Back at the Withershins Inn and Tavern, our fair fairy is clutching her coffee mug and… shrieking.

“NO! Get back in there and find it you useless wench!”

Really ma’am. I don’t think there’s any call for—

Madame Sarsenet slaps the mug back onto the bar, sloshing more of the vile brew across the already sticky wood. Poor Billy. That’s gonna be hell to clean and—

And the wand’s out again. Crap.

“Find me that egg you ungrateful trollop. Or I swear once I catch up with you you’ll spend the rest of your days wearing flippered feet and snacking on flies!”

Hmm. I never noticed before how menacing blue sparkles from a fairy wand can be. Have you? Especially when they’re snapping and crackling and… *gulp*… sizzling. Is that a scorch mark on—

What? Oh. Yes. I think you’re right, fair reader. We should probably… um… move along to Elaine now. Right.

Careful of the glitter. There’s a dear.

***

*Whew!* That was close. Nearly singed my best jacket.

So… Back in the forest. Let’s see. Where’s—

Ah! There she is. Our fearless heroine is back on the path, pelting through the forest… or… staggering. I guess it really is more of a stagger at this point. Huh. She must have been pelting for quite some time since we last saw her.

So.

Staggering through the forest away from the curious dwarves and their even more curious… um… trophy? Diorama? Modern art sculpture.

Really? Then what would you call it?

…

Huh. No, no. You’re quite right. “Still life” does describe it/her rather well. Good thinking.

Personally I thought it was rather tastefully done. The craftsmanship was superb and the arrangement—

What? Oh, right. Sorry.

Elaine.

Our dear girl is currently staggering to a stop. Now she’s bent over clutching her knees. Now she’s heaving deep breaths. And more deep breaths. And—

Well, really! What do you want me to say? It’s not like there’s anything else happening except…

Um…

Screaming.

Right.

Not to bother you, fair reader, but… Do you happen to hear screaming? From somewhere quite close? Yes? Oh, good. Thought it was just me.

Our sweet tongued heroine appears to have heard it too. “Oh, troll bollocks on a stick. What now?!”

What now, indeed. Our brave Elaine is currently lost deep in the woods again, having fled the last known location of the one and only thing that can save her from becoming a crispy, crunchy bit of dragon kibble, only to be faced with what sounds like a bloodcurdling murder in process.

“My chaaaaaair! My mother’s chaaaaaair!”

Or … not?

Hmm. Well. Like any well bred city dweller, Elaine has been thoroughly trained in the art of handling such situations, i.e., walking in the other direction as quickly as possible.

Unfortunately, back the way she’s come leads to the dwarves who may or may not possess the newly decoupaged dragon egg, and may or may not enjoy practicing taxidermy on wandering wenches. Remaining in the woods runs the risk of encountering the overly enthusiastic and amazingly incompetent Sir Jeffery again, which could lead to a murder in its own right. And doing nothing guarantees a future as a dragon’s personal charcoal briquette.

So. What’s a poor fairytale maiden to do?

“Ah, hell.”

And there you have it. Profanity cures all.

Elaine, apparently deciding the unknown is preferable to the known, is now creeping forward along the path, wincing at each bloodcurdling cry as she draws nearer and nearer the source of outrage. Presently the path turns and deposits her in another clearing, this one inhabited by a large and cheerful yellow cottage with white shutters, intricate wooden trim, and a row of busily humming bee hives bordering a tidy garden. Honestly, it really is quite a charming abode. The only thing marring it is the litany of screams still emanating from the open door and windows.

Screams which, thank the fates, now appear to be ratcheting down to mere wails.

“It was my mother’s chair too! *sob* It’s one thing to eat our breakfast, but to break a family heirloom? *sob* What kind of person does that?”

Another voice, deep and rumbling, responds. “Yes, yes, Vito. As you’ve said.”

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“If I ever catch that red caped little—”

“Lost, sweetheart?”

Elaine jumps and spins round to find herself staring up into the face of a bear. A rather… um… large bear. One might even say mountainous.

And it was talking.

And… wearing a pink floral apron.

Honestly, I’m not sure which of those details is more surprising. Though after the dwarf incident there’s not much that—

Right. Sorry. Moving on with the story.

Elaine takes a tentative step back. “Uh, no. Not lost. Just passing by.”

The aproned bear cocks a brow.

“I just… just heard the screams and… um… wanted to make sure everything was… alright.”

“Oh, that’s very kind of you, darlin’. Do come in.”

“Oh, no! I’m good. I’ll just be—”

A massive paw the size of a bowling ball lands on Elaine’s shoulder and spins her toward the house.

“Nonsense!” the ursine apparition declares as she propels her unwilling… um… guest forward. “It’s been a trying morning for all of us, especially poor Vito, bless his fluffy little heart. But that’s no reason not to be hospitable, now is it?”

“Really. I just—”

“It’s a dreadful long walk to the next village. So we’ll just get you a nice cup of tea first. And maybe some of my berry cobbler. “ A massive sigh huffs out over Elaine’s head, tossing her hair like a small gale. “Assuming that wretched girl left any.”

“That’s very kind but— What wretched girl?”

“Oh, don’t you worry your pretty little head about that. Here we are,” Elaine’s ursine captor… er… hostess announces as she herds our brave girl through the cottage door.

Our fair heroine finds herself in a house that is just as charming and quaint on the inside as on the out. To her left a cozy parlor full of books and well upholstered chairs is centered around a river stone fireplace. To her right a pleasant dining room with a table still set for tea curves round to meet what appears to be a kitchen at the back of the house, bisected neatly by an intricately carved flight of stairs. Honestly, it’s all exceedingly sweet and homey.

And all exceedingly messy.

