Thus the friendship between the men was born, and something a little more. Yes, he had been drawn to her, knowing what her business was, and yet he found something about her to be…special.
Mishto Sharpaine was beautiful.
A smile played at his lips.
No, she was gorgeous.
The smile faltered into a frown.
She had been a Campfire Girl.
And she was, according to members of the Party, the reason for the death of Jack and Frank, at least, as Carlo was killed by the bloodsucking monstrosity…. Despite the talk of her curse, her wrong time of the month, he still felt a pang in his heart for her, sorrow for her curious death upon touching the Holy Pike.
Without a word, or wild spin, or point of his staff, Ty the Parson bound across the clearing and through the split in the thorny bushes. The Party followed, skidded to a halt on the path beyond, narrowly avoiding a collision with the Parson. Their angry reaction to this unexpected stop was short lived, as was their angry glares. All eyes turned to the path before them, went wide.
The path before them was—different! Rather than looping north and south, it ran straight ahead of them into the forest. They looked from it to each other and shrugged. How the path could have suddenly changed made no sense, but at the same time this mystery filled them with a great sense of relief. If the path ran straight all the way through the forest, that meant they would pass through this nightmarish place all the quicker.
Orlon was just as relieved, and mystified, about the path as the rest, but he also felt a deep remorse. A different path meant not finding Jujay’s remains, which meant no chance to offer his beloved servant a proper burial. Another thought, however, overpowered his feelings about Jujay. He could not help but wonder if perhaps this change in the evil forest’s path might be a sign of his good deed done…?
Yet he had no time to contemplate this thought.
Again, without a word, or wild spin, or point of his staff, Ty the Parson started down the path at a fair clip, and they took off after him.
Following a straight path proved a good thing in another way: a direct route meant avoiding the thorny bushes bordering each side of it was much easier. Yet that easy avenue ended quicker than they expected when the path abruptly turned north, and from there it became a frustrating series of sharp turns and loops that made their journey much, much longer. A sudden turn to the east brought them to a stop, to emit a sigh of relief. Before them was a line of close knit trees and at the path’s end was a split between two trees. Beyond was Dwarf Road.
There was no need for a speech, as to a man, they wanted out of Dark Forest, and Ty the Parson did not disappoint them by giving one. He did, however, perform a wild spin, ending in a wide-legged stance, staff pointing at their way out. He darted through the split in the trees. They were close behind him… A skidding halt brought them up short by less than an inch from running into the sappy staff thrust out before them.
Confused, angered eyes turned to find Ty the Parson eyeing them warningly, a long finger pressed to his shushing lips. The eyes followed that long finger as it stretched the length of a long, baggy sleeved arm, pointing. And when the eyes saw the subject of that point, they blinked.
Near the bush where Orlon settled for the night with his self proclaimed protector when the Party camped in the field across the road lay a man in voluminous shirt and breeches, a floppy brimmed hat obscuring his facial features in shadow. Above him fluttered three Fairies, which all but Orlon recognized. They were in a hand-clapping, "ooh" and "ah" frenzy, big eyes on the bulge visible despite the man’s baggy pants.
Hands valiantly went to sword hilts, but not a warrior made a move to save the man. Oh, how strong was the urge to bound into action within them—why, even Tarl Bimbo held tight the hilt of his newly acquired sword—yet they stood firm. Not only did they wish to avoid the sappy staff barring their way, they knew their fate if they drew the attention to themselves by daring to intervene.
To a man, they were set back a step by what happened next.
"Wanna check out the equipment?" the man said, grabbing suggestively at his crotch.
"Ooh," the Fairies squealed, flying loop-the-loops about each other. "Do we!"
Pearly smiles beaming, they drew themselves up, shoulder to shoulder to shoulder, wings flapping in unison, hands clasped at chests, eyes on the target. They zoomed in—and all became chaos! The man leaped up, grabbing at them, and the Fairies screamed in terror, trying frantically to dodge his clutching hands, which utterly confused the audience to this fiasco. Yellow and brightly spotted butterfly wings, brown moth wings beat furiously, legs kicking, hands slapping in a desperate attempt to escape him.
Then the man’s hand closed around the ankle of the moth winged Fairy. He jerked his leg, kicked and pushed with his free foot, hands flailing about wildly, wings beating the air, and he was pulled down, down, down into the man’s inescapable clutches. They fell to the ground and rolled behind the bush… The bush began to shake violently.
"Help me," the captured Fairy pleaded between grunts and groans and moans. "Oh, please, help me."
His fellow Fairies flitted and fluttered above the bush, gasping and gagging, and holding out their hands to repel what they witnessed going on behind it.
"Ee-yuck," they squealed and squawked, "Gross, gross, gross."
This whole turn of events left those on the road, especially those knowledgeable of Fairies, bewildered. Never before had they seen or heard of a victim of the dastardly critters offering it up willingly. Never ever in their wildest dreams did they imagine a Fairy would refuse such an offer.
The bush stopped shaking.
The commotion above the bush stopped.
A moment passed wherein the two little winged men’s eyes were captured by what lay behind the bush, and the audience on the road looked at the bush.
From behind it came the moth winged Fairy, and what a sight he was. His wings were withered, flapping a little out of sync, body limp, his head barely held up by a trembling neck, and his droopy eyes looked to his fellow little winged men imploringly. They looked down upon him, eyes filled with stern reproach and sickness.
"Brucey…Stanley Boobicans…" he reached out to them.
With a sniff, the yellow winged Fairy turned his head away.
Eyes to the heavens, the brightly spotted winged Fairy huffed.
"Jonny Poo," they said in unified disgust. "You and…and a woman. Ee-yuck!"
They spun and flew away.
"Fellas, please," Jonny Poo pleaded, fluttering after them. "She—I—we— She raped me."
But those on the road had lost interest in the Fairies after hearing the word "woman." Their eyes darted to the bush upon its utterance. The big shirt flipped over it, followed by the voluminous breeches, and lastly a rather large cucumber. All of this was a prelude to a woman standing with her back to them, in the midst of pulling a tight white shirt on over her head. When her head popped through the neck of the shirt, revealing wavy blonde-brown hair, those watching blinked, frowned.
When she turned around, revealing an exquisitely beautiful face, wearing a rather-pleased-with-herself grin, to a man, they blurted:
"Sharna!"
No one was more surprised, and pleased, to discover she survived her fall from the mountain than Orlon. A smile brightened his face. And when she saw them—the Midget, she smiled, too. Their eyes met, and he felt a pang in his heart he could not quite comprehend. As for Sharna, her smile broadened, and she started across the field, arms open wide.
Seeing her approach that way made Tarl smile, as well as gave him a pang in a lower region of his anatomy. Either they were in for a group hug, or a series of individual hugs. There was no question he preferred the latter, the idea of close contact with such a gorgeous creature, but he could live with the former. Hey, any contact with her was better than nothing…. He watched her run straight to his best friend, scoop him up and they embraced.