The North Moors

 




"So what's the news from Overhill?" Sam asked as his cousin Hal dropped onto a bench outside the Green Dragon. Sam was leaving and Hal was arriving.

Hal looked at Sam and shook his head. "I don't rightly know no more." Hal had a queer look on his face, almost like he had seen a ghost.

Hal took out his pipe; his hand shook as he lit it. "I think I saw a Tree-man tonight."

Sam straightened, a tingle prickling down his spine. Those old stories about elves and tree-men and oliphants always grabbed him hard.

"Alright," Sam said, sitting next to him. "Tell me." The cobbled lane was empty, and a few noisy patrons inside had started a song about "A pipe and same ale to keep yerself well..."

"Ya see, I was out hunting grouse, out on the North Moors beyond Old Boffin's place." Hal patted the leather sling looped around his belt. "And I got the strangest feeling, like I was being watched."

Sam shivered. He was already hooked by the story, and his imagination was afire.

"I looked around, and I noticed an elm tree right out in the middle of the moors."

"But there ain't no elm trees up there," Sam said.

"Exactly! So I crouched down and waited."

Here, the story seemed to end. Hal puffed on his pipe, his eyes partly closed. The pub patrons continued their song although a faction had started singing different words.

"Well. What happened?" Sam blurted.

Hal took a deep breath. "The elm just walked away. It was taking five, six yards at a stride. It seemed to move slowly, but with them long legs, it was out of sight in no time."

The pub song ended, and a cool breeze ruffled Sam's hair. But his skin was already prickled with wonderment.

Hal shook his head and sighed. "I'll need an ale or three tonight," he said, rising. "Goodnight, cousin." He clamped his pipe between his teeth and vanished inside.

Sam sat for a while, deep in thought. Something was not quite right in his well-ordered world.






Inspired by the Lord of the Rings saga by JRR Tolkien.
Art and story (c)2022 Mickey Kulp


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Heroes and the Jabberwock

Image
  For a long time it was assumed that the fearsome jabberwock was at last slain by a single hero. One can blame the talented - and slightly bonkers (all the best ones are) - writer Lewis Carroll. In truth, there were two heroes with vorpal blades that sealed the creature's fate. None today remember their names or stations, though some of the ancient scrolls hint that one was a ferocious knight traveling the land and helping the downtrodden - his penance for some past sin. The other was called "a pox-scarred bard whose voice was the only beauty about him." Each hero took a tooth, not the entire monstrous head, from the jabberwock's steaming mouth as a keepsake. It was said that it took a team of mules to haul the prizes home. But, since all we have is our esteemed Mr. Carrol's poem, we must pretend to change "He" to "They." Then it reads right. Jabberwocky BY LEWIS CARROLL ’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: ...
Read more

Secrets of the Old Forest

Image
  The guide turned back to Ritter and said, "We are entering the oldest part of the forest. Few come this way, and many of those who do are not seen again." It looked like a normal forest to Ritter, but he drew his sword out of caution. "Nay, good Sir," the guide said. "Your sword cannot protect you from the powers that inhabit this place." The old guide threw his cloak around his bony shoulders and moved cautiously down the trail. Ritter followed, his sword still unsheathed. They walked silently, slowly for a few minutes, and the air grew warmer, more oppressive. It was like the forest was watching them, and the gaze of the trees was pressing in on them. The guide stepped lightly to the left to avoid a small mushroom on the trail's right edge, and Ritter copied him. As he did, Ritter's sword lightly grazed the top of the mushroom. He said nothing, and continued following the old man. Moments later, the trail turned to bypass a huge tree, behi...
Read more

Queen of Wands

Image
  Ulrich sat in the Seeing Lady's wagon as she lit an oil lamp. The wagon was more like a small house, in truth. It was just big enough for two curtained rooms. The main room was her public space, it seemed, with silken hangings, a folding table, lamps, and too many pillows. When he glimpsed through a gap in the linen curtain, he could see her sleeping cot and two fluffy cats: one asleep and one staring at him without blinking. "Please to be comfortable," the Seeing Lady said, pointing to a three-legged stool topped by a white pillow with a swan embroidered in red. It was also covered in cat hair. The Seeing Lady wore an elaborate, silk and linen dress and head scarf favored by ladies in eastern Salvania. Her fingernails were painted bright red to match her lips. Her eyelids were painted green. She fell into that indeterminate age somewhere between too young and too old. It seemed like eastern ladies went to a lot of trouble painting themselves each day. They sho...
Read more