Beyond the Very-shallow-Forest

We'll probably be adding an introduction soon. But keep checking back - you never know when we'll get more inspiration!

The rising sun glinted on the dewdrops caught in the tinderweed bushes, the polished gleam of the diamondberries and the enthralled smile of Showernut Wheat as he gazed at the new day excitedly.
The snores of the forestharpies resounded around the small clearing, but the terrible noise did not register on Showernut's face. He was speechless. Who would have thought that dawn could be so beautiful?
The tinderweed bushes swayed gently in the mild breeze. Tinderweed caught fire easily and so was the perfect material for lighting beacons. It burst into flames at high noon, when the sun was at its peak.
Showernut's eyes caught the occasional glint of polished white as they scanned the clearing.
Diamondberries and fanghusks, both magnificent in their own way - and deadly poisonous. But Showernut's gaze was now fixed on the sky, a brilliant blue with no clouds to be seen. The sun was the red-orange colour of autumn syrup-plant leaves, gilding Showernut’s gleaming copper hair and casting a golden glow on leaves, on branches and twigs, on everything. Showernut was enraptured.
"So...so wonderful!"
Wonderful! Wonderful! Wonderful!
Showernut sighed. Yet there was a sense somewhere inside him that he didn't fit into this bright, cheerful village populated with raucous forestharpies. He wanted different things from life. He wanted -
He was abruptly brought out of his reverie by a faint, persistent roaring and rumbling.
He jumped up. No! Surely not..it couldn't be!
But as the object of his attention came into view, he knew in an instant that it was.
"Sky-lorries," he whispered as if in a dream. "Sky-lorries." He stood as though entranced, gazing up in awe at the rising sun as it wobbled into view over the treetops and the magnificent purring vehicles trundling across it over head, the blinding light flashing on the burnished windscreens.
He sighed, enraptured. It was the one thing that he felt was in his blood. How he longed to drive across the endless blue heavens, to feel the wind in his face and the sun in his hair. He took a step forward...
And walked slap-bang into an oncoming hairy toebush that stomped its feet in an agitated fashion before charging back into the undergrowth, branches jiggling and stubby silver leaves rustling.
Showernut shook his head sharply, clearing it. “Stop daydreaming,” he told himself, then added “And stop talking to yourself!”
He remembered well the day when the sky-lorry drivers had paid them a visit, how excited he had been. Of course, the small forestharpie village had just been one of their quick stops on their journey to Overhamlet. They had needed to top up their tanks with petrol, and the forestharpies, with their exceedingly good knowledge of the forest, had helped them. For they were one of the few Very-Shallow-Forest tribes that knew where to find the petrol. In fact, it was they who kept the sky petrol stations stocked with their seemingly endless supply of fuel.
He remembered how hard he and Tumtum had worked, and how they had returned to the village, their faces black with the sticky oil and bucket after overflowing bucket of petrol. He had never been cut out for all the jobs that the forestharpies excelled at. And he just so happened to be especially terrible at oil collecting, for he would have to trip up and he would have to spill the contents of his buckets over both him and Tumtum. A lump formed in his throat as he recalled how angry Tumtum had been. But then this was nothing unusual. Tumtum always seemed to be angry about something.

Even the sky lorry drivers had noticed how badly he fitted in. When they had returned to the sky-lorry, a tall young individual in old-fashioned garments had glanced over his clipboard and looked Showernut up and down. Then he had glanced at Tumtum quizzically.
“Our newest recruit,” Tumtum had explained.
“Looks too unfashionable." the young man had commented. Then he had turned to the open door leading deeper inside the magnificent lorry. "SQUIIINT!" he yelled.
"Squintinius! Squintinius! I insist that my name is Squintinius!" A strange young man dressed in ill-fitting clothes had emerged from the depths of the sky-lorry and accepted the dangerously tilting buckets of petrol, scowling ferociously. Then he had started, almost spilling some of the precious oil and looked back over his shoulder at Showernut.
Their eyes met.

Showernut would always remember the feeling. He must know this 'Squint'! But where would he have known him from?
Showernut turned away from the lorries, stealing one last glimpse over his shoulder before returning to the ground-cabin. He eased open the small, aged door and entered as quietly as possible.

