Working Magic Friday (20 Sep 2001) Alice goes out to try her hand at working magic.

Alice Westfield wakes, snug in her own bed beneath a canopy trimmed in pale blue lace. Morning sunlight streams through the tidy room, closet door closed, chair pushed in against a clean desk. An empty hamper stands beside the door, while the white chest of drawers, with its decoupaged flowers, has a dust-free top with only knick-knacks carefully arranged on it. As the little girl stretches sleepily, she realizes almost immediately, however, that something is missing.

The little girls sits up with a yawn, covering her mouth with one hand while instinctively hugging for her black and red unicorn with the other. The morning light, warm and bright, mixes with sleepy eyes and she squints to peer around her room and try and think what she might have missed.

Her hand reaches for her stuffed unicorn, only to close on air, and she instantly knows what's wrong. She leans first to one side of the bed, then the other, (sometimes he falls off at night) but there's no sign of Lord Mel.

Alice's eyes widen after she searches and can't find her beloved comfort, Lord Mel. She peeks under the bed, under the covers, over the covers and under and around all her pillows. It leaves something of a mess, but she doesn't notice as she quickly climbs out of bed to look around her room.

Her hurried search turns up no signs of the missing plush doll, except for a couple of loose red hairs on her coverlet, left behind by his tufty mane.

Having no stuffed animal to hug, Alice just hugs herself in a room that feels increasingly lonely to the young girl. "Lord Mel?" she calls out quietly. "Where did you go? I like hide and seek, but I didn't know we were playing ... " Her eyes settle on the hairs as she talks, and she wanders over to look at them and see if maybe they trail off somewhere.

Alice reaches over and picks up one of the hairs, staring at it as she calls out louder for another kind of comfort, "Mom! Dad!".

"Downstairs, Angel," her father's voice calls back, probably from the kitchen. "Are you all right?"

"I can't find Lord Mel!" answers Alice. She wanders over to the door so she can call out better, opening it just a little. "Did Gabriel take Lord Mel?"

Mr. Westfield says, "Lord Mel?" at the same time that Gabriel's holler answers, "What would I want with him, squirt?"

"Lord Mel!" replies Alice matter-of-factly, or "Angel" as she is often called. "I don't know!" She closes the door, stepping away and to her dresser so she can change and head downstairs.

Mrs. Westfield must be due to run the wash soon; there's not much left in the way of clothes in her dresser, especially not the clothes she likes best. There's a clean denim jumper and a scratchy plaid skirt, and a couple of knit shirts in green and pink.

As she picks out clothes, through the door Alice can barely hear her father say something else, maybe Lord Mel's name again.

Alice wrinkles her nose at the skirt, having always found it very itchy and uncomfortable. She avoids that for now, and picks up a pink knit shirt and her jumper and hurries to get dressed. "Are you sure you're not hiding, Lord Mel?" she asks as she busily changes.

The room remains curiously silent on the question of whether or not it is hiding her stuffed unicorn. In any event, nothing stops her from getting dressed and leaving.

The summer day outside is pleasant, and the kitchen windows stand open to take advantage of the gentle breeze. It stirs the lace curtains, and Mr. Westfield's newspaper as he sits at the kitchen table, reading and sipping his coffee. Gabriel sits opposite him, wolfing down a plate of pancakes and sausages. "Hey squirt," he says on seeing her, swallowing his mouthful before talking. "You're late getting up, but I left you some pancakes. Whad'ja do with your unicorn?"

Alice stops near the table and stands on her toes to give her father a hug good-morning. "I can't find him. I looked everywhere, all over my room, but I can't find him. I think I'm going to go look for him soon," she answers her brother.

Mr. Westfield puts his paper down to hug his daughter back, giving her a kiss on the forehead. "Sorry, Angel, I haven't seen your toy."

"Have some pancakes and I'll help you," Gabriel offers, considerately, gesturing with his fork to an open chair. "Where did you see him last?"

