The Flying Wind, Part 4
"What's down there?" "Um Wim, Wimmy old pal. Can I call you Wimmy? You're probably better off not knowing."
A chill wind blew down from the mountains, right in the face of Wim Rattlepot as he ran to the mines. The miner stopped to catch his breath. The fog thinned around him, retreating before the harrying breeze. Wim hiked forth, taking the breeze head-on.
In the blue light of the early morning, a figure in rudely repaired, blue rags stood at the entrance to the collapsed mine.
"Jolly?" Wim called from a distance.
"Wim! I thought you were gone!"
"I was. I mean, I am. Or I might be going. What are you doing here?"
"An ass fell out of a tree and told me you'd given up mining. I happen to have made the acquaintance of... something... that was very curious about our ore."