“And how do ya,” muttered Blom to the stream of guests that pushed through the front door of the Ragged Maiden, a steady wordless hum of chatter and rumor. It was a sound Blom had never quite gotten used to but something about it seemed oddly comforting or satisfying, as though it were evidence of activity (which it were).

Nobody answered him because nobody had heard him. They were too busy chippin’ about the latest RUMOR. What rumor?

“What rumor we got doin’ on this mornin’ then?” Blom said a little more forcefully. His voice would cut THROUGH the crowd if he wanted.

The noise died down as the crowd dispersed to the various tables in the common room, the good ol’ regulars settling in to their regular spots. Farmer Gack approached the counter where Blom stood. Gack’s beard was spread about his face in a strange way, as if he had been a-huffin’ through the Fleep Fleep Forest on paths he hadn’t a-trod afore.

“Big news,” Gack said, breath a fray through the way of the day. “We have ourselfs the proof of the decade!”

“Proof o’ what then?” Blom prodded, curious but not overtly so. Some sorta event was bound to make the townspeople talk, but towns such as this one made a Bumter out of a Frumter these days.

“Jibberjabs,” Gack let out in a rush. “A real life Jibberjab. Dead as the day it was made but real all the same.”

Blom blinked slowly. “And where this Jibberjab now if it’s here as you say?”

“Buried ‘im. Buried ‘im good ’n proper as the instructions instruct,” Gack said proudly. “First thing we did. Hacked the bones to dust and dumped it in the Ravin’ River and then dug a hole out in the field for placin’ the remainders in.”

“AYE GACK!” shouted a voice from the common room. “GETCHER self over here and tell us the tale!”

“Aye Gack, go on,” Blom nodded to Farmer Gack in dismissal. “I’ll find the story from another, if the story is a loud one.”

Gack took his leave and joined the fellas in the common room. At that moment, stiff ol’ Crylax shambled down the stairs, bumpin’ around and makin’ a ruckus.

The guy was still nursing his wounds from way on back but they hadn’t prevented him from movin’ about, makin’ search parties and various forays into the Fleep Fleep forest, coming up against the Madman’s Mountains and tryna make some sorta sense of the reports comin’ outta them.

“Been cooped up too long in this two-shack town,” muttered Crylax as he slid on down the bar a few feet from ol’ Blom and nursed a pint o’ Hot Heemee’s.

“Aye,” Blom said, feelin’ much o’ the same. He thought of Glen, as he usually did at this hour of the morning. Glen had been gone for near a year now, and there was no sense in hopin’ for a return of any sort. Things had been rather quiet since Glen vanished in that big blaze of fire underneath the Catcher’s Moon, right around the time Hem’s letter had come. Since then, no word from either.

Crylax’s groan brought him back to the moment. “You ever wonder what become of that Hem lad?”