The little girl kisses her daddy back on the cheek, then lowers herself back to her feet. She wanders over to an empty chair to put her things down there before going to get some pancakes, saying as she goes along, "I went to sleep and he was there. But he wasn't when I woke up. Not under the bed, not under the pillows or not anywhere."

"Or anywhere," Mr. Westfield corrects absently, running one hand through his short sandy-blonde hair. He drums the fingers of one hand absently against the table, frowning in thought.

"I'm sure he'll turn up," her older brother says in confident tones. "How far could he've gotten? His legs are even shorter than yours," he teases.

"Or anywhere," Alice echoes obediently. She returns from the kitchen with a few small pancakes and some strawberry jam spread across them, and puts her place down before climbing in to a seat and sticking her tongue out at her brother. "He's a magic unicorn. He could be anywhere. The shadows might have taken him, or maybe he went to Fairyland," she answers.

"Ohhhhh," Gabriel says. "Maybe some wicked sorceress stole him and enchanted him!" he offers.

Alice nods a few times. "Yah!" She seems to consider the notion for a moment, picking and cutting at a pancake with her brow wrinkled a little. "But ... I don't know any wicked sorceresses. I just know good ones. I don't think it would be a sorcer- ... "

The father slaps the table lightly with his fingers, then holds up one finger to his children as he stands, then heads off through the door leading to the adjacent laundry room.

Alice stops her sentence short when she hears the slap, turning to watch her father walk off.

"Maybe one of the sorceresses you think is good is really evil," the teen continues, grinning at his sister. "I've never been entirely sure about that Rebecca...."

Alice gives Gabriel a big raspberry for the suggestion. "Rebecca isn't evil! She's a good sorceress, the fairy told me so," she protests. "But maybe it was shadows. Shadows like to take things. And shadows are kitties ... so maybe the kitties ... "

"... caught Lord Mel and turned him to stone!" Gabriel says, standing and reaching over the table to make a playful grab for his sister.

His little sister tries to squirm away, giggling a little despite her brother's suggestion. "You're awful!"

"Or," Mr. Westfield begins, strolling back into the kitchen as Gabriel starts to tickle his sister, encouraging the giggling, "Maybe your mother thought he needed a bath and put him in the wash this morning with your clothes." He holds a conspicuously clean black unicorn with red mane out to Alice.

"Ya-" tries to cheer Alice, but she can't quite manage a whole "yay" with her brother's tickling. She curls up in to a ball of giggles and tries to reach for her beloved stuffed animal, only to have to draw her arm back to fend off wicked tickling brother fingers.

With a chuckle, the teen relents and lets his sister escape into the arms of her protector -- or the other way around, as the case may be. "Aiee!" Gabriel says, cowering back into his chair. "Lord Mel returns, and is sure to punish me for harassing his princess!"

Alice clutches her unicorn, holding him tightly to her and looking over his head. "You better be careful. Big horses have magic, so big unicorns must have real big magic." She sticks her tongue out at her brother one last time, then hugs her Lord Mel all the more.

The boy rolls his eyes dramatically, a look of mock fright on his face as he puts up one hand to fend off the unicorn, then collapses in his chair, feigning death. Their father folds his arms over his chest, watching his children with an indulgent smile and a shake of his head. "Can't say I understand what you see in that doll, Angel, but I'm glad you've got him back. Where your mother found such a funny-looking stuffed animal I'll never know." He musses the little girl's hair, then walks past to sit with his coffee and paper again.

Alice giggles all the more at the mussing, then gives her father a bright big smile. "Thank you, Daddy for finding Lord Mel for me," she tells him, sounding more cheerful for having her doll back. "Where is Mom today? I was going to go look for Lord Mel, but maybe I'll go say 'hi' to Mom and ask her where she got Lord Mel instead. Then I'll go see my friends maybe."

"Mom's out with Davey at the park," Gabriel answers, while his father glances at his watch and shakes his head.

"I'd better be off to work," Mr. Westfield says, patting his son on the shoulder, and gives Alice a hug. "See you tonight, kids. Give my love to your brother and mother for me."

Alice hugs her father back with one hand, the other keeping Lord Mel from falling. She gives her daddy another kiss on the cheek when he gets close enough. "I will, Daddy," the little blonde promises.

