Continuing last week’s stories which you can find here (Monday), here (Wed) and here (Saturday). One more day should wrap it up.
The rising sun deepened the shadows made by the giant footprints. And when Janet thought ‘giant’, a slight tremor ran through her that the prints really did belong to a giant.
We’ve found these footprints in the snow before, she remembered.
She and Dragon had fought many of these creatures in the past, sent at all times of the year by the Goblin King to attack their willow-branched sanctuary. Over time, Janet had learned what worked and didn’t work to defeat them, and as she trudged through the slushy snow she practised her best moves in her head.
Dragon marched close behind her, his warm breath ruffling her hair. Pixie and Fairy sat on Dragon’s back. Janet should have left the two small adventurers at the castle, as giants’ taste for pixies and fairies as a snack with their revolting brown ale was well known. Too late now. Dragon would keep them safe.
They ploughed on until the sun had risen to its highest, then on again after a short rest, driven by their mission to find the castle’s inhabitants. As they moved further into the forest, Janet sensed eyes on her and her companions. But no matter how swiftly she turned her head, she saw only endless trees and snow. Dark clouds had gathered, blocking the sun, pitching the world into a sullen gloom. Janet was glad of Dragon’s comforting warmth and bulk behind her.
The poor daylight was fading when the footprints led them off the winding path and onto an even more narrow track. Janet had to use her sword to slash at grasping brambles and push aside thin hanging branches, to keep their way. Had she taken a wrong turn? There appeared to be no sign that a giant had passed this way … yes, there! A clearing of snowy ground showed the footprints again, frozen into place.
Fairy hovered at Janet’s shoulder. ‘The cave,’ she said, staring ahead at a tall, narrow, black split in the rocky cliff face ahead of them, ‘must be where they are.’
Janet nodded. She raised her sword. ‘Perhaps, you and Pixie should stay here. You know what giants are like.’
Fairy fluttered her wings impatiently. ‘Yes, we do. Pixie will be safe with Dragon, and I will be very very careful.’ She lightly touched her tiny boot clad feet to Janet’s arm. ‘Besides, you will need me.’
Janet had learned over the years to listen to Fairy – after all, she had some 300 years more experience of life than Janet did. She nodded and walked steadily towards the cave entrance.
Next episode here
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I sincerely hope Janet and her friends can beat the monsters wherever they are!!
Here’s my contribution, a continuation of the last story:
WE FOUND THE FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW
The snowfalls increased in intensity and Sir Thumpalot found it impossible to discern the path he was following.
Dismounting from his favourite battle steed Backstrap, he was soon knee deep in white powder gently tugging on the reins to encourage the horse to keep moving forward.
At last, the clearing the peasant had mentioned appeared before him and, although he could not see the castle among the myriad falling flakes, he knew it must be there somewhere.
Progress towards his goal took all his remaining strength – and he knew Backstrap would be unable to last much longer without shelter and food.
Suddenly, ghostly white walls towered above him and he could just make out the ramparts and turrets of what he presumed was Camelot.
Inching his way around the castle by following the moat filled with winter rains, Thumpalot eventually spotted the entrance – conspicuous by its drawbridge flush against the stone walls.
“Hail, sentry,” he bellowed. “Tis Sir Thumpalot, come to do King Arthur’s bidding.”
“How do we know ye are who ye say ye are,” the sentry yelled back, peering warily over the battlements.
Thumpalot opened his cloak to reveal the soaring falcon on his chainmail armour, the symbol of his family coat of arms.
The sentry was finding it difficult to make out the image in the intense snowfalls. However, seeing that the knight appeared to be entirely alone, he decided to take a gamble.
The giant wooden cogs creaked loudly as the drawbridge slowly lowered, followed by a raising of the iron portcullis.
Waving his thanks, Sir Thumpalot trotted across the bridge and dismounted in the castle courtyard, where a servant grasped Backstrap’s reins and led him to nearby stables for a well-deserved rest and feed.
As he turned, Sir Lancelot slapped him on the shoulders.
“Glad you could make it, Sir Thumpalot,” he said heartily, a huge grin lighting up his bearded countenance. “You have arrived just in the nick of time.”
“What do you mean, I’ve arrived just in the nick of time?”
“We found the footprints in the snow, just before these latest falls.”
“Footprints, what footprints?” queried Sir Thumpalot.
“We think they belong to an Anglo-Saxon tribe,” Lancelot replied. “They must have already reached Camelot.”
“Already? How can I help?”
“Come, my friend, let me introduce you to Arthur and the other knights of the Round Table, and then hopefully we can work out our best course of action,” Lancelot said as he threw an arm around Thumpalot’s shoulders.
Phew – I was getting worried for poor Backstrap!