Bonnie and SophieAbridged.

Chapter 4 Emp Imp

Twang! Twang! Twang! explode their eardrums. Both dogs drop, smashing into the ground. The arrows meet thud! thud! thud! They lie still. Wild creatures advance shouting, bawling and outcries and voices in the hunt. For five hours Bonnie and Soph hide and watch dead birds plummeting to earth, spilling to earth, dropping to earth, falling to earth until eventually all sound dies away. Then they stiffly creak to their pads and with heads slung horizontally low dolefully plod away.

At last the pals are standing on Black Mountain. It's not called black for nothing. No life exists or wishes to exist on this pitch heap. A slightly flattened evil dome, black as the ace of spades and sculptured by devil's water, towers high above as they trudge up that enormous ant-hill. Velvet black, soft as sin, the ink blot lures them on, until rounding the mound, there ahead, next to a sooty heap, stands a small imp with a magic hat perched upon his top. The creature eyes them so queerly they can barely keep from laughing.

Emp the Imp hates visitors on his black hill, so waving his arms madly, head back, black hat hanging by a thread, he orders the west wind harshly, 'do as l say, blow that lazy cloud about, quick now bustle back here, you're too merry, some more ruffian haste my wind." Slightly moaning the wind answers. 'That's it,' Emp screeches, 'sing louder my friend, toss birds about, blow, blow, blow, wilder, wilder.' Emp screams again, 'sweep them, whip these hardy dogs away.' 'Quick Soph,' dive behind the rucksack,' and Bonnie grabs her friend just in time. But well satisfied, Emp now sooths the raging gale, 'enough, enough, my Sylphs, now let us talk.' His bushy red beard pricks out to double its size.

Clod, clod, clod, the funny but frightening little figure moves towards them. Chocolate boots push up an emerald pair of breeches, carrying a flame tunic with lemon sleeves and cuffs of gold braid, these support his rusty beard with overhanging garter-blue nose. Sophie coughs nervously. 'My fiery cauldron controls the world for me, you see I have water, mountain air, black earth and fire. I steal the world with spells and charms,' Emp chuckles queerly. 'Depends how I feel when the sun rises. When my mood is joyful, I mix the four ingredients, water, air, fire and earth and produce beautiful and useful objects such as trees, flowers, animals, humans, food.' Emp's grin twists, 'but then other times I wake up angry, spiteful, full of hate, and I take apart the things I have made. Leaves are torn from trees, flowers fall broken, gates and fences collapse, objects break in homes and I spell sickness and death to animals and humans.'

Meanwhile Bonnie has an important question on her mind. 'Did you ever make a magic collar, Emp, one that was stolen from the dog race thousands of years ago?' 'What if I did?' Emp screeches, 'you'll never lay your paws on it, you'll die first.' Well this is certainly too much for our pals, their spirit gives way, and grabbing the rucksack they take to their heels and hardly able to breathe they run and run and run.