Ralph and the Pixie

Hugging himself against the chill, trying to comprehend what was happening, Mraan began moving forward, his breath leaving a trail of vapour like fear. Before he had gone thirty or forty feet past this barrier towards his home, he stopped to listen. The sky, which had been very blue, was now slightly overcast, and the air itself, besides being cold, was beginning to feel oppressive. He tried to move forward, but something almost physical held him back. An image came unbidden into his thoughts; that of the frightening and evil illustration his father was completing. And something more . . . something strange his father had said about the illustration . . .

It’s odd, you know . . . but this illustration was never really finished . . . see the lack of layering and tone? The empty borders and blank paper there and there? I am told that the old Loremaster who set it down died before it was completed. It is said that on his deathbed, he requested that no further work be done on it.

Mraan heard something behind him; a rustle of fabric. Or, he thought with a shudder, turning around sharply and seeing nothing, it sounded more like . . . like wings.

Afraid now, hoping but very much doubting that this was merely his imagination playing tricks on him, he began backing up, looking about nervously. He started with fear as he heard the sound again, and was all the more afraid as he looked about, unable to locate its source.