It looks as though the entire domicile has been ransacked. Books are flung about the parlor. The dishes on the table are half emptied, flipped over, or, in some cases, smashed on the floor.

Oh. And there’s also another bear.

A diminutive bear sitting in the midst of a shattered chair and failing to hold back sobs.

At the sight of Elaine and her companion he springs up, brandishing a broken chair leg. “You caught her! I’m gonna—” His face sags, the makeshift club sagging with it. “That’s not her.”

“Now Vito, be polite. This is—Sorry darlin’. What did you say your name was?”

“Elaine.”

“Ah. Vito, this is Elaine. Be a dear and say hello.”

The tiny bear’s nostrils flare. “Are you friends with that blonde bitch in the red cape?”

“Vito! Language!”

Red cape. Red cape. This seems familiar. Fair reader, do you suppose this is the same red caped female last seen at the dwarves’ abode? Interesting.

Anyway.

Our fair heroine is shaking her head emphatically as the fluffy little tirade on legs advances, shaking his chair leg under her nose. “Cuz if you are, I’ve got a message for her--”

“Calm down, there’s a dear.”

At this juncture Elaine’s guide darts around her and plucks the furious little bear up by the scruff of his neck to hold him wriggling and suspended at arm’s length.

“With all that fuss, half the forest is probably worried. I’m surprised the huntsman, bless his heart, hasn’t come to check that you’re okay.”

The little bear stops squirming and kicking to stare at his big friend with incredulous fury.

“Calm down? Calm down?! Leesil, our house has been broken into and vandalized! I can’t even feel safe in my own home, and you expect me to calm down?”

“Yes, yes. And flaxen haired vixens everywhere beware your fury,” the deep rumbly voice Elaine heard earlier calls as a third bear—a bear with impeccably groomed fur, a pair of gold rimmed spectacles perched on the end of his nose, and a heavy leather bound book in hand; a bear that Elaine would have thought huge if she hadn’t already seen Leesil—appears at the top of the stairs. “I say, do pardon our friend. He missed his breakfast you see, and—”

“You’re gonna blame this on me being hungry?” Vito’s fur rises, but, unfortunately for his sense of personal indignation, it only makes him look like an oversized teddy bear. “You know what? You can just leave. I can’t deal with you right now.”

“Well, I never!” The newly arrived bear snaps his book shut.

Leesil carefully sets Vito back on the floor where he slumps to the carpet and folds his arms with a sniffle. “I need new roommates.”

“Don’t be a sour patch darlin’,” Leesil coos and pats Vito’s head, which makes him scowl harder. Leesil looks up at her friend still perched on the stairs. “You too, Randolf. You know he doesn’t mean it.”

The medium sized bear, apparently known as Randolf, huffs and crinkles his nose in disdain.

Leesil ignores this. “Why don’t you come down and make us all a second brunch?”

Elaine, meanwhile, has taken advantage of Leesil’s distraction and is carefully backing toward the door. After all, our poor girl’s already landed in the middle of one domestic dispute this morning. The last thing she needs is more drama.

“It looks like you have your hands full so I’ll just—”

Leesil reaches over Vito and catches Elaine’s shoulder again, steering her toward the table. “Don’t be silly. Let’s get you some tea. Randolf?”

Randolf finally deigns to descend. “I do have some smashing good teas.”

Honestly. What is it with people in this forest and tea?

Setting his book on the table, Randolf steps into the kitchen and returns with a fresh cup and saucer clutched in his paw, then sifts through the mess on the table to find the teapot—thankfully intact—and pours a stream of steaming amber liquid into the delicate porcelain. Which frankly is quite a feat without opposable thumbs.

“And now we’re just inviting strangers into our home.” Vito is still sitting forlornly on the floor, refusing to look up as he attempts to reassemble his chair. “Don’t bother asking me. Just ignore the little guy. He’s so small, maybe we can pretend he doesn’t exist.”

“There’s no denying your existence, good chap,” Randolph says, stirring a generous spoonful of honey into the brew.

Vito shoots a fluffy glare at Randolf.

“I really don’t want to intrude…” Elaine tries again, but Leesil presses her into a chair. Probably gently for Leesil, but our girl’s legs nearly buckle.

“Nonsense. Just because we’ve had a rough morning doesn’t excuse us from being gracious.” She shoots a look at Vito—who sticks out his tongue—and continues. “Now, sweetheart, tell us what’s brought you to our neck of the woods.”

Randolf sets the cup of woodsy-smelling tea in front of her and smiles with wide brown eyes and… way too many teeth.

“Uh… *gulp*... I’m looking for a dragon egg. Ma’am. It probably looks a bit like a giant Fabergé now.” Our brave heroine takes a sip of the tea and blinks with pleasant surprise. “Oh! That is good.”

Randolf preens.

“Fabergé dragon egg?” Leesil asks. “What an odd little hobby. Well, you’ll not find any of those here, darlin’. Sorry to say.”

“Sounds like the one that blonde bit—”

“Vito!”

“—ch had stuffed in her sack when she parkoured her way out of here. Nearly dropped it on my head.” He scrubs a fluffy paw against his eyes. “Not that anyone cares.”

Our sweet girl does a spit take, spraying Randolf’s precious tea across the table.

“Well, really!” he shouts, but Elaine is already on her feet.

“Which way did she go?”

“North.” Vito jabs a paw in the direction. “And if you find her, tell her I’ll rip her face off if I ever see her again.”

“You can’t even squish a spider,” Randolf mutters, brushing tea from his fur.

“Really, sweetheart, there’s no need—” Leesil begins.

But our girl is already halfway to the door. “I’ll tell her,” she assures the now grinning Vito.

She pauses. And darts back to down the last of the tea in her cup.

“That really is quite good.”

Then she’s out the door.

***

Meanwhile at the Withershins Inn…