Read The Windvale Sprites for Free Online Page B

things first: to give the beast a name. Pending a thorough internal examination I have provisionally classified it as a new species of the homo genus displaying characteristics of the ‘Odonata’ order of   insects. Therefore it shall be called ‘Homo Insecta Dentii’ (the latter for myself) but it shall be known as The Windvale Sprite.
     
     
The trapping method that eluded me for so long was, as is often the case, so simple as to be laughable. I soon found from my observations that there are two things the creatures cannot resist:
     
     
1: Any crack or crevice, ditch or dyke they can’t help but explore. (They live, from all I can gather, in old warrens that the rabbits have either abandoned or been chased from, as I was from Mereton.)  
     
     
2: (And this is the thunderbolt!) Shiny things! Be it a new penny or a shard of broken glass, if it reflects the sun they want it and will go to any lengths to get it.  
     
     
My discovery was made thus:  
     
     
Two days ago, whilst keeping my heathside watch I happened to drift to sleep in the afternoon sun. I was presently awoken by a buzzing sound and on stirring surprised two of the creatures who made off with great haste across the moor. I looked down to discover three of my silver coat buttons gone, the thread bitten through. Stolen! It was only then that I thought back and remembered other items mysteriously vanished: a shoe buckle, a watch chain and my amber hatpin. All no doubt pilfered by those winged rapscallions.  
     
     
But they are sly! Or clever, for when the traps were obvious they stayed away, sensing danger and anything mechanical or sprung they would steer clear of.
     
     
And the solution was a bucket. A mere bucket from my yard, baited with a silver sixpence, sunk into the ground with a heavy lid propped up on a stick that I pulled away on a twine.  
     
     
The first two attempts brought them close but they sensed or smelled me and fled. Working on the theory that they have an extraordinary sense of smell, on the third attempt I endeavoured not to touch any of the components of the trap with my hands and wrapped my feet in wads of grass lest my footprints should carry my scent.  
     
     
And that was the key! I waited ’til it was inside and tweaked the twine from my position downwind. The lid came down and the prize was mine.  
     

    The following pages had more sketches of the creature from different angles and detailed drawings of its wings and limbs. But in every one the sprite seemed to be trying to hide with that same frightened look in its eyes.

11
     

Back to the Moor
     
     
    ‘Asa!’ Mum was calling from downstairs so Asa hurriedly swept the books and papers under his bed and leaned over the banisters.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘What time are you off?’ asked Mum.
    ‘Off where?’
    ‘Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten? The school trip, your biology field trip, it’s today, isn’t it?’
    Asa had forgotten, or at least he’d forgotten to tell his parents that it was cancelled. But just at that moment a plan occurred to him: with Mum and Dad away at his grandparents’ he would be free to go and spend some time on the moor trying to catch a sprite.
    ‘Ah yes,’ he replied, ‘we’ve got to be at school at midday.’
    ‘Well, we’re leaving soon,’ she said. ‘We can give you a lift with all your stuff.’ Asa thought fast. ‘It’s OK, Chris’s mum is picking me up on the way past.’
    His mum seemed to be satisfied with this fictional arrangement and so he went down and kissed her goodbye before going back to his room.
    He spent a few hours meticulously planning his expedition like a great explorer of old. He drew up lists of provisions and spread Tooth’s maps and charts on the floor. Some of them showed smaller areas of the moor in greater detail and marked out entire colonies of sprites and the locations of their warrens. The maps were, of course, two hundred years old but Asa thought that even if the colonies had