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After thinking it over, Graham decided that he was going to need help if he planned to rescue poor Telly from the false Allidap. Hence, he decided to wait for Jeanne-Marie. He could spend the day formulating a plan that would allow them to get Telly away from the Witch without endangering their own lives.
MacDonald Lindsay was a fellow who was in high position on his farm, yet he gave all of the finest of his yield to others. He was a man who had few needs, only the knowledge that his crops were bringing happiness to others. That was all he had ever asked. Yet there was something missing in his life. Something upon which he could not place a finger. Yes, indeed MacDonald Lindsay had fingers. Three of them on each hand, in fact! He was a powerful and muscular troll, for all intents and purposes. That is, he was from the waist up. From his waist down, instead of the usual troll waist and legs, however, he had the neck and body of a mighty black stallion. Anyone born under the astrological sign of Sagittarius might recognize him as a relation to the centaur. But MacDonald Lindsay claimed no such heritage formally. "Lambert," he said, putting a beefy hand on the shoulder of one of his workers, who happened to be a foreman among the wartfrogs.
"Yeah?" asked the amphibian.
"Who is the little unicorn? The one I see out there in my fields? I have seen her other times, too."
"I know no name for her," sighed the wartfrog. "My boys and I have seen her before, though. She only takes a few pods—and only those extreme few that my boys don't consider worthy of picking or trading in your name. Those that she takes are all too small or have already been picked over by the crows. We had once considered making a scarecrow—an inanimate one, of course. Not like the guy who usually comes to mind when we think of scarecrows. But that little unicorn seems to get what she needs from our leftovers, so no one has bothered to send her on her way."
"So she only takes that which is rejected from my farm?" replied MacDonald doubtfully.
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"Well," began the worker, "please don't be angry with me. There have been a couple of occasions that I have taken pity on the poor creature and left a few better pods for her to find. Please don't get angry, sir! I only did it because I felt sorry for the poor little thing. She looked so hungry, and we have so much."
Within minutes, the mighty centaur-like man was looking into the eyes of the young unicorn. "I—I'm sorry to intrude on your farm," she said tremblingly.