“Something smells positively scrumptious.” The prince salivated.

  “It’s freshly trapped hare with onion and button mushrooms.” said an unexpected voice that caused both travelers to jump in surprise. The prince almost fell over his own feet to back away, fumbling to unsheathe his sword. No sooner than they’d jumped, a round faced boy approximately the same age, emerged from a dense patch of undergrowth with a basket of freshly picked mushrooms held in the crook of one arm while the other cradled a large, thick leatherbound book against his chest.

  “Hello,” said Hoxley. “Who might you be?”

  “I’m Morell.” The boy with the short curly red hair smiled. “Who might you be?”

  “My name is Hoxley.” She told him. “I’m a messenger.”

  “Oh! I’ve heard of you. My grandfather has spoken of you before. Do you have something for him?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. Do you think he might have something for me?”

  “I don’t believe so, but you’re welcome to ask.” He started back for the small house. “Come this way.” The two followed watching the boy resituate his heavy loads as he struggled to keep from dropping them. It didn’t take long before they approached the residence and Morell walked them around the front.

  “Wait a moment and I’ll tell grandfather you’re here.” he said. Morell put the book and basket down on a log bench next to the front door and went inside. The two were left to wait patiently, breathing in the rich smells of the hare in the boiling pot tempting their tastebuds. Hoxley shifted her weight and looked down at the soft ground, realizing there were far more hoof prints in the soil than what she’d contributed. Muffled voices could be heard and the door was soon opened again by a very old, wizened and stooped man with a long grey beard. He stepped out of the cabin with Morell close behind and looked upon the pair with suspicion.

  “What is it you’re peddling?” he asked.

  “No sir, we’re not peddling.” Said Hoxley. “I’m actually a messenger. I’ve delivered parcels to you many times, Mr. Brookum.”

  “Ahhhhh you do know my name, yes,” His demeanor brightened some. “Hoxley the faun, yes, now I remember. You have been here quite a few times. What have you brought me?”

  “That’s the thing, Mr. Brookum.” She started. “I’m on my way to Spellvale and I miscalculated how much daylight I had left and was wondering if I might be able to pay you for an evening’s lodging and a portion of what’s in your dinner pot. We’re both very hungry and I have gold to pay.” She dug into her pouch and produced three of the gold coins the prince had given her.

  “Why didn’t you just stay in Sweet Water?” He asked “There’s an inn there that offers lodging and meals.”

  “Ah, yes.” She looked at her hooves. “This is all very embarrassing. I should have stopped short as I normally do but again as I’ve said I misjudged how much time I had before nightfall.”

  “And you’re headed to Spellvale?”

  “Yes Sir.”

  “But that’s two days travel from here.”

  “Come on, grandfather.” Morell encouraged him. “You’ve told me several times about Hoxley the messenger and how she always keeps her deliveries.” Hoxley and the prince shared a glance to which she gave him a sly wink.

  “Well, I suppose it might be nice to have guests. “I know you….” He paused before turning his gaze toward the prince. “But I don’t think I know who you are. Have we met before?”

  “I don’t believe you have.” Hoxley offered. “This is John Buttersby. He’s…um, he might be a possible messenger in the future so he’s traveling with me to earn more experience about what it’s like to travel across all the lands.” she said, trying her hardest for it not to sound like the lie it really was.

  “Oh, is that so?” The old man said, adjusting the glasses upon his nose to scrutinize the young man. “He’s travelling with a faun…without a horse of his own to carry him?”

  “He’s not the brightest.” She said which quickly brought out a stern glare from the prince. “But I think he’s got heart.”

  “Yes, well I suppose that counts for something.” Brookum muttered. “You two have already met my grandson, Morell.” He pat the plump boy between his shoulder blades.

  “Yes, we have.” She nodded. “He mentioned something about hare, mushrooms and onions?”

  “Oh? Oh yes. That’s what’s for dinner tonight there’s more than enough for each of you if you’d like to stay and I wouldn’t say no to those few gold pieces you offered before.”

  “Of course.” Hoxley nodded, stepping forward and stacking them in his hand.

  “Alright then.” Brookum said before gesturing for them to follow him indoors. “Come inside. My cabin isn’t accustomed to having fauns within it but I still think you’ll fit. Make sure you stomp the dirt free before you track it inside.” When he turned away, Hoxley and the prince exchanged a quiet smile of satisfaction.

