|
The crowd around the gate had cleared somewhat by the time Saraphim strode up the lane. A huge, wicked smile was on her face, a leather pack on her back, and her best dress was dancing lively around her feet in the dust.
As the mischievous-looking young woman walked imposingly through the opening, she looked around as if daring the party-goers to dispute her late appearance. None did, of course, and Saraphim marched resolutly up to the tree and mound and opened her pack.
Out came a wad of packing material that was soon divested to reveal an ornate dragon carving, made of some green stone, and polished to an glorious shine.
Setting the carving carefully on the table, Saraphim stepped back and yelled: "Congratulations, O Wight of the Barrow-Downs!"
Having shown proper respect, Saraph turned and left to find a good pint, and perhaps her friends.
|