"Sure, Dad. Have a good day at work," Gabriel says, waving as Mr. Westfield gives Alice another kiss on the forehead, then heads out the kitchen door.

After a little wave to her departing father, Alice returns to eating her pancakes. "Gabriel? Have you met any new people? New students, with names like Winter and Autumn and things like that?" asks the little Westfield. She spreads some more jam with her knife, and then begins cutting up the next pancake.

"Uhhhh..." Gabriel screws up his face in thought. "Maybe. The Winters have a couple of kids staying with them for the summer that I don't remember seeing before. Their niece and nephew.... I think the kids' last name is 'Winters', too."

"Have you ever met them?" inquires the little girl between bites. "Are they nice?"

"They're nice," Gabriel says, with the reflex of one trained since early childhood to call everyone "nice". "I don't really know them, though. Met the boy once at Harcourt Manor -- don't know what he was doing there, he was pretty quiet. Wears really thick glasses and there's something wrong with his legs. The girl...." He scratches under his chin. "I've seen her around. She's pretty friendly."

Alice nods a little. "What's she like? I've never met any of the Winters before."

"Talkative. And imaginative. She makes up stuff, like you do, squirt. But she's not afraid of dirt, like you are." He pokes at her with a syrupy finger in a mock-threat to demonstrate his point. "Least from what I saw. I haven't really talked to her, just saw her hanging around a few times."

"I'm not afraid of dirt. It's just messy!" The little girl leans away from her brother's syrupy fingers. "Do you know where she likes to hang out? I think I'd like to meet her maybe. She sounds like fun."

"Not really." He draws back his fingers and licks them off, then glances at his sister's serious expression, and concentrates, trying to remember. "I think I saw her once or twice at Harcourt's, while I was there helping Toby fix stuff up ... and at Foxworthy's, once, maybe? I dunno, she's your age. Where do you hang out?

"Everywhere!" answers Alice. "Caves and fields and spooky houses and soda shops and mystical islands with magic shields. I haven't gone to Fairyland though, but I want to." Unlike her brother, Alice uses a napkin to clean her fingers off, and she dabs her napkin in her water just like her mom taught her to do whenever she'd fuss over her and wipe her face at a restaurant. "Maybe I should go look at Foxworthy's and Harcourt? Or maybe I could go to their house. Do you know where she lives?"

As they talk, the door opens, admitting a small, rather muddy child. His round face beams with a smile as his eyes settle on Alice. "Ell!" he says, pointing in her general vicinity. A somewhat tired-looking woman walks in behind him, though she offers a smile to the two at the table.

"Hi, Mom," Gabriel says. "They live with the Winters, at the corner of Frost and Baum," he tells his sister.

"Hi, Mom! Hi, Davey!" Alice gives a wave to them both, as well as a smile, before looking back to her brother. "Frost? Well, I guess that's where Winter would live. On a Frost street. I don't know what a Baum is, but I bet it's cold." She puts her fork and knife on her plate and looks ready to leave the table.

"He's an author, Alice," her mother says, beckoning to the toddler. "Let's get you cleaned up, now."

Davey runs up to his sister instead, however, arms and muddy hands reaching for her stuffed unicorn. "Ellll!"

"Is he a cold author? Does he have a beard made of snow, and a pen made of ic- ... " Alice looks down as her very muddy little brother approaches, and shakes her head at him. "... No, Davey, you're too muddy to hold Lord Mel. Go with Mommy and get all cleaned up, okay?" She looks up. "I'm going to go say 'hi' to the Winters, okay, Mom?"

"Ok, sweetie," her mother answers, looking preoccupied with David as she takes a damp washcloth over to the boy, kneeling next to him and cleaning off his hands. The toddler seems on the verge of an outburst over the withheld toy.

Alice climbs down from her chair and takes her plate with her, carrying it off towards the kitchen. You have Mom, she thinks as she watches her little brother try for her stuffed animal. You can't have Lord Mel, too! She puts down her plate, and hurries to get her things and go.

