[Strange forest in the dead of night. Grig and Sir Bastien stumble about, apparently lost, thinking aloud to themselves while following the witch who appears more mercurial than her observed age would allow, quicker than both of them too.] Grig [aside]. Freed we are from hired scoundrels loosed from leashes more for mongrels Running through this forest dark thrashing through thorns and grimy bark I wonder if we weren't too hasty To procur the unwelcomed favours of a pasty looking hag of irksome apparel no cheerful maid of a christmas carol But a horrid beastly old crone lamia versed in spells and potions of insomnia, a cat-cursing, bat-broiling, newt-loving witch, companion to tarantula and lover to leech And was it not mere three summers past that I was in a tavern called "The Parrot's Mask" when the woeful story of a travelling dandy did warn of the appetites of an evil granny who would with sweets and cakes entice hapless austrian children like plumpish mice and cook them for supper and serve them for tea all before you could whisper one, two or three? Gods above! My suspicion I do pronounce But I must softly speak lest I announce My grudging watchfulness of our releaser and of no cannibal or hecate will I be a pleaser yet here I shall bide patiently my time and conjure a stanza or verse or a rhyme I'd sooner kiss a toad or suck on a lime then be eaten in my youthful prime. Gudo [aside]. This grisly gunk of a forest swamp an untidy troll's den, a village sewer dump doth rudely remind why I prefer the saddle to the charms of a late night skedaddle with one morose bard of a quiet sober face and a scabby old maid I'd rather not embrace whose winks discreet doth unsettle me so rearing hamsters or to an ogre's mouth go I'd readily choose above any physical favor or kisses or cuddles this crone would savour The bard perhaps would be more up to the labour and offer his talents to this needy neighbour But oh dear steed and faithful support! How it grates on me I must leave you caught among those scallywags, these ragamuffins four with whose faces i'd like to wipe a tourney floor What is a knight without his favourite horse A threadless tailor, Oh sad and poor remorse! A Jack without a hill, a toe without a nail A bird without a bee, A Jill without a pail But I'll return with you foremost in mind from the stables of Gordon that spineless swine and then again we'll ride against dragons murder green goblins and raise ale flagons Like ever before. For now we make haste To escape yon blackguards who are giving chase And win them in this midnight woodland race Into foliage we must disappear without a trace. Witch. Hurry, scurry, make like merekats Scampering swift away from wererats! My champions two of sword and lyre, Do you now so quickly tire? How shall you soon for quests embark When a jaunty little forest lark Should leave you pale and gasping stark Like a pair of beached albino porpoises. [Another part of the forest. Enter four guards.] 1st Guard. Everyone quiet and follow their voices! 2nd Guard. We'll catch 'em and give 'em some difficult choices! 3rd Guard. We'll flay 'em and whip 'em and make 'em all shiver! 4th Guard. Tickle them and pickle them and feed them chicken liver! 2nd Guard. Shutup, Nobbin.. Gudo. Mi'Lady, Mi'lord, Mi'Thing, Mi'Crone If you'd be so kind as to lower your moan Perhaps yon pursurers will lose the scent and basically, in essence, not know where we went? Witch. Clever, shambling, tin-suited knight rattling about like a din-making wight Whose barrow just got looted, What alarming advice, I could stand here rooted Sore struck by your galloping wisdom and wit, But for my hut in which we must soonest fit, for growing mould be a famed mandrake strudel, lightly touched with spice and brain of poodle - an invigorating dessert I have concocted just for you! [And thus, even while retching with disgust at the prospect of such a supper, Sir Bastien and Grig manage to escape to the witch's thicket retreat, while the four guards, hopelessly lost, attempt to find their way back to their tethered mounts, so to resume their tracking with the break of day.] copyright 1997 Gerald Tan & Nigel Poh Click on the dragon to proceed with the tale... ... the dagger to go to the previous page ... and the snoozing gnome to return to the Home Page. Currently playing "Rumores de Caleta".