Despite several untrustworthy eyewitness accounts of the Jibbenainosay flitting about down his native cane-break pathways, there has indeed been little news of him of late.
And the audience grows restive. I hear you, my flock; cease thy bleating. The Jibbenainosay has promised to shew his hand anon.
Meantime, he must needs continue to practice his heathen black arts in deepest secrecy.
Soon, my pretties, soon you shall see his handiwork. And weep. And wonder.
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