Now, hours later, he was almost done; halfway through the Reclamation of the Seelie Court, next to last. There were knots in his shoulders and a bad crick in his neck, but Pocket knew he would finish in time for the ceremony and that was well worth the discomfort. Coalspur was gone, and while he had not lived during the times captured in the threads of the tapestries, he was surely one of the greatest knights ever to grace the ranks of the Order. Grand Master Lackcomb trusted none other with so much and Pocket wondered how the old war bird would get on without him. Not that Pocket would ever ask. Lackcomb frightened him.

Pocket craned his neck around to the completed wall and gazed at the tapestry depicting the renowned charge that broke the Red Cap army of King Sweyn the Third during the opening years of the rebellion. Leading the knights, beak spread wide in a silent war call, was Mulrooster, first Grand Master, his glaive held high, embroidered goblins fleeing before him. Pocket had tried for years to adopt the features of a coburn. Sometimes he managed to produce the beak and the wattle. Once he even got a comb to sprout atop his newly feathered head. The feet were the most challenging and there were days Pocket dreamed of strutting around on talons, spurs clicking proudly, but try as he might, he could never get the form to hold. It would not matter if he did, Pocket would never be able to attain the height and powerful build. All in the Order were coburn, daunting and proud. Even the burly human clansmen that lived near the Roost were shorter than the knights by a head and less deep in the chest. Pocket would forever be small, barely reaching the waist of the shortest knight.

He finished the final tapestry quickly and fetched his broom. The Mumbler had not said anything about laying fresh rushes, or so Pocket thought, so he swept the stones as fast as he could, finally completing the tedious chore. He wanted to nab something from the kitchens before the funeral and maybe get a little sleep.

Off he went, using one of the small servant’s doors, and scampered down the narrow spiral stair. He emerged in the Under Hall, where several of the castle’s human servants were busy setting up tables; rallying points for the many platters of food that would be taken up for the feast in the Great Hall later in the morning. It was still quite dark outside, the windows of the Under Hall revealing nothing but lonely blackness. Pocket could not help but grin excitedly, thinking how strange and wonderful it was that the Roost was so busy at an hour when every inhabitant would normally be slumbering.