statement and proceeds to leap from rock to rock before bounding ahead and scaling a small sapling to perch on a branch and survey the path ahead. He glances back as Elaine draws up behind him. “[Wa I wount give fer ole Sybil’s flyin’ mortar.]”

Our girl’s mouth drops open as she draws even and sees what awaits. Oh, dear. Before our brave companions the trees drop away to reveal the source of the aforementioned rushing water: a small but clearly determined river carving its way directly across their path.

“That… that… witch!” our heroine sputters. “She distinctly said this was a shortcut back to the road. Nobody mentioned crossing any rivers! How am I supposed to carry the egg through that?”

Thom is opening his tiny mouth to no doubt offer a significant amount of sarcasm when—

“Halloo! I say, fair maiden!”

Elaine’s eyes roll closed and she groans, “Oh, for the love of toadstools.”

And that dear reader is putting it mildly, for there, galloping down the middle of the rushing current on a dark steed, dented and mud spattered armor clanking like a set of tin pans, is none other than the indomitable and supremely lacking-in-the-good-sense-the-fates-gave-a-gnome’s-little-toe Sir Jeffery.

“I say, there—whoa boy!—don’t suppose you could lend a hand? Can’t seem to get this fellow—whoa!—to stop.”

And indeed the wild eyed horse is galloping straight toward the deepest, darkest pool of water in the whole river.

“[‘Les I be a troll’s kidney, tha’s no horse,]” Elaine’s diminutive companion shouts over the water’s roar. “[Tha’s a bleedin’ cailpeach!]”

Oh, my.

I fear Thom has the right of it, fair reader. Our brave, if rather stupid knight, is indeed astride a kelpie. Even now, as it plows nearer its goal, with a glimmer of strange magic the beast’s front legs sprout wide fins, its hind legs fuse together to form a long aquatic tail, and its dark equestrian head becomes sallow and thin revealing grotesque bones beneath near transparent skin. If the expression on his face is anything to go by, I do believe the impending peril of his situation has finally pierced the thickness of even Sir Jeffery’s brain.

Muttering oaths and imprecations against all clod-pated men and knighted ones in particular, our brave heroine rushes to the edge of the water, drops her precious bundle into a thick clump of grass, and begins scrounging around for anything with which to rescue the ironclad oaf. Thom bounding up beside her flings rocks, and sticks, and pretty much anything not rooted to the ground. Though how that is helping anything besides his temper, I’m honestly not sure. No, what they need now is some rope or—

“[Rope!]” Thom shouts, pouncing on a… um… convenient coil of rope that just happens to be lying buried in a patch of tall grass near Elaine and did NOT spontaneously appear out of thin air.

…

Dammit.

…

**sigh**

Moving on.

“[’Ere, lassie! Use this.]” Thom holds up one end of the totally innocent rope, which Elaine grabs… along with Thom! Before the tiny man can do more than squeak in protest, our girl flings both him and his rope in a high arc straight to the flailing knight. He smacks into Sir Jeffrey’s battered breastplate with a solid **thunk**, rights himself, then scurries around the stunned knight’s waist, cinching a tight loop as he goes. Our quick witted heroine hauls on the other end of the rope, dragging both Thom and the knight toward the edge of the river just as the water horse ducks beneath the current. Thom, now perched on the bedraggled Sir Jeffrey’s head and so furious that the water is actually evaporating off his head in small plumes of steam, jabs an irate finger toward Elaine. “[You. Threw. Me!]” Each word is enunciated with so much force that it removes any trace of accent from his speech, replacing it with righteous anger.

Elaine shrugs and drags the duo onto the bank, dropping Sir Jeffrey none too gently in a patch of mud. “You were the best man for the job. Couldn’t of done it without you.”

Her diminutive companion bounces onto a nearby rock to wring out his clothes and boots, muttering a few suspiciously dark and Scottish sounding insults under his breath while our rather the worse for wear knight staggers to his feet. Just as Sir Jeffrey opens his mouth, no doubt prepared to spout something nonsensical, a sharp whinny sounds from the river. All eyes turn to the kelpie, its vicious head bobbing above the current as it eyes its escaped victims with a baleful glare.

“[Begone ye watery abomination!]” Thom shakes a fist in the monster’s direction.

“Aye!” Sir Jeffrey shouts. “What he said!” Looking about as though for something to fling at the creature, he suddenly pounces on something in the grass. Straightening back up, he flings… oh… no… the EGG straight at the kelpie’s head!

Elaine screams. Thom swears. And the kelpie ducks, taking the egg beneath the water with it.

…

…

Well… shit. That’s… unfortunate.

Elaine certainly seems to think so. She is turning slowly toward Sir Jeffrey with a rather deadly look on her face. The sort of look that should make a gown rock troll piss himself and a herd of goblins run screaming for their mommy. You know, fair reader, we might want to just… um… step back a bit. You know, just give them some, uh, breathing room. And perhaps avoid the impending blood splatter while we’re at it. Our girl is rearing back, raising her fist and—

And a scuffle and crash sound from the shrubbery behind our trio as a crowd of extremely familiar looking thugs bursts onto the river bank.

“Ho-there, my sweet!” their tall, dark, and smarmy leader calls, striding forward. Our old lubricious friend, Robyn of Trylbi, leans in to grin at our fuming girl with a wink. “Someone is looking for you, pet.”

***

Meanwhile at the Withershins Inn…