Leaf Pickers

We had a cup of tea while we waited for Julie to be ready. I'm not entirely sure why she showered – the land behind the portal looked filthy to me – but then I've never been able to understand women. Give me the honest, unwashed stink of a man any night. There's something vaguely disturbing about soap, I've always thought, as if the removal and masking of bodily odours indicates some sort of skulduggery in the offing.

Julie was ready at last though I was surprised at her light blouse and skirt and large backpack full of spellbooks and empty jars (it isn't often you get to go to Faerie and she intended to make the most of it by gathering specimens and spell components). She spotted my expression. "Harold said it's always mild and sunny in the forests of Faerie."

I nodded. "Mostly," I said, "and you can always use a leaf as an umbrella if it rains."

"Super," she said, picking up a sturdy walking stick. "I expect we'll be in and out of there in no time. What was it we were looking for again? A soul leaf?"

"Soul thief," I said. "A necromancer."

"Oh?" She glared at Harold. "I thought only Wednesdays were a black hole of misunderstanding."


Image: Hillwalker