“Here is how I understand your story, and it is how I will recount it to the Viceroy: You and your brother-in-law, Brian were clearing dead wood when a wyer of dragons appeared and carried off your brother-in-law, and the pony. You stood your ground and the beasts circled you before a purple worm struck you with its tail, sending you flying. You landed in a stream, and thus moistened survived the airborne blast of the wyer. They departed northwards, and you were able after a time of recovery to make your way to the palace to report the encounter, and the loss of valuable woodland,” Wilfred summarised.
“Um,” Connor began.
“Just say yes,” the Dwarf instructed.
“Perfect,” the Dragon Hunter declared. “I, of course, under such circumstances, and with your newly acquired intellegence of the vindictive and unrelenting nature of dragons toward their quarry, recommend that you and your sister remove yourselves southwards, away from the last known heading of the beasts. I will use my position with the Viceroy to secure you and your sister’s pensions in full for such a journey, and I recommend that you leave as soon as I provide that purse for you. I don’t see that there will ever be a need for you or your kin to return to these parts, as some other details of your confession might under such an eventuality be recalled by me in the future. I assure you, however, that such revelations are safe with me, and Runny here, as long as you stick to the agreement.”
“I . . .” Connor said hesitantly.
“Agree, is the word you are looking for, Furster,” Roundbottom interjected.
“I . . . agree,” the forester said a little uneasily.
“Perfect,” Wilfred said again. “Let’s get you to sleep-off some ale, and we will get you and your sister packing in the morning.”
“And my pension?”
“No worries there, Lad,” Runny said. “We will get ya the silver in the morn.”
Soon the forester was snoring away.
“So, a meet’n with the palace folk?” Runny asked.
“I don’t see why not. Most of the village heard you warn the man, and I’m sure news of it has already reached the Viceroy’s ears. If I know his type, and I think I do, he will happily hedge his bets in case we fail to kill the dragons, by getting them to go southwards looking for Connor rather than staying in this realm.”
“I reckon you’re right there,” the Dwarf said. “I will send a message to the lads in the morrow while you is seeing the Viceroy feller.”