<strong>Tiny Threats</strong><br/>The iron bunker hummed with activity.<span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 7pt;">"Mortal folk, breakers of oaths!"</span>An accusing finger poked through the opening, but quickly retreated.<span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 7pt;">"They try to extort more stipulations still!"<br/>"A pox on oathbreakers, the worst of all scoundrels!"<br/>"Hit them with the cork again!"<br/>"I'll put a saddle on your spider, and ride it up your skirt!"</span><br/>One voice drowned out the next. When it came to parley, which for a pixie went immediately to making demands, the idea of a singular leader flew out the window.<br/><br/>In terms of sacks, not to mention bedsheets and canvas tarp, Ishi had a surplus. The cellar became a deposit for any and everything without immediate use, a junkyard inhabited by fairies. Signs of tiny habitation were clearer, now that things were turned upside-down. A pixie hammock assembled by weaver ants, hung between nails, a thimble-sized twig basket for grains, a beetle with woven booties. They had been here for a few days, at least.<br/><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 7pt;">"You agreed to let us hold court here. You agreed! Where the seeds of a fairy tree unfurl in the soil, there the fair folk court is decided. Nobody ever bargained for any <em>farm chores." </em></span>