SoÉone minute I was talking to Remy, the next I was sprawling under the bar surrounded by healers, including Tal Falcon, being told I was going to be all right. Well, I've sprawled under my fair share of bars in my time, who hasn't? But why all the fuss? Apparently I'd been foolish enough to try and walk through the ghost of some bloke with a hole in his chest who not unnaturally had been a bit put out by it. Personally I thought his retaliation a bit heartless, but what could I say?

See, I'm still naive enough to believe that when I got to a quiet social event, that's what I'm going to find - silly me. I thought "open" so that means anyone can go, "grand" so that means I can wear one of my posh frocks, and "council" so I get to talk a lot (my fourth favourite thing to do after drinking, eating and the other 'ing' thing.) Still it was, all things considered, a jolly pleasant evening, and I met and made friends with a lovely man, a druid called Bratan.

Black looks

Of course it was also an evening of darkness. Poor Elspeth, not yet recovered from the loss of Elias or of so many other of our people, was faced with another trial - a proposal of marriage from quite a different tall, dark stranger than the one for which I had hoped when I foresaw their meeting. Then came worse news still, the perpetration of the latest of Katherine's crimes against us. May she rot for ever in Bacchus's silage pits.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, (that'll make a nice change. Ed.) what with Dionysus moving out of the cottage and into his own temple a good day's journey from me and all, Sang (the Bard) and I decided to over winter in Winchester where both the company and the residence are considerably warmer than living on the banks of a river at this time of the year. Sang took his lute and has been thoroughly spoilt by the ladies of the court (though I think they're not so interested in his instrument as they are with what he uses it for) and at last it has been good to see the occasional smile on Elspeth's face.

While there I received a message from Iggy, informing me that, as Harts envoy to the Bears, I should travel to Cumbria for their annual Haggis hunt, and there try to ascertain their position regarding the Gathering Treaty. Well, what I then knew about haggis was less than what I still know about what lies at the bottom of the ocean (i.e. it's salty, and you need a bloomin' long piece of string if you're going to catch anything) so I raided the library to discover more.

Haggis husbandry

Did you know that there are in excess of 20 different types of Haggis and that only a few are edible? What's more, did you know that some are highly dangerous, not to say lethal? One has poisonous spines, and there is even a were-haggis! Had it not been for the thought of all those men in flailing kilts, I would have seriously reconsidered the idea.

The journey was a long and tortuous one, the further North I got the further I had to walk between ritual circles. Although Jac accompanied me there, he soon disappeared on business of his own and I didn't see him again until well into the night's revelries when I didn't think the young lady hanging on his every word would have appreciated my intrusion. Fortunately Bratan was there, together with an astonishingly attractive High Druid (are they allowed women?) and two apprentices, Oogie (a Beastman druid?!) and a cat whose name I couldn't pronounce, so I had good company in between their serious business of hosting the event.

Ah fae, ah fae, ah fae

Early in the morning a party went out to scout for our dinner. I had been going to join them, but a combination of the tiring journey, lots of holy liquid the night before and the onset of some rather unpleasant symptoms associated with cold, damp weather laid me low and I remained shivering and aching beside the fire wrapped in my warmest cloak.

Some time later, the party returned having been set upon by some rather angry Fae who they had somehow woken out of a deep sleep, and three of which had been killed in the ensuing skirmish. The surviving Fae had disappeared pledging to return and demanding a life for a life, (sounding familiar?) one of which had to be the High Druid's.

Throughout the remainder of that day, people possessed by the Fae kept slicing up various of the Bears high command, though none got near to the Morrigan or the Blodwen, I'm pleased to say.

Then Orcs and Bacchus knows what kept running through the forest in an attempt to escape the wrath of more fast awakening Fae, only to run into the whirling berserkers which constitute the Bears' warriors. I just opened another wine skin and watched the fun.

Highland fling

The next morning dawned brightly and Bratan and I breakfasted together and gossiped about the previous night's revelries, the band had been wonderful and the Bears dance with as much gusto as they fight (and I must add that I've never seen so many examples of what is worn under the kilt - though none of it looked very worn to me!). We had both missed the massed attack, having retired to our respective beds only moments earlier, but we had heard plenty and Bratan was deeply concerned about how to prevent the High Druid's death.

Investigating a fracas coming from the direction of the ritual circle we found another massed battle taking place. Monsters poured out from nowhere, only to be met by blood crazed Bears streaming down the hillside to meet them, while a group of Vipers were standing inside the ritual circle, preventing any of the monsters gaining access (I believe their Dark Incanters had been about to perform some ritual of their own). Bratan and the other druids surrounded the High Druid, although Oogie and the cat were often in the thickest of the fray, and I waited for lulls in the madness to run in and heal some of the wounded. I was also wounded twice myself before the monsters were finally defeated, but Bratan and the high druid seemed remarkably crestfallen in spite of the victory.

Bear-ly escaped

They told me that three of their number had sacrificed their own lives in order to satisfy the Fae's demands and to prevent Gathis the High Druid from death. Needless to say, he was not a happy man, and neither was he pleased with the Bears whose recklessness had brought this tragedy upon them. What happens next might be interesting to observe.

Bratan and I shared another glass or three before parting, he was impossible to cheer but he seems remarkably philosophical about it all, so I guess something good comes from advanced years (he's over 100 apparently) and then one of Jac's Romford boys appeared from the trees, flung his arms round me and planted a kiss, then he staggered off again. Bratan thought it hilarious, I was just speechless - which is quite a novelty for me - just goes to show you're never too old for anything!