Remember Snagthorn from the first couple of episodes of Morga Skullsplitter? Find out how he ended up in the Red Scar Clan in this short tale...
  A preview:
  The old mystic pottered around his hut, not really doing anything in particular, but doing a good job at looking busy. He probably could have got away with sitting around and having a snooze, but he thought it was important to at least make it look like he was doing all he could to earn his keep. He fed the crows that always lined up along his windowsill. They were never far away, and their constant company was a source of comfort these days. Snagthorn's joints groaned as he moved potion bottles from one location to another. His back ached as he added new artefacts to his shelves. It felt like he'd been old forever, but things hadn't always been like this. He hadn't always been old. And he hadn't always been a mystic. Not that he really was now, was he? Each day he wondered what would happen if the clan found out about what he really was. In some ways, he was glad Morga was gone now. She'd always been too shrewd. There was a good chance she would have worked out the truth sooner or later. Worst of all, there was a good chance she would have been really disappointed with him. Even though he'd arrived in the Red Scar Clan in a haze of fakery and lies, his friendship with Morga was the truest he'd ever experienced. "May she never find out what I really am," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. One of the crows cawed in agreement.