A new day was dawning in Muddle Earth. Stiltmice were stirring, batbirds were coming in to roost, and tree rabbits were rubbing their big blue eyes with their little pink paws.

At one end of the sky the horizon was tinged a muddy brown colour as two of the three moons of Muddle Earth – the purple and the yellow ones – set. (The green moon, despite high expectations and the most expert of forecasts, hadn’t bothered to make an appearance at all that night.) At the other end of the sky, the sun was rising. Its dazzling rays glinted on the uppermost peaks of Mount Boom and the Musty Mountains.

Boom, went Mount Boom weakly, and a ring of pinky grey smoke rose slowly into the air.

Far below, padding silently on broad paws along the dusty mountain road, a great, pink, striped cat emerged from the swirling mist. It paused, threw back its head and let out a loud, rumbling roar. Its sabre teeth gleamed. Every creature within earshot fell silent: the hillfish froze, a passing batbird wheeled noiselessly away, while the tree rabbits hid their eyes behind their long, floppy ears. The great pink cat scratched at the ground and roared a second time.

‘I know, I know,’ said its rider from astride the ornate, jewel-encrusted leather saddle secured round the creature’s broad chest. ‘It is good to be back.’

She dismounted, surveyed the scene, and gave a smile of satisfaction. The low sunlight shone on her flame-red plaits and golden skin, accentuating the curves of her firm muscles.

Her powerful physique was set off magnificently by a split-leg, tooled-leather tunic with a bear-fur trim and matching reversible chiffon and organza cloak, all topped off with a winged helmet of burnished bronze with silver inlay detailing. Her shapely ankles were emphasized by the lizard-gut thongs of her sling-back sandals, rising crisscross fashion right up to her knees. At her dragon-skin belt, she was wearing a gold, limited-edition armoury sword and accessorized catapult. The entire ensemble was completed with a precious little goat-ear shoulder bag.

‘We’ve been away too long,’ she said, thoughtfully fingering the notches and dents of battle which scarred the blade of her sword. ‘Orc wrestling, giant tickling, hag worrying. I’ve had enough, old friend. It’s time we settled down.’ She surveyed the horizon. ‘What we need is a nice, old-fashioned wizard to work for. No more smelly slime-demons and boring old sorcerors to sort out. Just a few goblins to boss around, and all the milk you can drink! I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to put my feet up. These sandals are killing me!’

She ruffled the creature’s soft, furry, pink ears. The battle-cat purred loudly. Brenda the Warrior-Princess seized the reins and leaped back into the saddle. The cat’s shoulder muscles rippled. It snarled fiercely and tossed its head.

‘Onwards, Sniffy!’ she cried, her voice echoing around the barren landscape, and tugged at the reins. ‘To the Enchanted Lake.’