The five feathers

'Choose one,' he said, an alarming serenity to his voice that sort to send me off my solid ground and crashing into his vitriolic maze of conniving stew.

I hesitated. In his hand he held five feathers and I knew to choose the wrong one would lead to terrible things for me as it had for poor old Ned.

'Take one,' he said, a touch of menace now lacing his tone.

I drew back.

His look told me, screamed at me, to get out of there as quickly as I could and yet, bizarrely, an easy peace had begun to fall upon me. Whether the fear of being in front of such a dreadful man has just driven me to forget my senses I know not, but now I brazenly stepped forward and seized a feather.

He looked at the feather, then to me, then back to the feather, a look of mad astonishment across his face.

'You've chosen the longest feather,!' he spluttered, his ease of control suddenly evaporating.

I looked at him, smiling. He just turned and ran.

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