"Here is my stash, Sire," (Patreon)

Typantronn said, handing me a surprisingly large bag.

"Behold the best grub the forest has to offer," she exclaimed as I opened the bag and stared down into a writhing mass of aphids, earwigs, caterpillars, and literal grubs.

"Be not shy, Sire," Typantronn continued, noticing my hesitation.  "Dig in!  Eat hearty!  What's mine is thine, and there's plenty more where that came from!"

"I'm, er, not accustomed to eating such things raw," I murmured truthfully.  "I don't suppose you have a cook-pot?"

"Alas, no."

I pondered for a moment and tried to visualize the interior of the Royal Kitchen.  There were cabinets along one wall, and inside those cabinets some pots ... I imagined a stew cauldron ... I pinpointed its location ... I grasped it with my mind and willed it to be here before me .. I whispered an appropriate phrase of Gramarye ...

And I was looking at a medium-sized stock pot.  Not exactly what I was hoping for, but it would do!

"Impressive work, Sire," Typantronn observed approvingly.  "But that is a large pot, and thou lookest hungry.  I shall fetch more tasty bugs for thee!"

"Wait," I interrupted.  "What I need more than that is some herbs, some starchy roots and leafy greens.  And some water.  Can you find those?"

"Yuck," Typantronn grimaced.  "Truly there is no accounting for taste.  But if thou desirest to ruin thy bug repast by making a complete hash of it, then I shall comply forthwith!"

I apported sticks from the forest as Typantronn flew back and forth with cups of water which she dumped into the pot, and various possible ingredients which she laid on the ground beside me. 

After constructing a cook fire, I set the pot on top of it and began to work on my stew.  As I stirred it, I thought over the current situation.

Apparently Lady Hawke had neither killed nor restrained Terry, but had instead joined forces with him.   Her wealth and his madness would make a dangerous combination!

I needed to know more about the rabbits before I could devise a strategy against them.  My plans could change after the Ixies came back with detailed information, but I began considering the possibility of turning the rabbits against the shoe cult, and vice-versa.  I had already had pretty good results pitting my enemies against each other .. admittedly I still was surrounded by a hostile forest, but at least the Duchess of Daisies had been forced to leave the island I was living on.  That cut the number of threats in half, which is what I'd call success!

I wondered, with a pang of bitterness, what Ethel and PJ were doing.  What if they'd figured out a way to have children?  They would have churned out a whole brood by now.  I shuddered at the thought, and felt genuine relief that I wouldn't be able to check on them until after I had returned to the scrying tower.  I bet Ethel was old by now.  That's what lowfolk did; they got old, and then before you knew it they died.

Hmm, this made me think of Oak.  When I turned her into a little girl, had I re-started her lifespan from a younger point?  Would she now live a full .. what, eighty years .. plus however old she'd been before I transmogrified her?  If that was the case, this could be a boon to offer my followers.  Lowfolk in the stories were always desperate to prolong their pitifully short lives - and who could blame them?

"LOL wut's cookin, hotstuff?" Angela giggled, interrupting my reverie with an embarrassingly obvious Wile.

I glanced over to reprimand her for not helping Typantronn bring supplies, but as I looked at her I noticed that she was actually kind of cute, in a bizarre and unnatural way.

So instead I decided to give her a taste of her own medicine, and fired back with some Wiles of my own.

"Hey doll," I purred.  "Why don't you fetch me a couple of mushrooms?"

"EEEEEEEE!!!1!!" she squealed.

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