Once upon a time there were 3 little pigs – a Brazene pig, a Hutar pig and a Lugate pig.
The Lugate pig thought himself safe, with his roots and herbs, brewing his potions and babbling his words. But when the Sidhe came a-calling, alchemy was not enough to save him.
“Little pig, Lugate pig, I am Sidhe You should be more afraid of me.”
“Not I” said the pig “I brew, and I dare To defy you by root, and by branch and by hair.’
But his fingers fumbled as he reached for his reagents and fanned his fire, and his tongue twisted, traitorous, in his mumbling mouth, and his rhymes were rote and redundant. And off he ran, fast and fearful, and the Sidhe howled in glee as they gave chase in a wild hunt.
The Hutar pig thought himself safe, with his books and buildings, built with tamed tree-wood from the wild woods, and stolen stones from Sidhe circles. But when the Sidhe came a-calling,sorcery was not enough to save him.
“Little pig, Hutar pig, I am Sidhe You should be more afraid of me.”
“Not I” said the pig “I learn, and I know To defy you by going where you dare not go.’
But his feet faltered and he fell as he ran for his iron-barred gates, and the sorcery he stammered out had a backlash that lashed him tightly, hog-tied and ready for the feasting fires of the fae. And there he sat, fat and fearful, and the Sidhe howled in hunger as they drooled in delight.
The Brazene pig thought herself safe, with her coven and her curses, living in loneliness in the mighty mountains, with incantations and recitations of protection and detection. But when the Sidhe came a-calling, witchcraft was not enough to save her.
“Little pig, Brazene pig, I am Sidhe You should be more afraid of me.”
“Not I” said the pig “I weave, and I vow To defy you, by magic I bind to you now!’
But her weaving of words was weak, and she wavered, and the curse crumpled, unbound and unfettered, and the witch was wounded, for the cost was crippling cuts. So there she lay, fallen and fearful, and the Sidhe howled with laughter as they licked up the blood that pooled around her.
And so it was that the Sidhe wolves feasted upon manpork three times over.
‘Little pigs, human pigs, Fear the Sidhe Else pride shall be the death of thee.’
By Nicky Lawrence