A screech split the dust motes, and the peddler crashed into the oaken door, wrestling with the latch, and then burst out into the street, wares scattering on the cobblestones. After stomping his foot and shouting imprecations, he thrashed about for a moment, and then stopped, inspected his injured toe, searched about, gathered his wares, and marched off towards the marketplace grumbling.
A small mouse poked his nose out of the door, twitching his whiskers. The peddlar's foot had not tasted pleasant, and the mouse sat on his hindquarters and rubbed his nose with his paws. Nevertheless he was pleased that the intruder had left.
Now if only Bethberry would take his place. And perhaps an ent, or three.
Last edited by piosenniel; 11-28-2009 at 11:35 PM.
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