A sound of pattering footsteps and a group of familiar faces appear at the window, somewhat hairier than the last time I saw them in the Spring.
It was the Beaker Fertility Folk, convinced that, this being late September, this is the Rutting Moon and it is therefore time for them to return to the warmth of the Great House. Not having been out of the fields since April, they hadn't realised we'd been gone.
I explained that this is not the Rutting Moon, but the Harvest Moon.
So they've gone back into the woods. I look forward to seeing them again in October.
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