"It doesn't look so bad." Luthiriensis crouched down. "Enormous giant skulls for houses notwithstanding."

One step. That was all it took for the darkness to fall away and for them to set foot, or hoof, or claw, into bright sunlight and an immediate transformation. That step had taken them beyond the travesty of the Marsh of Unpleasant Stuff, but, with a quick glance behind, the marsh itself still remained. Only from this point on did it appear like any normal village. If they considered the skulls as a quirky local affectation.

There were trees here. Lovely, billowing trees that bore the most verdant, green leaves that Luthiriensis could ever remember seeing. And fields, filled with lush vegetables ready for harvesting, even though harvest season lay some months ahead. She suspected some kind of magic involved on that particular point. Fruit groves and orchards stretched out beyond the village and, further out, a windmill spun a lazy turn of its vanes.

Birds flew overhead. Luthiriensis hadn't realised how little she had seen of birds over the last few days. For certain, the Withering Weald had shown no sign of ornithological presence, though 'things' had flown above them. The kind of things that, if Luthiriensis felt particularly masochistic, she could have imagined, but she hadn't. She knew better than that.

While travelling with Barrawen and his woefully named 'entertainers', she had seen the odd bird but, when they had entered the Marsh of Unpleasant Stuff, nothing flew overhead. Nothing skittered in the undergrowth. Nothing slithered through the marsh waters. The marsh was as dead as the deadest thing ever and it had felt as though that wasn't quite dead enough for the marsh's liking. Here, however, everything thrived. Everything had a fresh blush to it. She couldn't imagine evil being enacted here.

"Don't let it fool you." Pinto had fallen onto her belly, her long body trailing half-in, half-out of the marsh and the beautiful enclave. "One time, Gammer Goodhiding found me eating grapes, they're lovely grapes by the way, you really should try them, and I didn't sit down for a week. And I don't really sit down as it is!"

That sounded, not so much 'evil', as disciplinary. Luthiriensis shared a look with Mott and, because they knew practically nothing about each other, it communicated nothing more to him than she was looking at him. Mott scowled back at her and Luthiriensis gave him an equally scowly look in return, which deepened his scowl into a frown and Luthiriensis stopped it there before someone strained something.

From behind a bush so full of life that each time the breeze caught the branches, it sounded as though the bush sighed at how wonderful its life was, Luthiriensis tried to see what, exactly, they faced here. With her uncanny skills at archery, so uncanny that she fooled everyone by not hitting a thing she aimed for, she could fire arrows from here and possibly hit something. Not something worth hitting, most likely, but there was a lot of stuff to hit. Mott, she did not doubt, could probably slaughter everyone in the village with his over-sized axe, with ease. And Pinto could look fierce and pretend she intended eating people. Though it did sound as though these people, especially Gammer Goodhiding, knew Pinto quite well, so putting the fear of the gods into them might prove difficult.

"I'm going to scout." Mott rose from his crouch and still remained completely hidden by the self-satisfied bush. He paused, pointing at Luthiriensis and then Pinto. He looked serious. "Do not touch my axe!"

With that, and an even more firm and threatening waggle of the finger, Mott disappeared, into a stand of bushes, nary making a rustle as he moved. Probably because he was too short and small to disturb anything in passing. Left alone with Pinto, Luthiriensis sat back on her behind and stretched out her legs and wiggling the tips of her boots. They were completely ruined. Much like her favoured suede riding trousers, and the wonderful Klngr wool jumper and, beneath that, the Burgultian cotton shirt. She didn't even want to think what her silken underclothes were like.

As an afterthought, she sniffed her armpit and gagged, turning her face away to retch. She smelled like the dwarf. The dwarf! She hadn't really thought about it until this brief moment of respite, but she hadn't performed ablutions for days. Neither morning ablutions or any other kind. She was filthy, she stank and, as she pulled strands of her beautiful, pearl-white hair before her eyes, she noticed she had split ends! And it was dry! Oh, the ignominy!

Without thinking, she jumped to her feet, intending to rush to where they had hidden her horse and Mott's pony, to retrieve her set of eight travel brushes, a compromise, as carrying the full twenty-five brushes simply wasn't practical. Before she could get too far, she found Pinto's leaf-like tipped tail wrapped around her waist, dragging her back down. Pinto pressed a single, sharp, nasty-looking claw against her mouth and hissed. It occurred to Luthiriensis that Pinto shushed her. And just in time, too.

They both cowered behind the bush, clinging to each other, which felt odd as Pinto's scales were both annoyingly sharp, but also quite smooth, and quite comfortingly warm. The dragon looked terrified as her eyes, wide as saucers, maybe even mid-morning snack plates, but not dinner plates, of course, glared out through the gaps in the leaves of the bush and Luthiriensis had to wonder what great evil, what malignant monster, what foul creature from the pits approached that could terrify the dragon so.

