It sounded like some animal in terrible pain. But it was, in fact, Not-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock, who was standing on a snowdrift with one hand pressed to his heart and the other outstretched, very theatrically.
He was rolling his eyes, too.
“…oooooooooooooooooooooo…”
“Ach, the muse is a terrible thing to have happen to ye,” said Rob Anybody, putting his hands over his ears.
“…oooooiiiiiit is with grreat lamentation and much worrying dismay,” the pictsie groaned, “That we rrregard the doleful prospect of Fairyland in considerrrable decay…”
In the air the flying creatures stopped attacking and began to panic. Some of them flew into one another.
“…With quite a large number of drrrrrrreadful incidents happening everrry day,” Not-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock recited, “Including, I am sorrrry to say, an aerial attack by the otherwise quite attractive fey…”
The fliers screeched. Some crashed into the snow, but the ones still capable of flight swarmed off among the trees.
“…Witnessed by all of us at this time, and celebrated in this hasty rhyme!” Not-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock shouted after them.
And they were gone.
Feegles were picking themselves up off the ground. Some were bleeding where the fairies had bitten them. Several were lying curled up and groaning.
Tiffany looked at her own finger. The bite of the fairy had left two tiny holes.
“It isna too bad,” Rob Anybody shouted up from below. “No one taken by them, just a few cases where the lads didna put their hands o’er their ears in time.”
“Are they all right?”
“Oh, they’ll be fine wi’ counsellin’.”
On the mound of snow William clapped Not-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock on the shoulder in a friendly way.
“That, lad,” he said proudly, “was some of the worst poetry I have heard for a long time. It was offensive to the ear and a torrrture to the soul. The last couple of lines need some work, but ye has the groanin’ off fiiine. All in all, a verrry commendable effort! We’ll make a gonnagle out of ye yet!”
Not-as-big-as-Medium-Sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock-Jock blushed happily.
In Fairyland words really have power, Tiffany thought. And I am more real. I’ll remember that.
The pictsies assembled into battle order again, although it was pretty disorderly, and set off. Tiffany didn’t rush too far ahead this time.
“That’s yer little people wi’ wings,” said Rob, as Tiffany sucked at her finger. “Are ye happier now?”
“Why were they trying to carry you away?”
“Ach, they carries their victims off to their nest, where their young ones—”
“Stop!” said Tiffany. “This is going to be horrible, right?”
“Oh, aye. Gruesome,” said Rob, grinning.
“And you used to live here?”
“Ah, but it wasna so bad then. It wasna perfect, mark you, but the Quin wasna as cold in them days. The King was still aroound. She was always happy then.”
“What happened? Did the King die?”
“No. They had words, if ye tak’ my meanin’,” said Rob.
“Oh, you mean like an argument—”