So there we all were,
gathered in our living room. Fiona and Robert had woken from
whatever sleep or coma or....whatever you want to call it. I still
don't know, even to this day. I'm supposed to say they'd returned
from the Weave, but....well, that still sounds more than a little
fanciful to me.
I have to say I was
happy to see them both conscious, that in itself felt like the
restoration of a little bit of sanity. Just a little bit, mind,
because the rest of the room was still gripped by utter madness. Oak
had somehow fixed that blasted twig of his, and was waving it around
like some kind of Dirty Harry character from a film or something.
Behind him, something odd was happening to the wall. It had somehow
changed colour: our nice floral wallpaper replaced by....I can only
describe it as a puddle. But a vertical puddle, if you get my
meaning, just hanging there, ripples rolling across its surface.
On top of all that,
there seemed to be these little people, midgets or dwarves or some
such, I don't know what to call them. But they were popping up all
over the place. And to cap it all, Raven had started talking about a
war!