The toddler starts to wail, but their mother hushes him with a sharp, "Davey!" and a glance. Alice knows that look well, and David quiets to a sniffle almost immediately. Mrs. Westfield finishes wiping off his face and hands, and stands to give her daughter a hug. "Have fun, sweetie."

Returning the hug and giving her mother a kiss on the cheek, Alice steps back and waves a little. "I don't know if she's home, so if I can't find who I'm looking for I'm going to go walk around and maybe say 'hi' to my friends. Bye!" And with that Alice turns and heads out in to the light of a sunny day.

Fields South of Town
An open, fallow field on the farm of Mr. Jones, a kindly middle-aged man that likes kids and never minds them playing on his lands. This patch of ground has a slight slope that gives it a nice view of the houses around Rowling Street, and otherwise nothing around but scrubby grasses and weeds.

After a bit of wandering around Alice finds what she's looking for, a old weather-worn rock with a surface flat enough to serve as a makeshift table. She places her purse down next to it, then starts digging through it to get all her magical instruments out: her brass star-tipped princess wand, her spell book, and the crystal container she keeps a strand of Lord Mel's hair in. The book is opened and the girl hunches down to flip pages and look for a good spell to practice with.

One of the things that makes Rebecca's spell book difficult to learn from, is that she didn't always write the spells down entirely in English. The early ones are all in English, but the later ones she started sprinkling in runic words. Originally, her "runes" were just funny shapes that corresponded to the regular alphabet. Rebecca and Alice used to use it as a "code" to trade notes in, so Alice has little trouble deciphering those. But towards the back Rebecca changed the style of runes employed, and Alice isn't familiar with the new ones, making those spells considerably more cryptic.

Beyond that, there doesn't seem a lot of order to the spells in the book, although there's a distinct pattern to the things required to cast them. For example, there's a spell called "Wings of Light" that needs, among other things, two dove feathers and a pair of torches. Rebecca once explained the principles of the magic to her, but Alice doesn't remember the words she used to describe it.

Alice tries to puzzle out one of the more complicated runes, staring at it until her head hurts. "I should ask Elinor later. Maybe she would know," she considers out loud. She blinks, then reaches down and puts Lord Mel on the rock table too so she can discuss it with him. "Maybe something less ... runed. And with something we can find here." She flips pages and tries to find something she can read, and doesn't require components that aren't at hand.

Most of the spells seem to require things she doesn't have on hand. Feathers and patches of animal fur, black candles and silver chains, knives of steel and golden bowls ... she's not really sure Rebecca would have all these things. She still has the rest of the birthday candles she used for the spell to break the wards, but there aren't any wards here to break, and she can't find the spell in the book anyway. Finally, she comes on one that doesn't have any weird components -- "Dreams of Things to Come."

"Dreams? Well ... that doesn't sound too bad," Alice offers to her doll. The doll in turn watches on quietly, ever the good listener. "Let's try that. Now, let me see ... " She reaches over and runs her finger along the words, and begins trying to decipher Rebecca's writing so as to puzzle out what to do.

The spell is pretty straightforward. The caster has to first write down a dream that she has had -- the more detail, the better -- then burn the page on which it is written. While the page is burning, she has to face in the right direction for the type of dream she wants -- dreams of hope come from the west, of threats from the south, of vengeance from the east, and of tidings from the north. She fans the smoke of the burning page in that direction, and while so doing, speaks an invocation to that direction, making her request. The invocation must be repeated three times. Then the caster writes down three things about which she wants to dream, and then burns those, too, and repeats the invocation. Last, the ashes must be gathered, and placed in a pouch, then laid beneath the caster's pillow. When she sleeps that night, she will have a dream about what she asked, and it will be of things which might happen.

"Okay, I think I understand. Lots of burning though. I hope Mom and Mr. Jones don't mind, but it's for a good reason, right?" The girl smiles at Lord Mel, then reaches past him to get out the birthday candles she had since the boat expedition and searches further for some means to light them.

