Amber Magic

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The night was moonless and still. Underneath the dark sky sat a tranquil farmhouse. A soft orange light glowed from the farmhouse windows.

A tiny manling parted the leafy hedge with delicate, thin-boned hands. He watched the farmhouse and barnyard for several minutes, but there was no sign of the River Folk, or their beasts. The creature leered hungrily at his goal: a clay pot set out upon the back porch that brimmed with fresh, creamy milk.

A dark, overly-long tongue snaked out, swept across the creature's lipless mouth and snapped back from whence it had come.

Crouching for the sprint, the tiny thief pushed his cap down squarely upon his head and gripped his walking stick. He burst from the cover of the hedge and dashed across the barnyard. His coattails fluttered as he ran. He shoved his face into the pot and greedily slurped up the feast, pausing only for quick wheezes of breath. Although the clay pot was nearly as big as he was, the milk was gone in a thrice.

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