Tired Of Death

"Haven't you finished yet?" Dreth asked impatiently. "We need to be moving. I'm still not confident that we're far enough away from that blasted death wizard." He scowled at the thought. 

"Just done," Frumble answered, hurriedly swallowing the last of his breakfast and standing up. 

"Me too," said Tybalt, putting down his plate and patting his stomach. "Thank you my dear, you are a wonderful cook." Emerald beamed at his compliment. 

Breakfast finished, they broke camp, Dreth urging them on all the while, and set off, traipsing along the overgrown path that wound its way through the centre of the deserted village. During the night the undead had scoured the area, finding no woodcutters, but several more smashed skeletal remains. Some of the buildings had also been caved in by the mysterious force. There was no sign of what had caused the damage. 

It didn't take long for them to leave the settlement behind, and once more Frumble found himself stumbling through the woodland, trying to keep up with the others. Perhaps it was because of his height he spotted the pixie first. He halted suddenly and Cuthbert, who was bringing up the rear, nearly fell over him. 

"Hey! Watch it short stuff!" the zombie said. 

"We are not alone," Frumble replied, looking at the small figure that was standing on a log, staring at them. 

"What?" Cuthbert swivelled his head about, trying to find out what the wizard was talking about. "Where? Who?"

"There," Frumble pointed, and then, because he'd been taught it was rude to point, added: "Hello."

The pixie, who came up to Frumble's ankle, was dressed all in green. A green hat, a green tunic and green shoes. His little face seemed to be twisted in an expression of annoyance. 

"What do you want here?"

"Sorry?" asked Frumble, leaning forward to try and hear the tiny voice. 

"What's the hold up back here?" Dreth arrived on the scene. 

"It's the little person," Cuthbert answered.

"What have you done now wizard?" Dreth glared at Frumble.

"No, not that little person, that little person," the zombie said.

Dreth squinted. "Oh. A pixie. They're quite tasty in a sandwich you know." He reached out towards the creature and then stopped when about a hundred others suddenly popped out of the undergrowth, appearing from no where.

"What's going on?" Emerald and the others joined them. "Oh, pixies! How cute!"

"Shush," Frumble said. "He's saying something." He knelt down to listen to what the first pixie was trying to say.

"Leave now! We don't want your sort wandering around our woods, destroying the environment," it said.

"We're only passing through," Frumble replied. "We won't damage anything."

"Unless we feel like it," Dreth added, perhaps feeling that he was above taking terms from a bunch of midgets.

"You damage the forest, and we'll get very upset," the pixie replied.

"Ooh!" Cuthbert replied, going all high pitched and sarcastic. "We're soooo scared. What you going to do about it? Squeak us to death?"

"We won't do anything," the little person replied, "but they will." He gestured behind him.

Frumble looked at where the pixie was pointing. At first he couldn't see anything through the trees, but then he realized he was looking at the trees, which were creaking and groaning unnaturally As he watched, the trunk of one seemed to split into two, and it stepped forward with a loud, splintering, potentially-person-crushing crash. 

"Oh, I see," Cuthbert took a step back. "Well, that's fine then. Just asking."

"You. Will. Not. Harm." The voice was wooden, slow and loud. One of the trees to their right, perhaps an oak, Frumble wasn't too good at vegetation types, pointed a large branch at them.

"No problem!" Percy answered. "We love nature! Really!"

"Then why do you have a string of dead flowers around your neck?" the pixie demanded. 

"I, er, found them like this. Shocking isn't it? I was, ah, hoping to find somewhere to re-plant them. I honour them by wearing them close to my unbeating heart."

"Mmmm."

"Look, we're just passing through, really. We mean you no harm," Emerald stepped forward, addressing the assembled forest. 

"We. May. Not. Share. That. Sentiment."

"Come on, we're harmless!" Cuthbert spread his arms wide.

"Speak for yourself," Dreth muttered.

There was a pause, broken only by the sound of wood creaking. Finally the first tree, a birch, answered.

