The Fragile Fall At Tallow Bridge (The White Blood Chronicles Book 1) by Mark G Heath Page B

forest for man. Thaindire continued to look and he let out a short gasp of surprise and recognition. Amidst the trees he could plainly see the glimmer of the moonlight on slates. There was a roof out there. The light of the moon acted to accentuate the feature more readily than in the day and he could now see more plainly the cone that emerged from the canopy of branches. It might only be a few feet that was exposed beyond the trees but exposed it was. He peered forward wondering if any light might emanate from beneath the coned roof but all he saw was the black of the forest. He was right and moreover the Dromgooles had lied to him about the lack of such a tower. There was no opportunity for error on their part, both being beholden to the village for as long as they had would mean they would know of a building nearby, but for whatever reason they had chosen to deny its existence. Thaindire could fathom no reason for their lies other than that the tower was not to be brought to the knowledge of outsiders. He found this stance most odd. The tower was far from obvious and indeed had been so indistinct in daylight that he had begun to think that he was mistaken in the face of the firm rejection by Benjamin and Kathryn, but nighttime brought a different perspective and there it was. He realised there was little sense in reporting this sighting to Kathryn or her father; they had made their position clear. What it did mean however was that Thaindire had to locate this tower and ascertain its purpose and effect. His heart beat quickened with the prospect of investigating the tower and he wished he had a companion to share and affirm his sighting. Thaindire’s mind filled with a multitude of questions about the tower and its significance and just as he sought to reason them, something else caught his attention.
                  Back in the village, down at ground level and slightly to the left of centre, across from him, an orange light blossomed. Against the darkness of the buildings, the blooming light was a beacon. He could see that the light was a sliver in an opening doorway, the warm light bleeding out into the night. The strength of the light denoted it was probably firelight. A figure then manifested, silhouetted in the firelight. It was barely a quarter of the door’s height so that much light still blazed above it. The figure stepped forward and down a couple of steps as the door slowly closed behind it. Whoever had closed the door had not peered around it nor bid the departing figure farewell. Thaindire’s eyes adjusted as the orange light vanished, the darkness sweeping in and momentarily cloaking the tiny figure before then the silver of the moonlight graced the form. It moved carefully and with purpose along a short path from the house that it had emerged from, for this property was set back from the square slightly and did not open out onto the front of the square like those adjoining the dwelling. The figure stepped onto the square and was now in the clear glow of the moon, as if lit by a lantern and Thaindire was afforded a full and proper view of this late night pedestrian.
                  It was tiny. Two or three hands high. Immediately Thaindire thought of the imps; they were similarly short in stature, was this one of them? The figure was clad in clothing, but no uniform. Instead it wore low cut boots, trousers and a top, which was short-sleeved, unusual given the cold of the night. There was no hat, nor buttoned tunic, which accorded with the uniform worn by the infernal imps that had impeded his progress yesterday. Of course it could have a change of attire but Thaindire dispensed with this thought as soon as it arrived as he regarded the figure’s features. It had the face of a man. No lopsided snarling mouth, snub nose or cruel eyes, but rather the gentle face of an elderly man. It was bald, the forehead wrinkled. Slim arms protruded from the top with a pair of tiny, delicate hands