Weave seen too much.

At this point, everybody was introduced to a familiar sensation, as reality took a holiday, (in answer to several of your questions from earlier, your elbows on a sunny September the 31’st in Milton Keynes taste just like your elbows anywhere else, except from fifty realities over for Milton Keynes to be extant, and goodness knows how many more before reaching the one reality in which that place ever gets any sun. Oh, and a few realities over for September to have a 31’st day. Curious how that is? Give your own elbow a lick and see.)

Mibbet who really did not want another reality-warping tour, just in case she somehow woke up after it as a royal emu or something hurled choppy. There was a yelp in the distance, as a particular wizard learned the hard way, that pointy hat or not, they do not get bonus armour vs a low flying hatchet, and of course, standing in range had proven the target was extraordinarily dense, so that put paid to him.

The bitey Bambi’s, meanwhile, had taken a brief tour of a reality where they didn’t exist, which neatly solved that particular problem, but now Mibbet and the others had a brand new problem.

“Oh, Bollocks”, Sir Leeroy grumbled, “now we have a problem.”

“OK, what’s going on?” Mibbet asked as a pack of polka dot flamingos stomped past on stilts.

“Too many sqwoomphs lately, It’s going to take reality a bit to reassert itself; until then, sit down and do not move.”

They quickly plopped themselves down, as the horses, who had been giving all this weird crap their usual jaded non-response, suddenly gained a set of wings each, which they somehow knew was part of their own bodies.

Now, as anybody who has ever lived or worked round horses knows, even the most calm, placid, and laid back horse has a rather overinflated sense of personal space. They get really, really huffy about it, so the sudden intrusion of a couple of extra feet of horseflesh winged or otherwise did not go unnoticed. As with a squeal that implied something being murdered rather than just getting too close, they started to bicker and distance themselves. (Which, as you’d expect, doesn’t really work when the entire team were harnessed together) and there was a reason Sir Leeroy told everybody not to move, once you take yourself out of your home dimension for a brief while, you realise that doing so causes a few theoretical strings to go twang, or to put it in another way if you break the surface reality ripples.

Sure enough, they soon saw what they really wished they hadn’t; there was a reality where Errol was the king and another where worship of felines as a superior being was the default religion (Rascal liked that one, though they really couldn’t quite put a paw on what was so different about it. Wasn’t cat worship a logical and natural response to the greatness that is cat?)

Turns out there are a lot of moustache realities and a plentiful supply of evil twin dimensions, but that’s to be expected when wizards muck about.

But the most disturbing realities were the ones in which Mibbet and Rosalind never met; either the sqwoomph turned into a boom, or something else went wrong. Those realities were inevitably tragic, the constructs never winning their freedom. Malachai making a fortune for a very short time, which really did not help him a lot against a sudden undead horde to the face. The palmers tried to fight until something reasserted the rules of life and death on them, some kind of cult clad in pink robes marching in and staging a coup, while the land withered from a terrible drought that never seemed to break. It was horrible, and for Mibbet and Rosalind, now the most horrifying thing about them all was the empty, soul-sucking loneliness. It brought tears to their eyes, and because of that, they didn’t even notice the sudden sound of weaving.

“Now now dear, there’s no use feeling be weft over a little warp in the fabric of reality”, it scolded.

“GYTHA, what have I told you about making weaving puns” snapped another, as a trio of elderly/young/tall/short women appeared above them all, weaving something Mibbet and the others really couldn’t understand at all (and believe me, the entire group tried.)

“That there’s loom for improvement?” came the reply, while the last of the trio, a blindfolded individual, simply facepalmed at the terrible jokes (honestly, these two should have outgrown that nonsense aeons ago.

“Why are you here?” The blindfolded figure asked. You little one’s really love to get into places you shouldn’t be, don’t you? But you really need to stop fiddling and let us work.

“Ummm, miss?” Mibbet asked, realising odds were fairly good that this group were their only way home, and that after that whirlwind tour of everything that could go pear-shaped and how this probably wasn’t the time to miss an opportunity for answers. “While we’re here, may I ask why I’m like this?”

“Curious little creature, aren’t you?” The blindfolded lady said with a chuckle. “so let’s just ask, does it matter? There are many realities where things get torn, snagged, or broken, but life goes on. In this reality, you’re like this, and that’s that, the world goes on, it’s all part of life’s rich tapestry.”

That earned a snicker from the individual known as Gytha, “see, Fati can do it”, she said smugly to her companion, who lacking a good response, turned her ire on the squabbling squad of horses.

“YOU LOT HOLD STILL,” she snapped “we’ve got enough of a mess to fix here without you lot bickering. Keep it up, and the guardians of hell will have some extra dog food, we clear?” This was, of course, accompanied by a glare that could strip paint at forty paces.

The horses, upon hearing that suddenly and for a brief time, regained their survival instincts and stood still as a statue as the weaving resumed, and life went on.