The fox sniffled, overhearing a comment about some Wight. Really, some people are just so... The fox stopped frozen in its tracks. There happened to really BE a Wight, standing there calmly and naturally, staring at a man who had fainted and was now sprawled across the ground, beer staining his white shirt and wetting the ground around him.
When they say you don't know what you might meet in the Old Forest, they really do mean it, don't they? the fox thought to itself. The odd poet, seeing the Wight, quickly dipped the feather quill into his pockets and quickly scribbled something in his book. Once again, the page ended up on the ground.
Well hullo, Wight. Good to meet you, the fox said politely, nodding his furry red head at the undead creature. What brings you to these parts? Though the answer was quite obvious.
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"What shall we do, what shall we do!" he cried. "Escaping goblins to be caught be wolves!"
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