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and buzzed away, I turned again to Burnside.

"Are you going to tell me who you were working with?" I growled.

"Ain't," she blurted.

"What dainty and ladylike form should I transmogrify you into?" I mused while she glared at me nervously.  "Remember that Floozy prosecutor during my trial?  Oh wait, you weren't there.  She turned up again, selling tainted food to my army just before the battle.  I think her name was Miss Thompson.  She seemed like a femme with some class.  Or how about a marsh bird, like an ibis or a crane?  They move with such care and precision on those spindly legs.  Or why not a frail old lady?  Yes, an old lady with refined and courtly manners.  I can geas you so you'll always have to say 'please' and 'thank you.'  How would you like that?"

"Th-this ain't fun no more," Burnside grumbled uncertainly.  "I don't wanna play.  Yer takin' things too far."

"I'm taking things too far?" I scoffed.  "This is coming from the little beast who thinks murder and cruelty is jolly fun!  I'm taking things too far!  HA!  By Fuma, that's rich coming from you!  Choose your dainty new form, or I'll choose for you."

"DON'T PUT ME IN THE BOX AGAIN!" Burnside screamed as I made my finger sparkle with Gramarye and brought it close to her.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, startled, as she keeled over and lay huddled & sobbing in the grass.

"Ohhhh I ain't been this scared in a long time," she gasped in between sobs.

"Are you serious?"

"Nor this turned-on," she moaned.  "Stop torturin' me, Adler, you durn varmint.  Please."

Something about this didn't seem right, so I backed off.

"I'm going to make some stew," I announced.  "If you co-operate, I'll let you have some.  If you're very good you can even have some more Orgasmic Touch.  If not, well, I hope you have enough gold saved up to buy a complete wardrobe of Old Lady clothes."

I apported a stew pot and got the trees to help me locate ingredients as I slowly assembled a hearty forest stew.

As the stew cooked, I pondered my predicament.  Assuming everything I knew was true, and lowfolk could not work magick, how had the rabbits managed to confine my scrying to these woods?  They were religious and superstitious; could this somehow be used as a spell amplifier?  Did their prayers somehow have this much efficacy?  Did some god other than Fuma rule the lowfolk world?  I had never considered the possibility before now.

Or maybe it was simpler than that.  Maybe the rabbits' prudery and utter hatred of all forms of fun was causing some sort of nullification effect ... no, that was silly.  As was the idea that their vegetarian lifestyle had caused some sort of disruption in the ham-force.  This would only make sense if the Gnostermongers were right, and All was indeed Ham.  But that couldn't be the case - could it?

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