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'It's the touring that keeps our group from happening isn't it? The touring needn't keep us from developing.' He decisively takes on the name 'Rugard' as we circle through the yard, around a mid-sized tree, wide with branches draped into the snowed over ground. The snow is deep. We trudge between the tree and a small red wooden shed trimmed with white boards and lit with one single electric light. It's incandescent orange turns us toward the property's front. 'Two faeries escaping over the ford!' I reach into the deep snow banking the hole we've forged from our motions. My hand takes hold of an icy javelin, it's diameter larger than would be expected. I free the spear from the bank and launch it towards the form on the left fast fading in front of us. The night light blue hue about me finds highlight by the cumbersome projectile. Lumbering forward and inaccurately launched, the weapon fumbles off, many yards short the mark. Evacuated, we stand beside the hole. 'Wench!' In her curly black locks and evening dress, all smiles, dashes toward us. She spills into the hole, it's sides blackened by it's suddenly abysmal bottom. Magic am I? The two of us remain.
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