It's Totally Trews, Muse!

My relationship with Nonny, the underrated Muse of Folksong, is generally a delightful one.  Sometimes she'll return from the slopes of Parnassus in melancholy mood, and breathe over me the breath of Carrie Grey; sometimes she will be ribald, and bring me Kyra from Kazandry; sometimes she will be both, and bring me De Ville's Toast to His Friends.  And other times she will be so completely off the wall, I haven't even any description for the result that is shorter than singing it.  Always, she will break in upon me like a wave where no sea was hitherto apparent, and not cease until I've worked her latest inspiration into safely-recorded words and music.

This is often inconvenient, but almost always worth it.

And then sometimes she will come back totally monstered on bad nectar, and afflict me with I've Got Badgers in Me Nadgers.

Growing Up and Coming Down

Killer-Kate and Luke Lackland: 310 words.  The Young Duke stands very alone in a crowded courtyard of his folk, and gives order to let the Puffin Superior in.  His true coming of age, I begin to understand, is happening somewhat out of the usual order.  Perhaps it's that, or my not having grasped it previously, that makes him so difficult to write properly.