"Very. Well. But. We. Will. Be. Watching."

"Us too," the pixie said. 

"You'd better," scowled Dreth, "or I might step on you."

With a final glare in their direction, the pixies disappeared into the woods, and the trees drew back a little, to allow them to carry on their journey, which they did with little hesitation.

Following the Seers rather hesitant direction, they kept going west, moving steadily through the day, making sure they didn't tread on any plants.

"We need to get more supplies," Frumble grumbled as he discarded the remains of his last apple. His pack was distressingly light.

"Perhaps we could just eat you," Percy said. "Kill to birds with one hand."

"Shhh," said Emerald gesturing and glancing about nervously. "Don't go around talking about killing wildlife. Remember, the trees have ears."

"And. Eyes." A nearby ash tree rumbled.

Percy cast a rueful glance at the forest and fell silent.

"How far are these witches anyway?" Tybalt asked as they continued their journey. "Shouldn't we have been there by now?"

"I'm sure we're practically there," the youth said, gulping nervously as he looked at Dreth.

"I think I can hear something," Emerald said. 

"Finally," Dreth grumbled.

"Probably a squirrel convention or something," muttered Frumble.

They walked forward more cautiously, and soon found themselves peering out into a small, overcast clearing. In the centre, squatting there like it was paying a visit to the restrooms, was a small, one storey, red stone cottage. 

The building was square, with a thatched roof sporting a chimney that was industriously pumping out white smoke. Frumble wondered what the forest thought of the pollution. There was a green door set into the wall facing them, and quaint windows on either side of that. 

Around the cottage, encircling it like a suburban defence perimeter, was a small picket fence, painted black rather than the traditional white. A single gate allowed ingress. Within the border grew a variety of strange plants, some of which looked rather too sentient for mere vegetables. Frumble thought he saw one grab at a bird that foolishly hopped too close. 

Sat around on a low porch in front of the house, busy mixing, stirring and measuring things in a variety of pots, were three female forms. They were all garbed in long black dresses and had tall pointy hats. Between them they sported enough silver jewellery to sufficiently enc.u.mber a donkey. 

"Are they the witches?" Dreth asked the seer, who shrugged in response.

"They don't look very old," Tybalt said. 

"Maybe the Overlord has stolen their experience as well?" Cuthbert suggested.

"He better bloody not have," Dreth rumbled. "Come on, may as well make a house call." He started forward, and the others trailed behind him reluctantly.

As they approached, Frumble could hear the women talking. They seemed to be having an argument centred on the middle ones nose.

"See? See how big it is?"

"Call that a wart?" the one on the right, who was slightly fatter than the other two, said. "I've seen bigger on the last prince I turned into a frog."

The middle, nose-warted one, wasn't the least put out by this criticism. "At least I remembered to cast a waterproofing spell on my gingerbread house so it didn't collapse when it rained!"

"It did? I don't remember that," the third one said. She was tall and skinny.

"You were too busy trying to sell poisoned apples," wart nose replied. "Hello? What have we here?"

The three turned as one to observe their visitors.

"Are you the sisters?" Dreth asked, stopping in front of them. "The witches who live here?"

"Us?" Fat witch shook her head vigorously. "Oh no, they're inside. We're just the apprentices."

"I'm practically a witch," nose wart said. "More so than these two excuses anyway." She gestured with her arms, an action accompanied by a clashing of bracelets.

"Oh, you are so not!" The one on the left argued. "We all started at the same time, and it will be me that gets the promotion, just you wait and see." She turned to Dreth. "I'm the only one who can get her broomstick to fly you see," she explained.

"Fascinating," Dreth said, clearly unimpressed. "So, if you are not the sisters, I assume they're inside?"

"Yes, they're in there. Knock on the door if you dare," fat trainee-witch said.

Dreth dared. He strode up to the small door and hammered on it in thunderous fashion.

A screeching, grating voice from inside rewarded his enquiry. 

"Who the bloody hell is making that racket? I'll turn you into a toad so I will! Nearly made me drop my knitting!"