After reluctantly leaving Hen and Delph behind to scout ahead, Lyre returned from her trip to the forest village with a slight change in plan. While the Maddening Witch was relieving himself, Lyre pulled Hen aside to inform her of an unexpected issue.

"It seems Delphin Strahl was mistaken about why he was being chased last night. Someone may have discovered he spread the rumor of the witch, but there are far more that believe him to be the central figure of it. There's talk in the village that the Divine was seen at the Catary, enjoying a last night of freedom before his marriage to the Warlock."

"And still they are searching for him?" asked Hen.

"Now there's light enough to look. They mean to form a parade route all the way to Relmund that the people can celebrate his march to the capital. Banners have been spotted stretching along the main road through the forest."

"Then can you forge us a new path? Through the trees and north of the road?"

Lyre scratched her head. Her expression suggested otherwise.

"My energy is all but spent," she confessed, "The Witling Forest is too large to traverse in a single spell. We might get halfway to Velmund Drum and find ourselves lost in the woods at the mercy of Canphis knows what."

"So we go to the village, but take care that none see him?"

"We should be able to blend in with the crowd, but that cloak of travel worn low across his face would not go amiss. His looks are far too eye-catching. Not that my eye is caught," Lyre assured her, "It strayed outside the gates of the Velvet Palace, and has remained upon you ever since."

"Are we ready to leave?" asked Delph, coming to join them and souring the romantic mood that Lyre had hoped to cultivate in his absence.

Hen draped the cloak of travel over his shoulders and Lyre adjusted the cowl.

"I am quite able to walk now the wine has left my system," said Delph, "I do not need your magic to keep your pace."

"Have you forgotten?" asked Lyre, "There are those who may know you as the man that spread the rumor. Do you really want the ghost to come and catch you?"

Delph shrank at the thought of the Counsel's pale face looming towards him down the corridor.

"You are right," he admitted, retreating inside the shadow of the cloak, "But do you think you might be able to speak with the villagers? And find out what happened last night to my friend Ursa?"

Hen remembered the name now. The Counsel's prisoner, brother of Rel the Martyr, and survivor of Hofingrad. His name was Ursa. 

"He is your friend?" she asked, "Do you know much of his past?"

"Only what he has told me... about his family. And the witch."

Lyre helped Hen adjust the scarf tied tightly around her curls. "What about the witch?" she asked, as casually as she could.

"He was a demon, responsible for the deaths of many people, including Ursa's family. The Warlock meant to marry him. But he died before they could be reunited."

"Oh but-"

"How did he die?" interrupted Lyre.

"If Ursa is to be believed, and the witch was my father... Then he died of old age, peacefully at home."

"Your father was the Maddening Witch?!" Lyre asked in suitable disbelief of the revelation.

"Ursa certainly thought as such," Delph confessed, "And I cannot prove that he was not... But I think it unlikely."

"Your father was a good man?" asked Hen.

She had read the words of Hekse Strahl; the dark shame he kept hidden from his sons, and the truth of their sudden appearance in Grunterbad. Even if Fiepet's body had been born there, his soul arrived on the day that Delphin Strahl broke through the velvet water. It seemed impossible that the lifes they left behind in this world could have been forgotten.

"He was not a bad man, I think," Delph replied, "A cold and quiet man at times, but not one to turn away a neighbor in need."

"Then you should know," Hen reasoned, "That just because you have heard the worst of someone, it does not make it true. Your friend's opinion of the witch is not the only one in the world. There are are many that believe the witch was a good and honest man."

Lyre pressed a hand to her arm before Hen's overtures about the Maddening Witch became specific enough that Delph would come to question her purpose for telling him.

"You'll see for yourself," said Lyre, "How the people hope to welcome the Warlock's bride."

Even in the forest village, the people of the Madning Isle had festooned their homes with brightly painted streamers. Secluded as they were, they refused to be left out of the celebration. Word had spead, and the rumor had taken root; the Warlock's wedding would signal an end to its preparations, and finally the people would be free.

The enterprising villagers had already set their stalls for visitors still seeking out the Witling Woman, and hoping to catch a glance of the witch. Delph played with an old man's dog while Hen bought supplies, and Lyre looked for transport.

"He doesn't usually like strangers," the man told Delph, "Doesn't hate them either, mind you, but he's not usually so friendly. Have you animals at home?"

Delph shook his head. "We haven't a pet," he told him.

He wondered what Fiepet would think of the idea. When they reunited and returned to their home, he thought of asking for a dog. His brother would marry and have children, but his life in Grunterbad would always be different. It was not the done thing, for a man to marry another man. A pet would keep him company on the days he felt alone. 

It was a shame that his night at the Catary had fallen apart. He might never get a second chance to learn how it would feel to kiss another. As though it had heard his thoughts, the dog licked his face, and Delph quickly wiped it clean. Wet. It appears it would feel uncomfortably wet.

"Come along," said Lyre to Delph's crouching figure, "Mistress Hen has bought enough to see us on to Velmund Drum."

"You've found us a ride?" he asked, patting the dog and bowing gratefully to the man as they walked away.

"We're joining the parade," she told him.

