There are storms and then there are storms but this was the storm of all storms, as if all of creation was angry, the wind howling, the rain so heavy it formed an almost impenetrable curtain through which the rickety old cart struggled to make headway.  Mo Underwood couldn’t remember a storm like this one and he was three hundred years old. 

‘I’m truly sorry, Mindi,’ he said to his trusty ageing mule, as she fought the elements, pulling a load that seemed to get heavier with each mile, ‘I wouldn't have had you suffer this for the world but we really do have to reach ‘Ho’ before the morning. I’ll give you treble rations when we get there, promise.’ 

The tears in his eyes mingled with the rain. It was as if he knew she wasn’t going to make it, this trip was just too much for her, she should be back in the retirement field from which he’d led her those few hours earlier. This was proving to be the worst night in Mo’s life but he was a proud Peep and so was one hundred per cent loyal to The Settlement of Windy Ho, their safety dependent upon him reaching there before morning. Though they were no more than a metre high Peeps were giants when it came to loyalty and bravery.  Even if it cost him his beloved Mule, or even his own life Mo wasn’t about to give up.

At around the same time Mo and Mindi were fighting to stay alive and complete their journey another drama was unfolding in a little wooden hut on the edge of Windy Ho which housed the headquarters of the Settlement Wardens. Almost shouting in order to be heard over the raging storm outside Officer Milo  yelled, ‘It’s getting late, surely no one’ll be out travelling Route One at this time and in this weather. How about extinguishing the Beacon early?’

Matt Xander, senior by three minutes, thoughtfully rubbed his stubbled chin replying in like manner. 

‘I don't know, Milo. It’s still risky, I mean you never can be sure. The one time you get rid of the Beacon early that’ll be the time when something bad happens. Best leave it till…’

Before he could finish there came a loud banging on the door.

‘Who the blue blazes can that be on a night such as this?’ 

‘Try opening the door, Milo, then we’ll both know!’

The puzzled Warden had barely got the door open when a soaking wet diminutive figure rushed in passed him and went straight to Matt, who was initially equally surprised until he recognised the figure once the protective rain hood was removed.

‘Madam Gwen. What brings you out here on a night like this. You’ll catch your death in this weather?’

Madam Gwen, sometimes referred to as Mystic Gwen, Seer / Oracle of the Settlement of Windy Ho sat down and the moment she did so everything changed in the little room. There was a palpable calmness about the place, the noise from outside diminishing in intensity so that they could hear each other without shouting. This was the presence of Mystic Gwen. The two Wardens, one sitting on the desk, the other on a stool looked expectantly at their visitor. She didn’t keep them waiting.

‘I’m sorry for the dramatic entrance just now but I had to warn you.’

‘Warn us?’

‘There’s no need to shout, I’m not deaf.’

‘Sorry, warn us of what?’

‘Since the storm broke I’ve had a very uneasy feeling growing in me, a feeling that someone was in mortal danger out there on the road.’

‘Route One, you mean?, interjected Matt.

‘Yes,’ continued Gwen, ‘the very same and what’s more, I think that the individual in question may be a herald of important news.’

‘And?’, asked Milo, even though he had a very good idea of what the answer would be.

‘This person needs assistance immediately. I really think it has greater importance than we may imagine.’ Madam Gwen was not one for melodrama or calling false alarms. When she spoke, you listened and responded.

‘You heard the lady, Milo, get your gear.’

The storm had not abated outside so as soon as they left the shelter of their hut they walked into an almost solid wall of rain and sleet, they were barely able to see one another. 

‘We must hurry!’ shouted Gwen.

‘Of course, Madam Gwen but I have to say this doesn't look good, not good at all.’ 

Matt, the more experienced of the two Wardens, didn't feel too hopeful of a good result. He sensed disaster but they were committed. Even though Route One was well known to them in this storm it was all too easy to lose one’s way as indeed the party did more than once, however, an hour into the search Milo spotted something ahead and slightly to the right, off the track. As they approached it became painfully obvious they were looking at a body and upon inspection found it to be that of Mo Underwood, lying where he had fallen. Immediately Madam Gwen set about administering medical care, one of her many skills. He was in a bad way, having dropped from sheer exhaustion but he was alive, just. He tried to say something but couldn’t manage anything other than point with a very weak arm in the direction from whence he’d come uttering faintly. 

‘Mindi.’

Milo made his way towards the point Mo was indicating and after only a few metres came upon the lifeless body of the mule, ‘Mindi.’ The trip had proven to be one too many for her but she had given her all for her master. The detached cart lay on its side just off the main track where it had overturned. Mo must have released his mule from it before he set out on his own. What could have driven him to endure such a trip like this? Such was the thought that crossed Milo’s mind as he made his way back to where Matt and Gwen were tending to Mo. It would take them another hour to get back to the Settlement, having managed to get the cart upright and putting Mo on it, with Matt and Milo pulling and Gwen walking alongside, keeping an eye on their patient they made their way back, utterly drenched but safely.

For three nights Mo Underwood was in and out of consciousness with a fever, unable to say anything other than ‘Mindi’. On the fourth day he came to enough to take some broth Gwen had prepared for him and then began to speak, still very weak his voice little above a whisper, he began to tell of the events leading up to setting out on Route One, heading for Windy Ho. 

‘It all started when I found it. Digging up my field I was, when I hit something hard and making a strange sort of sound when being struck by my spade. I thought, that’s no stone. So I kept digging till I dug it out completely and low and behold if it wasn’t an egg.’

‘An egg!?’ Matt felt a shiver go down the length of his spine. ‘You sure about that, Mo?’

‘An egg,’ reaffirmed Mo. ‘But ‘twere no ordinary egg, no sir, this’n was made o’glass, aye that’s right, glass.’ 

All three rescuers exchanged looks and it was Gwen who spoke. 

‘This glass egg you dug up, Mo, what did you do with it?’

‘Well, I got to thinking as how I’d heard some time ago about the coming of a dragon to these parts at a time of great danger and seeing as how this ere egg was not of the standard type I wondered?’ 

‘Y-e-s?’ chirped three voices in unison.

‘Well, I wondered if’n this ere egg might be, yuh know, a dragon’s egg. If’n it was, then could it be THE egg?’

 ‘This egg, what did you do with it?’ Asked Gwen.

‘Do with it? Why nothing? I puts it away safe like. I knew I’d better report it so I hid it and set out for Ho. Then the storm came and I swear I heard a voice in the storm…’ His voice trailed off for a brief spell. Then he said, ‘You're gonna think I’m crazy.’

‘No, no, Mo. No one here thinks you’re crazy. Please do go on. What did this voice say?’

‘W-e-l-l, I swear this voice said, ‘It’s mine, mine, you shall not have it!’ At first I thought I was hearing things, what with the storm an’ all but then I hears it again, only louder and clearer, ‘It’s mine, mine, you shall not have it. You must give it to me!’ 

As soon as he’d finished saying this Mo lapsed into unconsciousness.

‘Is h-e dead, Madam Gwen?’ Asked a shaky Milo.

Feeling her patient's pulse Gwen peered over her oversized round rimmed glasses and gave Milo a wink. 

‘Oh he’ll be fine. Just needs some sleep, lots of it too.’

Matt, sitting on the desk, looking thoughtful, as he always did, said ‘What do you think, then Madam Gwen, yuh know, the egg, a glass egg. Could it be?’ 

He didn’t have to finish the sentence, both Gwen and Milo were thinking the same thing.

‘We must inform the Council at once’, said Gwen. 

‘When’s their next meeting?’ asked Milo.

‘When I say,’ said Gwen.