Old Jack-Rabbit woke late; his nose wiggled as he sniffed the cool air, heavy with the promise of spring. Sunlight filtered down to his den from a sky void of clouds. As Jack looked around he spotted a green-eyed, copper-haired Fagle. Her name was Crysta; how old Jack-Rabbit knew her name, he was not sure.

 

Crysta was surrounded by what appeared to be glittering dust particles as she stood under a sun ray. She held in her hands a slender, royal blue wand which she was busy re-charging. That was her craft. Fairies, far and wide, would seek out Crysta whenever their wands failed to perform at peak perfection. Soon sparks flew from the tip and Crysta placed the wand on a table piled high with various wands that had materialized while Jack was asleep. He noted other gnome-like touches had been added to his lair. A fireplace, set in a unique wood, hand-carved, mantelpiece, definitely the work of a particular gnome woodcarver who lived with the clan of gnomes down by the Boubliwae stream, dominated one wall.

 

Rush mats covered the floor and a rare earthen container (called cloam by the Piskies of Cornwall) filled with fresh sparkling water, hung from the wall beside his nest of clean, soft moss and dried grass. Sweet smelling clover piled high in a manger assaulted Jack's keen sense of smell and suddenly he became very hungry. After feasting he lapped water from the cloam and soon felt exhilarated. Crysta had filled the cloam with elixir from one of Shadows gazing pools.

 

Crysta was a great companion for old Jack-Rabbit. She helped him through the long winter with visions of spring and memories of his youth. Jack shed his white angora fur every spring as his new coat of misty grey grew in and Crysta brushed Jack's coat until it glistened. In neat wee bundles, in one corner where Crysta had piled them, was a collection of Jack's fur ready to be delivered to the gnomette Sarah. Sarah would weave the fur into works of art and warm clothing for the gnomes of Boubliwae Forest.

 

On day, Eric the gnome stood at the entrance to Jack's home with his stout walking stick encouraging Jack to emerge and seek a new mate. You see, Jack had lost his previous mate the winter before. Grieve no more my little friend, whispered Eric. Crysta arched her glittering eyebrows at Jack and, with her passive - never nagging manner, inspired Jack to emerge with her subtle power of suggestion.