Sianim 02 - Wolfsbane

said.
    Aralorn resumed her seat. “All right, let’s see what I can come up with. Hmm. Yes.”
    She waited for it to quiet down, then began. “Not so very long ago, and not so far away, there lived a sorcerer’s apprentice named Pudge. As you might expect from his name, he enjoyed nothing so much as a nice soft pudding, except perhaps a piece of cake. He especially liked it when the sorcerer’s cook would try to cover up the fact that his cake had fallen by filling in the hole with sugary frosting this thick.” Aralorn held up two fingers together and watched a smile cross the face of one of Falhart’s brood at the thought of such a delicacy.
    “Now, Pudge’s master had several apprentices who teased him about his eating. They might have meant it kindly—but you and I know that doesn’t matter. It got so that Pudge would take whatever sweet he happened to thieve from the kitchen and eat it in secret places where the others wouldn’t find him.
    “His favorite was a little cubby he’d found in the library. The passage was so small and insignificant that even if the sorcerer had remembered it, he would never have used it. It was, in fact, so narrow that only a child could squeeze though the long tunnel that led to a comfortably cozy ledge on the side of the sorcerer’s castle several stories above the ground.
    “As the months passed, and the cook’s sugary treats took their toll, the passage grew tighter and tighter, until Pudge began to wonder if there wasn’t some kind of shrinking spell laid upon it.
    “ ‘Perhaps,’ he thought, ‘perhaps, it once was a normal sort of hall and every day it gets smaller and smaller.’
    “It was an idea he found pleasing, though he found no mention of such a spell in any of the books he was allowed to delve into. I might mention here that Pudge was quite an adept little sorcerer in his own right. Had he been of a different temperament, the other apprentices might have truly regretted their teasing.
    “One bright and sunny morning, the cook made little cherry tarts, each just large enough to fit into one of Pudge’s hands. Nobody makes a better thief than a boy—just ask the Traders, if you don’t believe me. Nobody, that is, except a sorcerer. Pudge came out of the kitchen with twelve cherry tarts, and he scrambled to the library before the cook realized they were gone.
    “He opened the passage and managed to squeeze in, though he had to push the pies, stored in a knapsack he used for such nefarious missions, ahead of him in order to fit. It was really only the thought of the cook’s ire that made him fight and struggle through the passage. The cook was a man after Pudge’s own heart, but he had a terrible temper and was best avoided for a while after a successful raid.
    “At last, Pudge was safely through the passage and out on his ledge. He ate eleven of the tarts and shared the twelfth with a few passing birds. Then he decided it was time to go back.” Aralorn paused.
    “He couldn’t get back,” said a young boy seated near the back of the group.
    “Why not?” asked Aralorn, raising her brows.
    “Because he was too big!” chorused a series of voices (some of which were bass or baritone).
    Aralorn smiled and nodded. “You’re right, of course. It took several days before Pudge was thin enough to get back through the passage, and by that time, his master was getting really worried. Upon hearing of Pudge’s adventures, the sorcerer taught Pudge a spell or two to help him get out of tight places.” She waited for a moment to let the chuckles die down. “Over the years Pudge grew in both girth and power. You might know him better by his real name—Tenneten the Large, own mage to King Myr, current ruler of Reth.” She stood up briskly and made a shooing motion. “All right, that’s all for the night. Correy, if you could spare a moment?”
    Correy approached her, with Kisrah somewhat behind him, as the children shuffled off to their respective parents.
    “What did you need?” asked her brother.
    “Hmm, well, you know that old vacant cottage where the hermit used to live? In the clearing, not too far from here?”
    “The one Hart fell through the roof of when he was pretending he was a dragon?”
    Surprised, she nodded. “That was well before your time.”
    “Some things become family legends,” he replied. “Besides, the knowledge he gained reroofing the cottage came in useful when Father sent us to build a house for Ridane’s