Robert's seizures finally shuddered to a halt. He brought the back
of his hand to his mouth to wipe away any remaining drops of phlegm.
“What...?” he began to say but I stopped him with a finger to his
lips.
“Shhhh,” I told him, “Just sit quietly, get your breath back.
There'll be time for questions later.”
“I'm not so sure there will be,” Raven said as that colourfully
dressed midget approached his side. I was about to ask about this
new arrival when I caught a meaningful glint in Raven's eye. His
gaze flicked between me and, seemingly, the legs of Robert's chair.
Looking down, I found a short arm protruding from beneath the seat,
shortly followed by a diminutive shoulder and head.
“Oh, I say,” was all I could manage to say.
“That's enough,” Oak commanded from the far side of the room.
Looking at him, I saw he'd managed to mend his branch, which he was
once more waving threateningly at the room. Behind him, the wall
began to shimmer like the surface of a puddle.
“No,” Raven told him, “No it's not. There is a war in the
Weave, and this house may well be its' battleground.”
