Wumples dance of the Twing-Twops

‘Where is this place?’ asked George who was slowly coming to terms with the fact that she must have gone completely mad.

Ponkle looked around, his manner resembling that of an escaped prisoner. He did not want to be here but in truth, part of him was hopelessly relieved. Relieved that his navigation had led them here instead of Swamp Valley.

George nudged him, bringing his attention back to the present tense.

‘Over there!’ she said excitedly, pointing to an odd fellow stood in a field some distance away. ‘What’s he doing?’

Ponkle followed George’s gaze. Sure enough, Ponkle could pick out a shape on the edge of a field full of wild grasses. George saw a cloud of sadness hover over Ponkle’s face.

‘Who is it?’

The shape was, in fact, another Boffwungler and Ponkle was thankful for the girl’s naivety for the Boffwungler in question was doing something quite extraordinary.

‘That’s Wumple,’ said Ponkle, desperately trying to avoid looking at the young Boffwungler, who had now spotted them.

‘What’s he doing?’ George persisted, curious as to why the top half of the small, round creature’s body was engaged in some sort of exotic limbo dance, whilst his enormous feet remained firmly attached to the ground, as if refusing to join in the charade.

‘He’s..um...’ Ponkle mumbled nervously, ‘..um..celebrating the gift of such a glorious morning.’

He hoped that might be the end to their conversation as he started walking down the stony path. Now if they could just pass through the Valley of Otherin unseen, they could cross back over the River at Thorny Point. Naturally, it would cut their journey time in two if they simply hiked over Bogglers Hill to their right but that would be too conspicuous. That was his normal route, they were sure to be waiting in ambush for him there.

‘Funny,’ said George from ten paces behind, still mesmerised by Wumple’s dance. ‘Is that the done thing here? I’ve never seen anything quite like it!’

‘Oh yes,’ said Ponkle uneasily, now realising that George would not be satisfied until she knew more. ‘It’s a famous tradition here to...um...’ he sought frantically for an explanation, ‘to....acknowledge how fortunate we are by...um...by doing the symbolic...um...symbolic dance of the Twing-Twops.’

He was then silent. He dared not look at the inquisitive girl for fear she would guess he was lying through his enormous back-side. All this thinking was not easy for him at this time of the morning. He turned again to where Wumple was stuck and the two friends exchanged a sorrowful glance. There was nothing either of them could do. There was a great power in the air and it was not in any mood for an argument.

‘Look!’ shouted George.

‘Sshhh!’ cried Ponkle, running back to her. ‘What now?’

‘Can you see? His mouth’s making odd shapes,’ she laughed, ‘it’s as if he’s shouting but we can’t hear him. Do you think we should go over?’

George had long forgotten that she hadn’t wanted to come here. She was fascinated and more than content to explore the day to day activities of this new found race.

‘NO!’ yelled Ponkle, nearly blowing his cover. ‘I mean, I don’t think that would be advisable. If you must know...he’s...miming a traditional chant...which loses its meaning if anyone hears it. Now, let’s get going shall we?’

Ponkle set off once more and this time, to his delight, George followed. They did not look back. Whatever Wumple Boffwungler had done, no, better not to think of it. Anyway, a faithful army of strapping Trunglers would be here very soon to collect him so it was high time the two of them were not.

‘You don’t really want me to meet this Judgess of yours, do you?’ asked George as they trundled along the rough path. She wished she’d put a pair of shoes on.

Ponkle sighed. ‘I don’t really know what I plan to do,’ he said honestly. ‘I didn’t think she’d let me get this far’.

He halted and turned to her as if he had reached a life or death decision. Looking her straight in the eye he made her an offer any sane person could not refuse.

‘I’ll take you back, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking of bringing you here like this. What must you think of me? I could get you back in no time at all, no-one would notice you’ve even been gone. Please forgive me, I’ve not been myself lately, you must believe me, I haven’t the slightest bit of common sense. What do you say?’

‘I say that if you ever want to reach your village, we’d better get a move on. We won’t achieve anything standing here all day!’

George smiled at her new acquaintance who was beaming up at her as if suddenly given a new lease of life. She was growing rather fond of him. Then, as if hearing a starting whistle, the pair set off towards the Otherin Valley, talking as if they had been friends for years.

Umpwiffle

The dawn mist had formed a blanket over the crisp ground. The sun had only just started to rise yet already the sky was a delightful mixture of pink and amber. The only blot on the seemingly untouched landscape was the returning troop of tired and extremely famished Trunglers. Each were dragging themselves from leg, to leg, to leg, to leg, to leg, back from Dantor towards Zlexis, Tolita’s grand home, carved out from the first Mountain in the imposing Klebhorne Range. Each was carrying a wooden box clumsily on its back. Apart from Umpwiffle that is.

Umpwiffle had been given the special honour of carrying the Judgess herself - the unfortunate thing being that Tolita was at least ten times heavier than any box could ever hope to be.

She glanced icily at her army. It was a pathetic sight but it was one she was getting used to. They may be imbeciles but at least they were reliable, she thought to herself as she dug her heels into the surprised Umpwiffle to remind him that stopping for a rest was not an option. She would not tolerate a Trunglers laziness and she did not wish to miss breakfast.

PART ONE - A CLOSE ENCOUNTER!

The deafening sound exploded with such intensity that Ponkle Boffwungler awoke with a start. His second thought was that he hoped his first thought was wrong.
He waited, hardly daring to breathe. His whole body was trembling as his mind conjured up hideous images of what was about to become of him. He had never been so afraid in his entire one hundred and twelve years. Well, except for that fateful day twenty two years ago...

Ponkle’s thoughts were interrupted as his widening eyes focussed on his large wooden front door. He watched in silence as the red door handle creaked as it was turned this way and that. Whatever evil lurked outside was not going to disappear without a fight.

Ponkle Boffwungler was not the most intelligent of creatures but in times of need he usually did succeed in finding a little bit of common sense, which his most trusted acquaintance, Sigworth, had so kindly lent him. Ponkle thought hard for a moment... it was in a jar somewhere ... . He carefully pulled back the heavy covers and slowly climbed down from his resting place .... Now where was it? He shuffled cautiously across the floor and had to stop himself yelping out loud when what sounded like a herd of angry elephants began charging towards his front door.

Ponkle hurriedly began barricading the entrance with anything he could find, beautifully hand carved chairs, rickety stools, patchwork cushions and even the purple satin box which his father had given to him when he was younger, which to this very day he had been unable to open.

The stampeding rapidly grew louder and Ponkle felt the ground beneath him vibrate as if it were about to split in half right under him, sending him against his will to the unknown depths of the planet. Without thinking, he hurled himself against the already stacked furniture (even though his small but somewhat round body would not provide much resistance) and squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

‘Oooaaahh!’ he squealed as his frightened figure was hurled at great speed across the dimly lit cave due to the impact of the mighty blow. Seconds later he emerged from under a pile of dirty clothes (quite a big pile at that as Ponkle never had been one for believing in excessive cleanliness - at least that was his excuse, in theory he was simply extremely lazy). His petrified gaze was now glued to the door, although his vision was still somewhat blurred. As his large green eyes began to focus he began to make out an enormous dent, twice the size of his feeble self. Most of the furniture had been damaged but the door remained firmly shut which, at that precise moment, was the only thing that mattered.

'That was a close one,’ Ponkle murmured, congratulating himself for his show of bravery as he re-arranged his home, paying little attention to the bulging sack hanging on the hat-stand in the corner of the cave. He would not think about that until tomorrow. For now his thoughts were only of returning to his warm bed.