The packet of matches -- retrieved from her father's collection in a fishbowl on his desk -- is still safely tucked inside a pocket of her purse. The little blond girl looks at them, guiltily remembering stern warnings from her mother and even Rebecca about not playing with fire. (Rebecca, of course, would light candles and burn paper herself, but always very carefully and she'd tell Alice to keep back.)

Alice holds the packet where she can see them, frowning as she remembers. "But ... Rebecca isn't here anymore, and ... and the new year is important, too. I'll be careful, but I have to try. Everyone else is trying." She gives a resolute nod, then carefully opens the package and worries one of the match-strips free. Then she puts both down on a smaller pitted rock, fetching a candle and placing that on the smaller rock as well. "Okay. Fire, candles ... paper." She turns back to her purse and searches that out too.

Some digging yields a little pad of pale blue notepaper with unicorn-heads stamped in the corners.

With everything ready, Alice turns to regard the different directions. She's been around with Thomas long enough to know which is which, roughly. And her father always gave her little suggestions about how to find her way if she got lost. She considers each direction, then settles on the south. "Hope we can make, revenge ... ew, tidings maybe ... but I think threats are what we need. All the others are very worried about everyone we meet. The knight elf, Elinor, the Winters, and the two families Elinor mentioned. I think South is what we need, even though it's scary." She turns to the south and settles down into the dirt, glad she brought her denim jumper. She then collects a piece of paper and begins to write.

Alice jots down her dream as best she remembers, then reaches over to place the paper on the smaller rock in one of the ruts so to keep it away from anything that might also be flammable. She picks up her match, and tries to get it to light.

Fwoosh. With an acrid tang of sulfur, the match catches, burning brightly if fitfully in the light breeze.

Quickly Alice picks up her candle, holding the patch away from her at a respectful distance. She considers lighting a candle, but decides against it, since she just needs two fires. So she takes the match and touches it against the paper her dream is written on.

The paper crackles and flares, catching almost immediately. In just the time that it takes her to get it lit, the paper is half-burnt out -- and she's supposed to repeat the invocation three times while it burns!

The next page lists the invocations for each of the winds. For the south, it reads thus: From the South comes Despair and Fear, Loathing and Spite. Speak to me, O Wind of the South, of mine enemies deeds', their plots, their plans. I invite Thee to my dreams, O Wind of the South: haunt me, and tell me all that threatens me.

Quickly as she can, and careful not to skip any words, Alice repeats the invocation of the South. She finds the words to be awfully grim, but she remembers the south was like that in her ward-breaking spell too.

The short-lived fire has burnt down to a tiny pile of gray ash by the time she's on the third recitation of the verse. A thin trickle of smoke pours straight upwards into the sky as Alice speaks.

Remembering the next step, Alice reaches out and begins to fan the smoke in the proper direction, using her hands to waft the smoke southward.

As the little girl fans the diminishing smoke, she's struck with the ... ordinariness of it all. She doesn't feel like a sorceress casting a spell, or even a princess. She's just a little girl burning a piece of paper in a field. The spell has all the right ingredients, but it just doesn't feel ... magical-ish -- not the way she felt casting the spell on the boat, or on Crow Isle, with the others around.

Alice frowns, and shakes her head. "I don't think it's working. I think maybe that's because everyone else isn't here." The little girl tilts her head at the smoke, and reaches over to pick up a handful of dirt so she can put out the remaining smoldering paper. "Maybe it was Elinor. But ... oh well. I think we better go," she tells Lord Mel. After the fire is out she begins gathering her things, preparing to leave quickly just in case.

Movement catches Alice's eye near the edge of the field, where it abuts the forest. Tom! There's no mistaking the dark-haired boy emerging from the tree line, with a greyhound barking about his heels, and behind him seems to be Agatha, carrying a pitchfork. A dark equine shape follows her.

With Lord Mel in one arm and a matchbook in the other, Alice blinks in surprise at the sudden appearance of her friends. She drops the matches in to her purse and turns to watch them approach, offering a little wave. "Hi!" she calls out.

"Hi, Alice!" Agatha calls, looking around. "What are you doing out here?"

