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That bare spot in the woods is full tonight, a full moon illuminating the smoky, fragrant vapors from the many wee pipes gathered around for the Brotherhood meeting; they all had concerns about their brother Fernlodth.

“He’s missed three meetings so far, and I think we may have to rein him in…the stakes are too high, ” wheezed Elinorth, adding “That boy of mine always was too curious for his own good.”

“He’s also our best scout, and never run into more trouble than he can handle,” noted Fernlodth’s cousin Rockmouse, tipping her pine-woven cap back as she ventured, “And you smoke more pipe than is for your own good.”

Laughter rippled the vapors like a breeze on an otherwise still morning bay; these two argued about Elinorth’s pipe smoking as often as they clashed over why they kept calling their clan the Brotherhood instead of something non-gender specific.

“You’ll watch over him, then,” Elinorth growled, training their one beady eye, gimlet sharp, at Rockmouse.

“Already doing, as always,” Rockmouse soothed, drawing the pipe smoke deep, then blowing it upward in a request for protection from the Goddess moon.

© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2025)