Hagatha Dimples, (gods-damn she hated that surname, what kind of self respecting witch is named Dimples. That’s a goody two shoes name if ever there was one,) was having a very bad day. They had tried a new magic stone blend in the BPU (broomstick propulsion unit) that packed a lot more PP (Pegasus power) than the previous model.

It had been going great until she decided to test the turbo. Then it all went pear shaped in a spectacular manner. Sure the broom went fast, TOO fast, there’s only so much your average sticky charm can stick you to a stick, and even the super sticky spell didn’t stick her well enough.

Next thing she knew the broom was racing off ahead at high speed (for a ways at least) with poor pinkie clinging on for dear life, and she was heading earthwards with great rapidity. Remembering her emergency procedures she straightened out as best she could. Head down. The helmet/hat would absorb most of the impact, and the protection spells would help. But seeing how quickly she was heading towards her date with the dirt she just knew this was going to suck.

She straightened out as best she could, and landed with a terrific twang, head down (and completely submerged in the dirt.) The girls called this “lawn darting”, and it was an occupational hazard of her particular pastime. As you know witches wear pointy hats, which leads to the problem. But a witch can’t swap to a more traditional helmet, because it’s one thing to protect your head, but it is quite another to declare yourself not a witch.

Some things just have to be done for appearances sake, it had been a tough enough choice to opt for a feline with less floof over the traditional black cat for anti allergen reasons, but in all fairness Pinkie was a very good cat (meaning in any other species they would be considered a vicious little bastard,) even if they did insist on tormenting her in the aftermath of every single crash.

Wait, was that people up above? It didn’t sound like the girls, and the last thing she wanted right now was perfect strangers seeing her bloomers, (not really escapeable if you land upside down in a dress.) But she was rather uncomfortable being up to her armpits in dirt from the top down, the blood was rushing to her head, and Pinkie seemed to think it was hilarious fun to swat at her. (Damned moggy, she was not a cat toy, and nobody appreciates being on the receiving end of the sharp bits of a cat, well maybe not nobody, but anybody who does was downright weird in her opinion. Not the kind of person to have tea and biccies with. Maybe a beer or two if she wasn’t flying.)

Over the next forty five minutes or so (hard to be exact with all the blood rushing to your head, the hallucinations and spininess are a little distracting,) she was carefully extracted from the dirt. (The people had to be extra careful not to accidentally hit any piercings, and Hagatha could probably keep a scrapyard in business with a single ear. It was just as well that she never walked past a high powered magnet or the result would be to say the least uncomfortable.)

When she was eventually unearthed she was relieved to note the lack of torches and pitchforks, (nobody wants to be rescued by an angry mob, it leads to all sorts of awkward situations. Particularly with the history there, Hagatha was relieved not to have that happen at least, maybe things were looking up.) Then she noticed the armour, that meant a noble. The words frying pan and fire sprung to mind. Nobles were in her eyes always up to something. Then she noticed the kid noting down her swearwords, and came to the realisation not only had she been swearing like a drunken sailor in the presence of nobles, she had been swearing like a drunken sailor in the presence of noble KIDS. She was in so much trouble.

Things only got worse when she realised it was two Princesses (one of whom was clearly cursed in some way, and that was a mess. Two loyal guards, an Owl Bear, a pack of war-scarred Pegasi who looked like they had seen some stuff, a liberated construct, and a hellcat. All they needed was a cute mascot and........... OH GODS, the Hellcat had a Sqwoomphette perched on it’s head. It was worse than she thought, she’d been sucked into a quest.

Luckily they didn’t seem to be looking to recruit anybody, and were much more interested in making sure she was okay, and making her a cup of tea. That was a relief, she was much too young to want to be dragged into whatever the hell was going on here. Getting involved with quests was trouble, and she was having none of that thank you very much.

Well the tea helped, (even if Pinkie was being maliciously friendly, which anybody who knows cats will tell you means you are going to get it in the neck later.) For now though tickling under the chin (the only non lethal bit to fuss on a cat wearing a helmet and leather jacket, since everywhere else was likely to result in hitting whiskers, specially made feline flying goggles, for which the blacksmith charged a bloody fortune, mostly in compensation for scratches received during the fitting process. Which apparently even steel gauntlets won’t save you from. Or tail which everybody knows is the fur-less feline fuse you really don’t want to be a match for,) really was helping a lot. She was feeling almost calm, and trying to figure out how best to run away before getting dragged into any shenanigans. When she heard a familiar cackling from outside. That could only be her girls. (Most witches actively avoid cackling where possible due to negative connotations, Hagatha’s group did not, opting instead to reclaim it as a form of protest against mages appropriating it in the form of maniacal laughter.)

She really wanted to warn the girls off before it was too late, but there was no way she was getting her stick out of the tree alone, and a good bristlehead never abandons their broom.