Tom waves back, but doesn't say a greeting. He halts his approach and scans over the surroundings again, eyes narrow. "To her side, Agatha," he says, "I'll check a perimeter and be there shortly."

Agatha continues on towards the table-rock, and leans on her pitchfork. "Whatcha doin'? Magic?" she asks the younger girl.

The dark black horse moves out of the shadows ... and to Alice's disappointment, it is not red maned nor tailed. It appears to be a large stallion, which trots along behind Agatha with an almost amused air about its face. The greyhound follows at Tom's heels with doggish enthusiasm.

"Well, I was trying to practice magic. I had to burn some things -- magic seems to like burning things -- and then I wrote some things down and turned the right way and I did all of it but ... it didn't work," explains Alice to Agatha when the taller girl draws close. She glances past her at the horse, stares a moment, then as if to be polite turns and looks down to her things. "I don't think it works alone. Magic, I mean."

Tom paces a semi-circle around Alice and Agatha, eyes peering out in search of the object they were tracking. He tries to shut out the chattering of the girls and listen for any movement in the weeds.

"Did you turn Simon into a dog, and Elinor into a horse?" asks the little girl as she looks between the two animals.

The dog whines curiously as he stays close by Tom, but apparently his nose isn't picking up the trail.

The black horse snorts.

Tom looks down at the dog and says, "Let's go to them. I don't think we should stay here." He then heads toward the girls, breathing slowly. "I think we should relocate elsewhere. Someplace safer," he says when he gets to them.

Alice nods a little. "I was getting ready to go when I thought it didn't work. I was worried I might get caught." She turns from the boy and resumes putting away all her things. "I'll be ready in a moment. But, um, is something wrong?"

The greyhound bounds over to Alice, and begins snuffling her feet and hands.

Tom nods to Alice. "We weren't looking for you. We were tracking a wolf. It led us here. It's watching." He looks out over the weeds. "I can feel House December's eyes upon us."

"A wolf?" asks Alice, sounding confused. "Well I didn't invite a wolf. I wasn't trying to summon one either, or anything like that. I wasn't trying a summon two friends, a horse, a dog, and a wolf spell either." The girl finishes up getting her things as she talks, then stands up and tucks Lord Mel under an arm.

The dog slurps Alice's hands as she packs, complicating things. lick lick

Tom kneels down and puts a hand on Alice's shoulder. "I'm not trying to be mean, but please don't go places this far away alone, okay? Things aren't safe for any of us right now," he says softly, "At least you should've brought Elinor with you."

The girl giggles at the slurps, and tries to pet the dog after she's done with her free hand. "I came out here so I could practice and so no one would get hurt or mad. I was trying to help us know what bothers us better," Alice explains as she gets slobbered on.

Agatha hmms, staring at the rock, then trying to see if there is any pattern to the scrub and brush.

The greyhound's tail wags excitedly. He barks and leans up into the petting, a hind leg thumping.

Tom nods slowly to Alice. "The only reason we get mad right now is because we're worried -- worried for everyone's safety. This isn't a game anymore. It's real and could be dangerous. Understand?" he says gently.

"It's getting a bit dry out to be using matches though, Alice," Agatha says.

Alice looks between her two friends, opens her mouth to say something, then just nods a little.

"We're not mad at you," Tom adds, "We just want you to be safe. We could probably find you safer places to practice." He smiles reassuringly. "Anyway, don't worry about it. Have much luck?"

Agatha turns to Tom and asks, "What did you slip on back there, anyway? I couldn't find anything."

The black horse shifts his hooves a bit, looking about a bit, then back toward Agatha.

Tom shrugs. "A slick spot. I didn't stop to see exactly what."

"Don't like this place, Destre?" Agatha asks the horse.

The little blonde girl mirrors Thomas's smile, and seems to brighten up for it. She shifts Lord Mel so she can hold him in both hands and hug him, rocking a little on her feet. "No, I couldn't get it to work. Or if it did work it sure didn't feel like it was working. Not like last time," she answers quietly.

"Were you trying to do it as Princess Angel, or just as Alice though?" Agatha asks Alice.

