Before the White Peaks: A Gnoman March
“Are ye sure ’tis this way, Shane?”
“Aye, I’m sure. Keep up with me. Don’t drag your feet.”
There were five gnomes, the tallest in the lead and the smallest at the rear. It was the second who paused, scratching his head.
“Why mustn’t I be dragging my feet now, Shane?”
“Because,” said the first, “this marshy land is cursed. If any of us gets the mud from this marsh on the toes of their shoes—be ye warned—none of us will leave.”
The three smaller gnomes looked alarmed. The second was compelled to reassure them.
“But isn’t it the good Queen Aibreann who will save us, then?”