  Once they stepped beyond the threshold, a simple wooden cabin laid out before them. It looked bigger on the inside than the exterior suggested. An expansive wooden table sat covered in books and dusty bric-a-brac which consisted of nothing of interest save for old, dry papers and untouched books on every surface around the outer walls. One door led to what looked like a master bedroom and a full-sized door in the floor suggested a basement or cupboard. A sizzling iron pot sat suspended over a decent fire burned within the stone hearth.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “The hare will be ready soon.” Morell offered. “Your clothes look wet. Would you like to dry them? We have a quilt rack to hang them upon that we set in front of the fire.”

  “That’s very generous of you.” said Hoxley. “Yes. We’d like very much to dry them off.” Morell vanished into the master bedroom and returned a few seconds later hefting a quilt rack stocked with a few wool blankets. He set the rack down in front of the fire and removed the pair of blankets, offering one to each of them.

  “Thank you.” They each said. Morell and Brookum conveniently stepped into the next room as they changed. Hoxley let the prince go first. She turned her back to place her pugil against the opposite wall as he removed his damp clothes and laid them upon the rack.

  “Okay.” he said. When she turned around, he’d fully covered himself in the wool blanket and taken a seat on one of the stools that had been hiding beneath the table. She draped the blanket about her shoulders and untied the strap resting on the back of her neck which held her white shirt. The loose strap allowed her pull the whole thing over her head and slip it off. When it was upon the rack, she untied the strap holding her bright blue, thigh length short pants and they fell to the floor. Those as well as her leather saddle bag rested upon the rack to dry. The big wool blanket was just enough to provide the decency she required. The prince immediately looked twice as tired as before now that he’d been able to sit down. His head sagged, and in the time it had taken for Hoxley to get out of her clothes he already looked to be dozing. A few minutes later, Morell poked his head into the room.

  “Is he asleep?” he asked.

  “It appears so. It’s probably for the best to let him rest. He’s had a long day.”

  “Would you like to see my collection?”

  “Your collection? Collection of what?”

  “Oh! Mushrooms! My mushroom collection is enormous!”

  “You collect mushrooms?”

  “I have the largest collection in the land.” He beamed with pride. “I think. Come, I’ll show you.” Morell reached down to the small iron ring in the large door seated in the floor and pulled it wide, resting it against the outer wall of the cabin. Before he entered, he fetched a small tin chamberstick with a candle in it, then walked over and stick the end in the fire. Once the candle was lit, he smiled and beckoned her to follow him below. Stones set into dirt stairs let down to a chamber the same size as the rest of the footprint of the cabin. As Hoxley made herself smaller to fit through and once she was at the bottom, Morell was already lighting other candles. Save for the area occupied by a small door to go outside, glass winked from every edge of the walls. Once the boy had lit enough candles, she saw that the walls weren’t just lined with glass but hundreds upon hundreds of tiny jars. She marveled at the sheer number of them.

  “Mycology” He proclaimed. “The study of mushrooms, or fungi, also molds and spores.”

  “My goodness.” Hoxley said, moving her gaze quickly from one container to the next. “Are each of these different?”

  “Yes they are. This room contains two hundred and eighty-five distinctly different specimens of what I’m speculating must be tens of thousands of species throughout the world.”

  “Tens of thousands?” Hoxley asked. “Is all of this edible?”

  “These? No, no, not all these are edible. Many of these are actually very poisonous and can make you ill or even kill you if you ate them. Take this one for example,” He walked over to where she was standing and selected a small jar from the wall. “See this? It looks a lot like the ones I brought home with me in the basket, right?” She nodded. “If you were to eat this, it would be the very last thing you ate. It’s known as a “Destroying Angel.”

  “That little thing has a name that fierce?”

  “Very deadly. It kills the person from the inside. Five to twenty hours after eating and the person exhibits vomiting, cramping, delirium, convulsions and most likely death.”

  “That’s terrible!” Hoxley exclaimed. “Why would you keep such a thing in your home?”

  “For study of course. By learning the anatomy of this tiny thing, I can learn how to create a counter toxin that could save the life of someone who may have eaten it by accident. But each of these…” he waved his arm to the specimens arranged on the shelves. “Has their own abilities.”

  “And you know the uses and names of each of these?”

  “I do.”

  “I don’t believe you.” She smiled.