Gack is fed up with dinosaurs and goblins, figuratively and yes, he ate enough of them as well. He is longing for his tree, his eyrie and loneliness. In the early morning, just before the camp awakens, he spreads his wings and thinks a last goodbye. The only thing he leaves is a small note with excellent tips on how to find food in the forest. Two minutes later, he is two miles high up in the air, managing a croaking chuckle as he sees (clearly, with his vulture eyes) the wide yawn of Ayassa, as the new day starts. Then, he is gone.
The camp comes alive, and everyone gets up. No one is astonished about the missing Gack, and no one misses him really. He was probably pierced with arrows one or two times too many.
The party gathers around the annoying shrub.
Suddently, another bush begins to rustle. A deap resonant voice speaks: “Greetings wanderers!”
The voice didn’t come from the bush (and who would think that a Bush can be intelligent anyway?)
but from a bear of a man (a very small bear) stepping out of it.
He goes on talking: “I see you’ve already met my friend Umoshrub. She or he or whatever is quite
the thing isn’t … he? He (I guess) is an excellent discussion partner, highly intelligent.”
And with a low, conspirative voice he adds: “And he is an incredible wise guy, I tell you.”
With his droning bariton and a chuckle he continues: “Yeah, I really like him. I’m Olf, the druid, by the way. Umo
and me see each other almost every day, and …”, his voice trails off, “… is that a shovel?”
“Um, … yes?” says the only creature smaller than the Newcomer, looking at the shovel in the hands of
a big sturdy man in armor.
“What … do you do with it near Umoshrub?” asks Olf, narrowing his eyes.
The man with the shovel rises his finst in the air with the shovel in it and shouts on the top of his
The druids eyes go wide, and his jaw drops open. Then, he explodes … in a fit of excitement.
“Amazing! Wonderful! Extraordinary! For so long I was begrudging the distance I had to walk to see my
friend. I never thought about taking him with me!”
“But you won’t have him”, a low, threatening voice interrupts him. A tall, heavily muscled Draconianess
plants herself in front of the shrubbery. “Or do you want to contest me?”
“Um, … in no way, ma’am. I just wanted to …” He stops in midsentence, rubs some leaves out of his
long, shaggy beard, then goes on: “Wouldn’t it be nice for you to have a druid around with quite some
healing prowess and a knack for creatures and plants?”
Though the proposal seems to be an honest one, Bert notices that the eyes of the druid slightly narrow
when he looks at Morbus.