We took a walk along the coast not far out of Revery to investgate a report of a beached kraken, only to find an empty beach- and something watching us.
Nobody can agree on what the eyes actually are. No one has ever caught one, or touched one- those who have tried have gone mad.
Several religions have claimed them as angels, spirits, prophets and omens. If you get close enough to one, you will hear it whisper- but no one can agree on what the eyes tell them, either. People have heard prophecies, dark secrets, horrifying truths and beautiful lies, the meaning of existence.
What we do know, is that the eyes like to hang out in liminal spaces: empty car parks, petrol stations, abandoned buildings, waiting rooms…
And they watch, and they whisper, and we don’t know why.
Sometimes called ‘cloud mouse’ or ‘false dragon’, the silkwing is delicate creature that is often romantically described as ‘travelling with the winds’.
As autumn arrives, you’ll see silkwings far more often in the skies along the coast. They’ve flown in from the inland meadows where the spend the summer; riding the strong winds to wheel and gather in flocks of tens to hundreds strong.
Come early October, after a month of socializing and cementing strong flock relationships, the silkwings migrate to winter in the southern hemisphere.
This summer may be full of weird cult activity and necromancer shennanigans, but the Seaflower Institute still has normal work to do.
Well, comparatively normal, I mean. Like, going to check up on an ancient dragon. That kind of normal.
The village of Lyminster in West Sussex is home to Knucker Hole, a supposedly bottomless blue pool. It was in this pool, the legend goes, that the Knucker lived; a fearsome dragon that tormented the local villages, until it was eventually slain- either by a knight in the traditional fashion, or a cunning baker via a poisoned pie.
More likely, the dragon activity subsided due to the dragons hibernation cycle, which typically involves napping for a few hundred years.
We like to keep an eye on the Knucker, so every five years or so, someone goes to check its still alive- and this time it was me and Jesper’s turn. So, armed with dragon repellent and welly boots, we ventured to sussex.
The farmers whose livestock graze in the surrounding fields are certainly taking no chances- as Jesper found out when he accidentally touched the stock fencing.
The pool is pretty secure behind a high gate and barbed wire-topped fence. We were let in, and stood at the edge of the water like two clueless kids on the doorstep of an ancient monster.
I was eating breakfast when I heard it: a rustling in the pantry. Best case scenario: it was a foraging venomstriker; worst case scenario: I had mice.
Turns out, it wasn’t either of those: when I opened the cuboard; armed with a glass and a roll of newspaper, I found this little guy:
This is a devilmite, so named for its horned appearance and tendency to steal food. (i.e. Begone, devilmite!)
It was obviously used to people, and didn’t make a fuss when I took it outside- it even stuck around to suss me out, before scooting over the wall next door (A bakery, where it will probably decimate their stock. Oops.)