A hundred years prior, the Maddening Witch had been driven in chains along the main forest path from Hofingrad to the edge of Velmund's boundary. The road had been unforgiving; a gray and somber procession of marching soldiers in mustard yellow. Now colorful citizens lined either side; the trees surrounding them strewn with the teal and blue of the Velvet Palace. The forest was alive with their excitement.

As the Warlock's party reached the main road, they discovered the excitement for themselves.

"My gosh what is all this?!" cried Fiepet, "Is there a festival in your land today?"

Elion cracked a smile. "You know what this is about, don't you Warlock? It seems the Counsel isn't the only one who believes the witch has made his return. Have they come out to greet you, do you think? Or are they waiting for your bride to appear?"

The Warlock's hand moved without thinking. Elion tasted the blood rising to his mouth before the Warlock's magical energy gave out.

"Forgive me," he sputtered, riding close to the edge of Fiepet's carriage for protection, "I only meant that if the Counsel is correct, it is cause for so joyous a greeting..." 

Fiepet was riding the dappled gray, with Ursa's bound body seated behind him in Vix and Ten's carriage. He'd pointed out to the Counsel that both might find relief from the difficult journey if they moved to the comfort of the sprung seats. After Ursa was deposited, the Counsel chose to continue riding his horse alone; proving to all that he had more strength that they gave him credit for. That they were all too quick to dismiss him.

"The people are right," said the Counsel, "When their cheers reach Hymm in honor of the Divine's return, you will come to understand the truth."

"Min," the Warlock warned, "I promise you; I will send Ursa away as you asked. But please, no more of this torture. My heart cannot bear it."

"He could be right you know," voiced Fiepet from behind them, "I tell you straight that it could not have been my father. And if not him, then this witch or whoever may yet be living. Ah! But it is not Delph, either. I stand with the chap behind me on that front, or I will at least when he wakes up."

They had not traveled far when the Warlock's face was recognized by the crowd.

"There!" cried one, "The Warlock himself, and the Counsel too! Quick, look! Can you see if the Divine is with them?"

Elion, Fiepet and Ursa were none of them as pretty as the Maddening Witch was purported to be. Large, masculine and ungainly; the crowd wrinkled their brows and twisted their mouths at the prospect.

"He's not among them," a confident voice reported from the side of the road, "I saw him last night; his long flaxen hair atop his head and his fine figure adorned with silks. Perhaps he will come after? Or has he gone ahead in secret?"

"Your brother has flaxen hair?" the Warlock asked Fiepet.

"The color of wheat. It shines pale gold in the sunlight. Though why he would wear it 'atop his head', I do not know. It's bad enough that dancer dressed him up in her robe. He already had trouble enough with those at home mistaking him for a woman." 

The Warlock's hopeful heart cracked open.

"Are you sure he is not a woman?" asked Elion, "It could have been you'd had a sister along."

Fiepet wagged his finger. "It is talk like that that invites misconceptions," he declared, "Rumors of Delphin's beauty created many an unwarranted suitor who thought the same such nonsense. Allow me to discredit it completely. My brother is a man."

"But how can you be sure..?" Elion goaded.

"Because I have seen ...it!" Fiepet replied, "I have seen the man naked!"

Elion's fullsome laugh betrayed the success of his own amusement. "However did that come to be?" he asked, "If I understand correctly... you are not blood brothers, but two men, unrelated. How did two men come to see one another naked?"

"I have my blade," the Counsel offered, "Should you wish me to dispatch him."

Fiepet's reluctance to have a man murdered in front of his eyes had been greatly appreciated by Elion, whose playful jabs did not always land successfully.

In the rear of Fiepet's carriage, Ursa was beginning to stir. No longer tied to Min's horse, his hands and feet were tightly bound, a length of rope securing him to the frame and forcing him to remain safely in his seat. The man ahead driving from Remora's horse did not appear to be Remora. His tobacco brown hair was fastened with a black ribbon, and he wore the colors of the Warlock's palace, but Ursa did not know him.

"Hey!" he shouted.

Fiepet didn't turn, not because he chose to ignore him, but because he was focused on remaining in the saddle and didn't trust his ability to look back and keep his balance at the same time.

"Counsel, it appears your prisoner is awake," Elion kindly announced.

"Untie me!" cried Ursa, "Is that the mighty Warlock I see riding ahead? Oi! Fucking untie me! Min's gone mad and thinks the witch has returned from the dead."

Whether the Maddening Witch was still alive was a far off hope that the Warlock dare not speak of. But neither would he stand to hear another speak of his beloved's death in so casual a manner.

"Shut the fuck up Ursa!" the Warlock bellowed from his saddle, "Counsel, if he continues out of line I recommend you dose him again before my temper is lost beyond control."

Fiepet pulled the carriage to a stop.

"Need I remind you of the example you are setting to your subjects?" Fiepet asked him, gesturing to the banner-waving onlookers, "Not to mention, Counsel, you have yet to inform me why the man accompanying my brother has seemingly been placed under arrest?"

Ursa arched his body and looked desperately for Delph.

"Are you Piglet's brother?!" he asked the man in front, "Piglet! Is he here?"

Fiepet made sure to brace his body in the saddle as he turned to face the man in the carriage.

"And you!" he cried, "Who are you calling 'piglet'? Delphin Strahl of Strahl's Printworks is certainly no fatty!"