Ralph and the Pixie

Gannet shrugged, though he appeared unconvinced. ‘As you wish.’

Heading out through the break in the mountains, and so leaving the Elven Kingdom altogether, they found themselves in a hilly country, much like the one described in old tales. The snow lay deep here, though it was interrupted by ancient oak trees with leaves that, although dead and brown, clung to the branches yet. Beneath these, there was little snow. That evening, the travellers made camps of fifty beneath ten of these trees, and made preparations to meet the threat of the Necropheids. Piles of brush were laid in a wide circle outside the camp, to be set alight in the event of the creatures’ return.

In the dead of night, drawing about the encampment like a noose of fear, the eyes returned. Birin directed a number of archers to shoot fire-arrows into a few of the piles of brush, not wishing to waste all the fuel at once.

The moment the first pyre burst into flame, grey shapes could be seen, scrambling away from the light. At first glance, Ralph thought they looked like women. But the sight of their faces chilled his heart with the worst dread he had ever known. Below their cold, bat-like black eyes was a wide oval maw set with long, inwardly curved, thin teeth. Their hands bore long claws, and their skin was grey like the underbelly of a spider. Their long hair was the white of cobwebs, and they made not a sound.