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Old 01-17-2016, 06:16 AM   #248
Itinerant Songster
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Join Date: Jan 2002
Location: The Edge of Faerie
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The long trench to the swamp had not yet been started when, in the very middle of the dung pit, Eodwine noticed a movement. It was as if something was turning over. Could the amount of rain have made the pit unstable? The movement had been as big as one of the Mumakil. Then Eodwine's shovel became limp in his hands as he watched a long slimy tendril grow out of the pit, reaching up like a thing with a mind of its own. Scyld was the second to look away from his trench work to see it: his eyes went wide and in the nick of time he dove out of the way. The tentacle encircled the waist of his neighbor instead. The man howled as he was lifted into the air above the pit, then lowered into the waiting maw below. Then he was gone. More tentacles reached up in every direction. The folk screamed and ran. Surely they had not dug the pit too deep!

Eodwine shook his head. What a waking dream. Thankfully, the trench to the swamp had been dug, and his swooning thought was apparently in a playful mood. One by one the folk leaned their shovels against the smithy, most to be recrafted into some other useful implement. The invisible sun had long since set, but the rain poured. At least the trench was working. And the "dung pit monster" lay quiescent in its stinking home. He chuckled to himself, the last to enter the Hall.

Last edited by littlemanpoet; 01-18-2016 at 06:50 PM.
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