"Aah-ah!" Showernut exclaimed loudly as he walked into the door frame, banging his forehead hard on the creaking crooked beam. His brow throbbed painfully as he entered the cabin, rubbing his head ruefully. Not that it would have mattered if he had gotten a sky-lorry to knock the cabin down - forestharpies were notorious for their deafening snores. Shutting the door carefully behind him, he tiptoed (just in case) across the packed mud floor and into the small room he had made his sleeping quarters...
"And just what do you think you're doing?"
Showernut jumped as a large leathery hand clapped on his shoulder.
He struggled to shake himself free, but found he could not. The owner of the hand twisted him round to face him, and Showernut found himself staring into the grumpy wizened face of Tummtum Wheat. His ears were tufted and his long hooked beak of a nose twitched as his nostrils flared ominously. "I've told you before about getting up before four hours!" he thundered, his voice deep and booming, as though it belonged to someone else. "YOU woke me up! That's the fifth time this week! And you're going to get just what you deserve!"
Showernut gulped. He'd be beaten for sure. But Tumtum's expression suddenly changed.
"No....I've got a better idea. I'll make you work as a punishment. It's time you put some elbow grease into things, boy! You don't work hard enough. In fact, you don't work at all if you can avoid it. I'll make you work til you're banging on the front door, crying out for rest. Then you'll know just how it feels to be roused from your bed, five times in one week!"
"Oh give over, will you, and let the boy alone!"
Tumtum's wife, Welder Wheat appeared in the dark hallway, fists on hips. She bustled into the bedroom, glaring furiously at her bad-tempered husband as she passed him. Tumtum decided to make himself scarce, and quickly. Welder smiled kindly at Showernut. "Don't let him get to you. I'll do my best to persuade him to soften up a bit, not be so hard on you. He just doesn't give you a chance, does he?"
Showernut shook his head sadly.
Welder patted him on the back reassuringly. "I know you've always felt like an outsider and you've never quite fitted in. I think that's what he finds difficult to accept. You're not a forestharpy. You're..."
"Special," Showernut whispered.
"No, different," Welder replied distractedly, picking up a large steelwood log and hurling it at Tumtum. Hiding in a cupboard, Tumtum tried to dodge, but the small, cramped space made it difficult to move and there was a muffled cry of outrage mixed with pain. Her anger spent, Welder turned back to her adopted son, looking down at the basket of logs on the floor thoughtfully. "I'm probably boring you to death here," she told him. "So, to make yourself useful, you can go and gather some tinderweed for the fire."
Showernut looked surprised. "Is it light outside? I won't...wake anyone up, will I?" Welder laughed. "Only the laziest forestharpies stay in bed after five. Go on, now. Off you go. I'll sort your father out," she said, casting a fearsome glance at the cupboard in which her husband was hiding. Showernut nodded and left the room silently.

Outside again, Showernut was glad to be alive. It was a fresh bright morning and the warm gentle sunlight seeped through the dense green and orange foliage high above him. He ambled through patches of bracken, ferns and sedge, whistling jovially to himself. "Ah-ha!" he muttered as he spotted a thicket where a large clump of tinderweed was growing. He stooped as he pulled the tough yellow stalks from the ground and placed them in his basket. Some way away, he could hear the forestharpies in the village, going about their morning business. Raised voices, some angry, some singing, while others where calling out offers for auctions and markets. Showernut sang too as he worked. Wordless, and often tuneless songs that appeared to have no meaning at all.
Then, after he had beening working solidly for about half an hour, he frowned.
Something was wrong.
Suddenly a terrified shout rose up from the village, so loud it could be heard for miles around...
"Wha-?" Showernut gasped. He had been so engrossed in the gathering of the tinderweed that the sudden silence from the village had not registered itself as important. But now....
Who knew what might be happening in the village? Who could have screamed?

And just what was happening to the tinderweed beacons?
It couldn't have been less than six hours, yet the beacons were burning fiercely, blazing as brightly as distant stars. A signal! Showernut ran towards the flames and the path to the village. Could it be? Were the forestharpies in need of help?
"Welder! Tumtum!" he shouted, as loudly as he could over the roar and crackle of the tinderweed. "Mother! Father?"
No answer.
He tried calling out again, louder this time, but his desolate cries were in vain. The beacons flared and crackled, as if in response.
"Bladdersnuff!" he called. Bladdersnuff had once been his best friend. Surely...
"Gagdare!" he yelled. "Gagdare, are you there?" Gagdare, the tough gruff old gruntpixie who lived in a buterbird web. He must be there. He never strayed far from his silk-spun home. Showernut hurried through the woods as fast as his legs would carry him. He burst into the village, and...
The village was deserted. There was not a sound to be heard in the ancient forest, only the humming of vortex flies in the trunks of nearby trees, and she squawking of catbirds high above. "A-WHEE!! A-WHEE!!" they wailed, breaking the deadly silence that now enshrouded the glade.
"They're gone," Showernut whispered. "The forestharpies...all gone..."
There was no knowing where they were or what had caused them all to flee from the village so suddenly. The only clue as to what had happened, was the odd smell that hung in the air- an unpleasant mixture of Wily Wisteria's Wonderful Soapy Window Cleaner (made with real soap!) and an uncanny infusion of exhaust fumes. "Curiouser and curiouser," muttered Showernut. He screwed his eyes up against the sunlight that was bursting through the leafy canopy hundreds of feet above him, and almost blinding him with its impossible brightness. As his eyes slowly became accustomed to the ferocity of the sun's rays, he glanced up and caught sight of something truly extraordinary hovering just above the tops of the trees. The wild colourful lights of the midday sky were reflected in its gleaming windows and glistening hubcabs, that had clearly just been polished. If Showernut strained his ears, he could just hear the lookout, who was standing tall and proud on the roof of the mighty vehicle, conveying information to the captain. It was the Cirruschewer. The sky lorry drivers had come back! What was more, they'd come back for him!