It was an old woman. An arthritic old woman, if her complaints and creaks coming from her knees were any indication. Which was, oddly, a little disappointing. Using a thin, gnarled walking stick, the old woman poked in, around and under the bush, causing Pinto to skitter backward, carrying Luthiriensis with her. She shook like a leaf in a storm as the old woman continued to poke and prod, grumbling under her breath, until, with a croaking 'aha', she kneeled down, with significant difficulty, picked some kind of weed from near the bush's stem and, with similar difficulty, returned to her feet, cackling. Only evil people cackled. Cackling was a deliberate act to instil terror in others. Or it was because she was old.

The old woman wandered away, wicker basket over her arm, walking stick in the other, and headed toward another, similar bush a little further along. After another performance much like the one she had made near Luthiriensis and Pinto, the old woman gathered more weeds, dropping them in the basket and continued on her way.

"That was too close!" Pinto almost collapsed to the ground, breath rushing into her lungs, and released Luthiriensis from her coiled tail. "If I could I'd tell you some horror stories about these people."

"Like what?" An involuntary shiver ran down Luthiriensis' back at the thought.

"I said 'if I could'." Pinto shuddered the entire, long length of her body until her tail flicked furtively. "They cast a spell on me that I can't say so that it terrifies people even more. Nasty. Great farmers, though."

Luthiriensis had to agree with that. With only a little look, she could see cucumbers the size of legs, marrows the size of big heads, and lettuces that looked about ready to drag themselves out of the ground and take over the world. Either that, or her imagination had run wild. But that was only the things she could see well. Off to one side, wheat fields looked fit to bursting with grain ready to scythe down and gather. To the other side, rows of tomatoes. She couldn't say what they were as big as because distance distorted her view, but they were big. Really big. These people were great farmers. It was true.

She almost leapt from her skin as Mott returned, out of breath and sweating, but his beard would catch most of that. One moment he wasn't there, the next he was. She would find it impressive if not for the fact that the dwarf now crumpled to the ground, wheezing and clutching his side. Luthiriensis could only assume someone had caught him and dealt the dwarf a mortal blow. Luthiriensis was no healer, but she allowed herself to show a great deal of concern.

"There, there." She patted his nearest boot and stepped back. "Are you alright?"

"Cramp! Cramp! Oh, Stragenarr's balls that hurts!" He flipped onto his back, blowing air through pursed lips, grimacing, pressing a hand against his side and rubbing. "Ooh! Getting there. Getting there. Gods! I hate cramp!"

It took him a few moments before the cramp started to wane. Pinto had, helpfully, slithered back to Mott's pony and returned with a water skin and the dwarf drank heartily, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He still pressed his side, but he seemed none-the-worse for wear. Then, he leaned upon his knee, catching their eyes and he appeared deadly serious in what he was about to relate to them.

"You should have stretched before exercising." Pinto nodded sagely. "That's what Daddy always says and he's never had cramp. Though I'm not quite sure dragons can get cramp. Is it a bit like a splinter? Those can be horrible!"

"I'm sure." Mott tilted his head toward Pinto, rolling his eyes. "I made a quick sweep, nothing too intense, but I learned a few things. They're witches, alright. All of them. There's not a man among them, which is probably for the best. They don't seem to need them."

He paused, looking around before picking up a stout stick. Using his boot, he cleared a patch of dirt before him and began to scratch the tip of the stick into the surface. Soon, a map appeared and, considering the ad hoc nature of his utensils, it looked quite impressive. And also far better than the map that Pinto had made which, admittedly, wasn't all that hard, but Luthiriensis hoped it didn't upset the dragon too much that a map scratched in dirt far surpassed her own skills.

"Look at the detail!" Pinto almost squealed in delight. She poked her head above the bush and ducked down again. "And so accurate! Fantastic!"

"Thanks. This is obviously only a crude representation from a quick scouting trip that I couldn't take too much time with. My apologies." Mott's idea of 'crude' had little to do with anyone else's definition. The map was incredible. It was going to be a travesty to wipe it away once they had finished. "There is a child. They are holding him in what I assume is a temple, in the centre of the village and are anointing him with various salves and oils. I assume in preparation for the sacrifice."

"That poor child!" Luthiriensis touched fingers to her mouth in sadness. "Does he look heavy? Only, I don't do well with heavy objects. I usually leave heavy things to those best suited to them. Servants and the likes."

"He's little more than a babe." Mott stared at her for a long time before returning his gaze to the incredibly detailed dirt map. "To the north of the village is a stone circle, with a sacrificial altar in the centre. That will be where they will perform the evil magical ritual upon Moon-Trots Eve, only two days hence. We must away with the child before then."

Luthiriensis hadn't even noticed how close they had come to the night in question. It wasn't one that elves cared to celebrate. The humans, however, loved to enact the yearly expelling and subsequent stench. They found it funny. That it was, perhaps, the most magical time of the year only mattered to those intent on casting the most terrible of spells. Mott was right, they did need to get the child away before then. So long as someone else carried him. She simply didn't have the upper body strength for it.

"Alright then, tell us the plan." She gave Mott her most determined expression and hoped it didn't make her look constipated. Mott gave her an equally determined look. This was it. This was what they had come all this way for. He'd probably had a plan in mind all along.