Woodlock Read Free

proper preparation in an unknown when. Such was so. I plucked a white feather fern frond from the edge of the pool, and with it I idly tickled my chin.
    What now? I thought. What am I to do? Why am I so awfully very alone? I should have met some sort of creature by now. I’ve heard twig snaps and rustlings, but when I call out, the rustlings stop and I get no response save silence. How long can my bendo dreen heart be left out under the open sky all alone? I wish Kar was here with me. We could build a hedge to walk under like we did that first time we dared to venture away from the hedge. Kar could shift to Dragon and fly me up high enough all around to see if there IS a cobbled road or a Blossom Castle in this when. So such I wish. So…
    My thoughts shut down because I noticed for the first time a dense white thicket of thistle thorns winding behind the twisty oaks on the far side of the pool. Hedge! I jumped to my feet and hopped the tricklestream in a nince. I moved by the trees and up to the thicket. Nicely tall it grew, triple my height. White thorns. White thistles. I tested their comforting sharpness with the tips of my fingers. Without thinking, I pushed my way into the thicket using all of my bendo dreen skills. Not a scratch of skin or a rip of clothing did I suffer. I sat composed, regaining the serenity of a familiar safety, home in a hedge with briars and thorns, white though they were. I nibbled on thorns and thistles, closing my eyes.
    Ah, sweetness with sour! I thought. If only I had capp melons, I could make a perfect jelly! Kar’s favorite. How she loves thistles! Me, too! I never knew the Woods Beyond the Wood held so such delicious treats!
    Comforted with the tastes and surroundings of home, though all of a whiteness, I nestled in the bower of thistles and thorns. I took my chonka from my belt and softly sang one of my favorite bendo dreen chants.
    â€œThistles and thorns piled in bowls
    Ground and mashed and formed into rolls
    Baked on the hearth with chankle chonk tunes
    And eaten with jellies in nests lit by moons.”
    â€œWho be there?” called a voice from outside the thicket.

Chapter Six
    Runner Rill
    â€œMe!” I cried, shoving my way free of the thicket, again avoiding with bendo dreen deftness a single rip or scratch.
    Chonka in hand, I gazed at a somewhat familiar sight I had never seen. Often so such happened to me on my adventures with Kar. From the Gwer drollek stories I heard all my life dozens and hundreds of times, I knew of many a thing I’d never seen. And there then I believed I looked at one of ‘em. A youngling waterwizard lad, to be sure, stood on the pool. ON it! Mist green skin, yellow orange eyes. A stormy mass of tangled orange hair. A fair few wispy strands of orange beard. A purple robe with stars. A matching pouchbag hanging from the grip of his mist green fingers. I knew who he was. Better than that, I knew WHEN. From the Gwer drollek story of the watery woodlock Rindle Mer, I remembered her waterwizard uncle, Riffle Sike. I felt certain I’d been delivered to an earlier when in the time location where Riffle Sike was yet a youngling. Such! Hair, eyes, skin, robe, pouchbag, he could be no other!
    â€œAnd a good afternoon to you, Riffle Sike!” I said with a chuckle of confidence. “I am Bekka of Thorns, a bendo dreen bramble dwarf, Chronicler of the Boad, All Fidd and Leee Combined.”
    I bowed. The waterwizard lad cocked his head and continued to stare. Puffed to bloat with my own cleverness, which true was soon to be popped, I tapped a gentle chankling with my chonka on my thigh and walked to the edge of the pool.
    â€œWhen did ye see my brother?” asked the waterwizard, eyes darting, left, right.
    â€œBrother? I haven’t seen your…Oh, the…” I mumbled lamely, my cleverness popped.
    â€œBe that sorcery ye carry there?” he asked, narrowing his eyes and pointing at my chonka with his free