Free Wood Nymph and the Cranky Saint- Wizard of Yurt - 2 by C. Dale Brittain, Brittain

the great horned rabbits. “But with your knowledge of tne magic of earth and growing things, I thought you might be able to counsel me what do about the wood nymph.”
    To my surprise, his expression immediately softened. “The wood nymph, he said with a hint of a smile. “I haven’t seen her in years.” Emboldened by his mood change, I asked, “May I come in?”
    He scowled again at once, but then he nodded grudgingly. “You might as wel.”
    I probed, very quickly, for supernatural influences and did not find them. There was nothing about him,
    any more than there had been about Evrard, that indicated the use of black magic. He turned and I folowed him inside, enormously relieved but stil wary.
    I was shocked when I came through the green door into the cottage’s single room. Even though it had always been ful of herbs, books, mortars and pestles, and piles of dishes, he had managed to preserve some semblance of order, and the floor had always been swept clean. Now, mounds of decayed plant material were heaped on the floor and the furniture, amidst dirty crockery. There was an acrid smel to the place I could not identify. Shards of broken glass lay in front of the fireplace, the result, I guessed, of the crash I had heard. The calico cat sensibly refused to come in with me.
    “Find a chair,” said the old wizard with a vague wave of his hand. The word “find’ seemed wel chosen; it took a moment for me to identify which of the shapeless masses around me might be a chair at base.
    “I’m afraid the place has gotten a little messy.”
    I let this understatement pass and shifted a pile of dead leaves and a plate with the remains of what might once have been a fried egg. Having thus uncovered a chair, I puled it up next to his rocking chair, the only piece of furniture not covered with debris.
    He sat down and arranged his long white beard over his lap. It seemed ful of twigs and bits of food, at which he picked as he rocked. Even his ring, shaped like an eagle in flight, was dirty and tarnished. But nothing here suggested he had been using diabolical power to bring dead rabbits back to life.
    The old wizard had already been wel past two hundred years old when he had abruptly decided to resign as Royal Wizard of Yurt. He was starting to feel himself old and even incapable two years ago, when he moved down here from the castle. I wondered uneasily if his decline might have been accelerated by living alone, with no one to talk to besides his cat.
    He kicked half-heartedly at the broken glass and
    continued to rock in front of his cold hearth. He seemed wiling to let the silence stretch out until I finaly decided to break it. “I need your advice,” I began, “on how I might be able to shift the wood nymph out of her grove.” If I started with her, I might be able to work around to the rabbits—and whatever had made that inhuman footprint. “I gather she’s been there for generations. Is it even possible to shift a nymph?”
    The old wizard smiled, quite pleasantly for him. “Are you sure you want to move her? Leave her where she is, treat her gently and with dignity, and she may agree to come down out of her trees so you can see her.”
    “I did see her,” I said. “She was down from the trees at least for a moment, but when I tried to speak to her she disappeared at once, without saying anything.”
    “A nymph’s conversation takes time,” he answered, again with a reminiscent smile. “But it’s worth it in the end.” He leaned forward abruptly. “Why do you want to move her out of the grove?”
    “Wel,” I said uneasily, “the bishop had asked the Royal Chaplain to ask me what I could do. The church considers that grove a holy grove, and they don’t like having a nymph in it.” The old wizard stopped smiling and snorted as though thoroughly disgusted. “I thought I’d warned you about becoming too good friends with that chaplain. Why should you do errands for the Church anyway? They’ve