The wizard scratched his dirty beard, pushed the skinny lass off his lap. She fumbled with her skirts. “Aye, it is something the bloody fairies do.”
His prized goat lay exposed in the burlap sack at his feet. Dead as cold stone.
The wizard stood, throwing the haunch bone to the dogs. “‘Tis the last straw.”
Out in the muddy street, the wizard raised his gnarled staff high. “The fairies have killed again. They take what is ours by divine right. It ends now. Kill the fairies!”
Armed with pitchforks and torches, the crowd cheered.