"Hey! OVER HERE!" Showernut cried, waving frantically to the lookout as they cruised overhead. He then began running after the sky-lorry, his feet flying over the smouldering tinderweed bushes as though his shoes had wings. This was what he had been born to do. Nothing in the world mattered more than this. If only they would stop for him...
He charged through the forest, gangly arms outstretched...
CLONK!
Showernut flew over backwards, rubbing his brow in shock. At the same moment that he had experienced sudden pain, he had heard a voice cry out. Not his own...another young, adolescent voice, quite similar to his own.
Crouching before him, clad in a tightly-belted tunic and breeches, shaking his head vigorously from side to side, was a youth about his own age with tousled brown hair. Brown! Showernut stared in amazement. Brown hair? Such things were mere legends where he came from!
The youth caught Showernut looking at him, and sat up properly, rubbing his knuckles.
"That hurt, you know!" he exclaimed. He spoke in a firm confident tone.
Showernut clambered to his feet. "I...I'm sorry..." he faltered, thinking it far too formal to address someone his own age as 'sir', before finally settling on "...mate."
"So you should be!" came the reply, with a hint of a sulk. The youth's eyes narrowed in questioning. "What's your name?"
"I'm...er, Showernut," the other replied, inspecting his scuffed shoes. Fascinating things, they were, those shoes...
"Pleased to me chew, er-Showernut!" The youth nodded, before drawing himself up to his full height and puffing his chest out with all the grandeur he could muster.
"Well I'll have you know..." he proclaimed imperiously, "that I am none other than...Owlwhack Lentilphraxis III!!!"
He raised two fingers defiantly, then glanced at his hand in mild confusion. "Third?"
He raised three fingers.
He shook his head, raised two fingers.
"...Third," he concluded, and, for the first time in their meeting, he smiled.

The golden glow of mid-afternoon sunlight filtered down on the two small figures as they pressed ever onwards through the Very-Shallow-Forest, having decided to join forces at least for the moment. To the casual watcher, the scene would have appeared normal enough - until one looked closer, perhaps, and saw that in fact the combination of eyes and bright sunlight had been wrong; that far from the usual blond curls or black locks or-- violet tresses, whatever! one of the youths actually had-- Earth below, this boy had what was unmistakably a great thatch of brown hair!
Owlwhack Lentilphraxis III adjusted an imaginary pair of spectacles and kicked a nearby grump with an expression of extreme boredom and resignation on his face. The grump screeched at them for a while, then proceeded to stomp off into the undergrowth and methodically destroy everything in its path in a fit of pique.
Owlwhack licked his lips absentmindedly and turned to Showernut, who stepped back a pace.
"D'you think those things are edible?"
"I... don't think so," Showernut replied, slightly (and understandably) confused.
"Is there any other food, then?"
"Not that I know of," said Showernut.
Owlwhack ran off into the crushed undergrowth in search of the grump, but it eluded his capture for a good five minutes or so so he came back again. Showernut was sitting on a nearby log by now, inspecting the contents of the small bag he had had with him while he had been working. When Owlwhack came crashing back, he quickly closed the bag again.

Wouldn't do to tell his temporary travelling companion there was lunch in there, now would it?

"By the way," Owlwhack said, "do you know this forest well?"
"I should say so! I've lived here all my life, you know; a forestharpy born and bred!" Showernut said cheerfully. "Why do you ask?"
"You don't look much like a forestharpy," said Owlwhack, sitting down on the log. "In fact, I'd say you were human."
Showernut blinked.
"My mother always said I was different," he said quietly, eyes fixed on his knees. Owlwhack, sensing the danger, quickly broke into his thoughts by saying, "So, if you know this forest, you'd know where to find food?"
"I might be able to," said Showernut, getting up. "But I could've sworn you ate just a few hours ago!"
"I did!" shouted Owlwhack indignantly. "Do you expect me to survive on that much for hours?"
"Err... yes."
Owlwhack looked horrified.
"Well, I can't! If only you knew how terrified I am, right at this very moment! I'm about to starve to death, I just know it!"
Showernut tilted his head quizzically at the brown-haired youth.
"Then how did you survive this long in the Very-Shallow-Forest?"
"The answer, my friend, is simple," replied Owlwhack. "I was thrown out of a sky-lorry minutes before I met you."
Sky-lorries! thought Showernut. The sun on a windscreen, the smell of petrol on the air, the--
"I don't suppose you know where it might be, actually, do you?" said Owlwhack. "Called the Lightningsquasher."
"Why did you get thrown off in the first place?" asked Showernut, thoughts of sky-lorries still driving around in his head.
"I'm not entirely sure," Owlwhack said. "I think it was some kind of joke that went a bit wrong."
His stomach growled like a wild beast, and he hit it gently. It whimpered quietly and fell silent.

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