The greyhound barks, perking his ears up and looking at Alice, then at Agatha.

Tom nods. "Next time you're looking in the spell book, could you look for something? Spells to enchant weapons in case we have to fight a Scare Crow someday. If nothing's there, no biggie, but an advantage would be nice." Tom then stands and looks over the fields slowly, "Something wrong, Agatha?"

"Maybe you should check the tree line again, Tom," Agatha suggests.

"For?" Tom inquires.

"Um," the girl seems to consider a second, " ... I was just trying. I don't think I was being a princess at the time though. I didn't think about it much."

"Or are you trying to get rid of me?" Tom adds.

"For wolves of course," Agatha says to Tom. "The animals are looking either agitated or guilty."

Tom nods slightly. "Stay close to Alice, then. If anything jumps me, get her and get out of here, understand?"

"Magic weapons. I'll remember. But I hope we have a gold bowl and some torches and things. Magic requires a lot of junk," agrees the little blonde. She looks back to where she burned the paper, as if offering it as an example.

The greyhound gives Agatha a "what?" look, judging by the cant of its head, and Destre snorts.

"Before, it was Princess Angel that worked the magic, Alice," Agatha says. "And you did okay with just some candles and imagination."

"Oh. I think I understand, Agatha." Nodding, Alice glances around. "It's not just words and symbols and things, is it?"

"Right, at least, that's not how it worked before," Agatha agrees.

Tom shrugs and heads off back towards the tree line, once again scanning the weeds for any white objects or movement.

"Next time ... maybe you could be here with me too, Agatha?" offers Alice. "I think it helps having others to play along too."

"But not here next time," Agatha says. "There might be another Siege nearby. We've been following the tracks of a wolf."

Tom pauses out in the weeds. Then slowly, he starts heading towards the woods again, clenching and unclenching his hands nervously.

The greyhound whines a bit, apparently not wanting to leave Alice's side. As Tom gets farther away, he licks Alice's face, then gets up and trots to follow at Tom's heels.

"Maybe out by the Manor would be better ... behind the stables," Agatha suggests, and smirks at the black stallion.

Alice turns and peers around. "Wow, really? I didn't see one when I walked out here," she admits. A hand unfolds from around Lord Mel so she can shade her eyes as she peers in the direction of the sun ... only to have moved her arm just enough to get licked along the face. The result is that her survey is stopped by giggles and dog slobber. "Ew!"

"This is Destre, by the way," Agatha says, introducing Alice to the horse. "Destre, meet the Princess Angel of Mirari -- sometimes called Alice -- and of course her guardian, Lord Mel."

Destre nickers pleasantly, then leans down to snuffle at Lord Mel.

The little girl reaches to wipe her face off, only to remember her hand is covered in dirt from putting out the fire earlier. So she leaves the slobber as it is, and turns to face Destre. "Hello, Mr. Destre!" She issues a curtsey, then holds up Lord Mel a bit so the two can get acquainted. "It is very nice to meet you."

This elicits a curious whinny from Destre, and then a closer look as the horse arches its neck down to look Alice in the eyes. There's a sense of being inspected...

"We probably should get you cleaned up a little before you go home too," Agatha says, noticing the soot. "Your mom doesn't let you have matches, I thought?"

Alice's own eyes widen as the large horse leans down to inspect her. She blinks a few times, but otherwise seems caught to watch the horse that watches her. "Um," she begins to tell Agatha, "well ... "

"Did you sneak them?" Agatha asks, but not in any sort of accusing tone.

The horse nuzzles Alice's face, a curious velvety feeling accompanied by the tickling of its breath, and then looks over to Agatha again as it prances over a bit, as if regaining its dignity.

"We-" Alice sounds on the verge of repeating "well" when the black horse leans down to nuzzle her, and that breaks her wide-eyed and near-frozen stare immediately. She lifts a hand to pet the horse back, smiling widely, then watches as he steps away. Finally she answers her friend, "I ... I snuck them, but I thought it was for a good reason."

