“Let me tell you the tale of The Goat that Married the Fox.”
                Anny rolled her eyes. This was not the first time the damnable bard had tried to sing a tale, and his deplorable voice was something she could do without. She rubbed her aching head and closed her eyes.
                “If you can do it quietly, by all means go ahead. If not, do not bother. I’m in half a mind to push you out this carriage—“ she began.
                Eli spoke over her as hastily as he could, “—please, don’t mind my sister, I had to wake her early, she dislikes mornings greatly.”
                Morning and bards, there is nothing more irksome than a bad bard, she thought, bitterly.
                “My tale with soothe the soul, I assure you. It is a classic amongst my college associates. Have you heard of it?” He sounded most eager, exuding a forceful charisma that might otherwise be infectious on brainless oafs who knew no better.
                “Oh yes,” Anny lied, “so many times that I find it most dull.” That should do it, she hoped.
                “Then you clearly haven’t heard it right. The Goat that Married the Fox is one of the best, as am I,” he flourished his hands in the cramped carriage, nearly smacking Eli in the face. “The bride is lucky to have ancestors written to song, now allow me...”
                Anny gave Eli the most scathing look she could muster. It was he who had spotted the bard travelling along the roads. He who had begged the driver to stop and allow the poor man to enter their personal carriage rather than on the luggage wagon where he ought to have been, and Eli who had allowed the man to sing a song. Once you let a bard loose, he will never stop.
                Eli shrivelled under her stare.
                Worst of all, Eli had told the bard they were travelling to a wedding between their Auntie Anella and Lord Duskin Lupal. It just so happened that Lady Anella’s sigil was the Mountain Goat and Lord Lupal’s was the walking wolf.
                “Silver was the wolfish mane,
                 icy blue, his eyes,
                That few she-wolfs could resist,
                Not the least, his lies.
                Trembling on new, weak legs,
                Set afire, his blood,
                A small goat that made its way,
                With him through, his wood.
                “Come with me” the proud wolf said,
                “You’ll be safe”, his voice,
                Which gave the goat such courage,
                Made her choose, his choice.
                They walked past bird, insect too,
                And she took, his hand,
                For the two were married now,
                Ruled over, his land.
                But it was a fiendish trick,
                He began, his plan,
                To marry and take her land
                To increase, his span.
                But there was something missing,
                He needed, his son
                To get before he killed her—“

The End

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