Sprigglecap does not wait for travelers to wander into his domain, he comes to you.
He squeezes into gardens through holes in fences. He wriggles under cottage doors. He slips between the walls of market stalls, his crooked hat dragging against the beams. He is not bound to forest paths or misty roads. Sprigglecap lives where life is bustling, where there are baskets to overturn and bread to steal.
He adores busy places, anywhere hands are too full to swat him away.
To glimpse him is often just a flicker, a snout peeking from beneath a cabbage cart, a shadow darting along the hedge line. By the time you turn, your herbs are scattered, your shoes are tied together, and your best spoon is missing. Some swear they hear him giggling in the shrubs, a sound like twigs snapping underfoot, just before everything goes wrong.
But Sprigglecap is not cruel.
He is a nuisance, but a fond one.
Villagers know that his pranks, though frustrating, come with a strange kind of luck.
A stolen loaf might lead to finding coins beneath the stone step.
A tipped basket may reveal the fattest potato hidden at the bottom.
A missing garden spade often turns up, days later, polished and sharper than before.
His tricks unravel order, yes, but they often set things right in unexpected ways.
Sprigglecap is strangely obsessed with Lavender, but not as a repellent or charm.
He loves it.
He is drawn to it like a bee to honey. Lavender bushes near homes are often found neatly pruned, as though someone with small, clever hands had tended them overnight.
Leave fresh lavender on your windowsill, and Sprigglecap may spare you his worst mischief, or, on rare occasions, leave you a gift in return.
A polished stone, a perfectly tied bundle of herbs, or a single ripe apple placed carefully by your door.
But never hoard your lavender from him.
Villagers tell of those who harvested every last sprig, locking it away out of greed. Sprigglecap does not rage, but he remembers.
Their cupboards creaked open in the night.
Their flour spoiled.
Their fences leaned just a little more each day.
Lavender is not just his joy; it is his pact with the people.
A shared bloom, a shared home.
Sprigglecap is not a spirit of the wild places.
He is a neighbor, for better or worse.
When you sweep your doorstep, leave a sprig of lavender behind.
When your spoon goes missing, check the flowerbed.
And if you hear soft laughter from the hedges, laugh with him.
After all, Sprigglecap’s mischief may just make your day a little brighter…
