Pooka or Pookas, turn it or them loose. Have fun! -- Knitnan
The man was having a pleasant conversation with what looked to be a chair of thin air. Which immediately caught Shayde's interest.
"You stay away from that man, demon," warned Riflgast. "He has an affliction of the humours and is seeing things."
"Nope," said Shayde. As if she could see what the fellow was talking to. "He's got a case of th' Pookas, ye ken."
Riflgast almost fell off his horse. He managed to turn it into a slightly graceful dismount. "What?"
"The man's fine. It's just he's got himself a Pooka."
Riflgast grumbled and warded the demon against causing harm whilst he was in the library. While he was in there, he looked up the Enlarged Bestiary and found what he was looking for under P.
Púca (pooka) - from Celtic mythology. A fairy spirit in animal form, always very large. The pooka appears here and there, now and then, to this one and that one. A benign but mischievous creature. Very fond of rumpots, crackpots, and how are you, Riflgast the Sable?
He left his research and stormed out of the library to confront the demon. "How the hell did you break my wards and pull that stunt?"
"I've done no such thing, excuse you. Check 'em yerself."
He did. They were pristine. "Then how did my name appear in a hundred-year-old bestiary?"
Shayde giggled. "Ah, they love pullin' that one. Ye look again, and it'll be gone."
He did. It was. In its place was, You know she's right.