Agatha shakes her head. "That's not the way to do things, Alice. You should have asked Simon or Elinor to come along, since they can use matches. If you get into trouble, then you might not ever have the chance to try this again."

Alice lowers her head. "I know, I'm really sorry. I just wanted to help out," she explains meekly.

"What do you think of Elinor, now that you know she's from Mirari?" Agatha asks curiously, taking a seat on the rock and leaning the pitchfork on her shoulder.

Alice turns to face Agatha when she sits down, reaching over to try and pet Destre idly as she answers. "I like Elinor. I think, no matter where she comes from, she's still Elinor, even if it's Elinor by another name. Maybe she's ... she's like when I took the matches, trying to do something that's good ... but doing it wrong maybe. Or was doing it wrong."

"I'm not so sure she's done anything wrong," Agatha says. "Keeping a secret isn't wrong, not when she opened up when she thought we were in danger. Tommy is upset that she hid who she was, but really ... if she'd said she was Rachel of the Golden Hawks before we saw the Scare Crow, would you have believed her, much less Tommy?"

"I don't know," answers the blonde girl. "Before all the games we played were all the way we wanted them to be mostly. But now the games are playing back, too, and I'm not sure what to do about that. Maybe it's just a new kind of game."

"I feel sad for Tommy because Elinor lied to us and because he likes her, but he won't say it or maybe he doesn't know. My mommy told me once sometimes it works that way where someone knows but doesn't know," continues Alice.

Destre starts grazing, cropping up the grass.

"When we play, maybe it gives us control," Agatha suggests, and looks to Destre as if for the horse's opinion. "Like on the island. Maybe the Jruuh were there because we already said they'd be there. Elinor didn't really lie ... at least, not really. I don't think we would have believed the truth when we met her."

"Mr. Kuning told me that we make the rules when we play the game, and we can change the game we play if we want to." Alice looks around for a moment, then walks over to sit on another one of the rocks. "Does the doggy have a name? And is Destre a Knightsteed too?"

This elicits a snort from Destre, as he raises his head to look at Alice.

"Maybe Elinor is the first demi ... uh ... demure girl Tom has ever met that's his age," Agatha suggests, and stretches her legs out. "Where is he, anyway? He was just going to check the trees a minute ago with Kuon. That's the dog's name, Kuon. And Destre isn't a Knightsteed! He's just a horse."

Destre goes back to cropping grass slowly. His tail flicks idly.

"At least, he's just a horse now," Agatha adds, then stands up and calls out, "Thomas! Where are you?"

"He's a very nice horse too," Alice says quickly, turning to glance at Destre and smile apologetically. To Agatha she says, "Tommy went off to go look for that something. He's been gone kind of a long time. Maybe we should go look for him?"

"I didn't notice which way he went though, did you?" Agatha asks.

Alice shakes her head. "No, I was talking to you and watching Destre."

Destre looks up again, and then toward the forest. He whickers.

Agatha takes up the pitchfork again, and says, "We'd better follow Destre. Got all your stuff?"

"Destre seems to know. Maybe," she looks to the large black horse again, "he can lead us to Tommy. I'm ready."

Agatha pats Destre and asks, "Can you find them?"

The black horse whuffles, shifting a bit. That doesn't seem to be the most positive of answers, but after a bit, perhaps induced by Agatha's patting, he begins walking toward the forest.

Agatha grins to Alice and follows the horse. "I hope they haven't gotten into trouble."

"Trouble better watch out for Tommy," says Alice. She moves to stand behind Agatha and near the black horse, holding Lord Mel tightly to herself. "This wolf is a member of a House too?"

"We think maybe House December," Agatha says.

Agatha and Alice head into the trees with Destre, searching for Tom. When they see him, he looks visibly shaken....

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This site serves as a chronicle of sessions in an online roleplaying campaign moderated by Conrad "Lynx" Wong and May "Rowan" Wasserman. The contents of this site are (c) 2001, 2002 by Conrad Wong and May Wasserman except where stated otherwise. Despite the "children's fantasy" theme of this campaign, this site is not intended for young readership, due to mild language and violence.