E-Book, Englisch, Band 2, 288 Seiten
Mason Shadowspring
1. Auflage 2020
ISBN: 978-1-78895-290-3
Verlag: Little Tiger Press
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark
E-Book, Englisch, Band 2, 288 Seiten
Reihe: The International Yeti Collective
ISBN: 978-1-78895-290-3
Verlag: Little Tiger Press
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark
Paul Mason was born in London and now lives in a cottage on an island in New Zealand with his wife and children. Paul has written a dozen children's books, and some of his stories are used by the University of Auckland to encourage teachers to promote sustainability in their classrooms. @writerpaulmason | www.paulmasonwriter.com
Weitere Infos & Material
At the sound of last horn, Tadpole helped Tagalong and Slapstick pack everything up, and padded along the tunnel in a hurry. She passed by the firefly nursery, lit up like sunlight, the keepers coaxing the little flies into their lanterns, then the apothecary’s chamber, with its strange jars of roots, herbs and wriggling bugs. At last, she stopped on Potters’ Path, the potters still at work, wheels turning, the shelves lining the walls full of fresh plates, cups and jugs drying.
Tadpole gazed at the potters, watching in quiet wonder as bowls rose out of the spinning mud, edges climbing from under their gentle fingers. It wasn’t that long ago that Snowdrift (he with white fur) would have been at his wheel, hands cupping a lump of pale clay. Tadpole had always been in awe of Grandfather’s touch – so soft, so watchful, bringing the wet mud into being as if by magic. And now he had passed on. Tadpole felt for the clay pendant that hung around her neck as she so often did. Touching it made him feel close – as if he was still there with her – and Tadpole liked to hear his voice.
“Ah, my favourite grandfluff.” Snowdrift appeared at the wheel, his eye on a spinning pot.
“I’m your only grandfluff.”
Grandfather grinned from beneath his snowy beard. “That must be why you’re my favourite. Any particular reason you have mud behind your ears?” he asked, lifting his hands away, and letting the wheel slow down. Satisfied, he glanced up.
Tadpole scratched the back of her head, looking sheepish.
“Don’t tell me, I can guess.” Snowdrift chuckled. “Another fine mess, eh?”
“Something like that. Mum told me off.”
“Then perhaps you should stop doing things to upset her.”
“Are you all right, Tadpole?” Tadpole turned to see her dad, Waterworks (he who often sheds tears), standing there with a puzzled look on his face.
Tadpole realized she was staring at an empty potter’s wheel. “Fine, Dad.”
Waterworks followed her gaze. “You miss Grandfather. It still hurts, I know. But I believe he’s very much here.” He placed a warm palm against Tadpole’s cheek. Tadpole could see his eyes glistening.
“Thanks, Dad.” Tadpole wiped away a tear as it crept down her father’s fur.
“My son’s right, you know,” Snowdrift chortled.
Waterworks cleared his throat. “Now we’d better get a move on – it’s almost time for rehearsal.”
*
Tadpole and Waterworks arrived at the giant meeting hall to find it filled with happy yodelling and chitchat. As they nattered, the Greybeards stroked their extravagant whiskers – some reaching almost to their knees, mustachios spreading from their mouths like overhanging vines. Tadpole felt her own face, still a little embarrassed that she was yet to have anything more than the most modest beard. From the open kitchen door across the hall wafted the wonderful smell of sizzling pine weevils. Tadpole caught sight of a giant pot overflowing with sauce, and frying pans sitting on top of bubbling thermal mud, as cooks bustled about in their aprons.
Even with all the commotion, Tadpole heard her dad’s stomach let out a large gurgle. “Hope it doesn’t go on for ages – I’m starving!” said Waterworks.
“You’re always starving.”
Waterworks shrugged. “That is true.”
At the front of the cave, Shipshape stood with the choir leader, Upstage (she who demands attention), trying to cajole the rowdy horde into rows with a loudhailer fashioned out of rolled-up tree bark. “Come on, you scallywags, get to your places!” she called. “No, not just you, Scallywag. I mean everyone in general.” Scallywag (he who is naughty) grinned from behind his enormous beard and gave her a wave.
“We’ll never get anywhere at this rate,” said Upstage.
Rainstorm thumped his staff on the floor once, twice, three times, and the Greybeards fell silent under his glare. The gathering quickly assembled into their lines.
Shipshape straightened the sash across her chest. “Thank you, Greybeards. Let’s not waste any more time. Before we can have dinner, we need to get this welcome performance right for when the Collective begin to gather. Really put your hearts into it, yes? Remember: great oaks from little acorns grow.”
“From the top, if you please. The greeting song: ‘You Know What They Say’.”
Upstage waved her arms and counted them in…
You know what they say…
Hold the stone as one and it won’t feel heavy,
A good buttock deserves a comfortable seat,
With patience the ant can eat an elephant.
Oh, listen to this wise drumbeat.
The dropping never falls far from the pigeon,
The first pancake is always a mess,
No toad comes to light without reason,
To all this and more I profess.
When warthogs fight, it is the grass that suffers,
A shrimp that sleeps gets carried by the tide,
Every vegetable has its season, its season.
Let these words be your faithful guide.
A big chair does not make a leader,
The sun which melts wax hardens clay,
Even a tiny star shines in the darkness,
You know, that’s just what they say,
You know, that’s just what they say…
Upstage gave a warm round of yodelling. “Lovely, lovely,” she crowed. The Greybeards looked at each other, beaming, and the choir leader took them through the song twice more.
“All good things come to those who wait – now let’s eat!” said Shipshape to a happy roar.
The kitchen crew wasted no time, and quickly filed in with plates of pine-weevil flan and jugs of worm sauce.
Shipshape came over to join her family.
“Hey, Mum.” Tadpole leaned over and gave her a nuzzle.
“You look exhausted,” said Waterworks.
“I could really use some food,” agreed Shipshape. She dug her fingers into her flan and lifted some to her mouth. “Mmm. So how was everyone’s moon?”
“All hands to the pump.” Waterworks poured out a large helping of worm sauce.
“Then perhaps you could go down to Shadowspring next moon and help out, Tadpole,” said Shipshape.
“But it’s my shadow-puppet play for the fledglings in the morning. The one I’ve been rehearsing for ages.” Tadpole put down her weevil pastry.
Shipshape flinched. “Oh yes, of course.”
“You said you’d try to come this time, Mum. Remember?”
“I remember.”
“Mum!” Tadpole groaned.
“I’ll be there.” Shipshape held up her hands.
“We’ll both find a way to be there,” agreed Dad, wiping drops of gravy from his chin.
Over Dad’s shoulder Tadpole spied Rainstorm and his son Butterfingers (he lumbering and clumsy) squeezing their way through the crowded hall.
Rainstorm bowed to them. “Just wanted to wish you a good evening on our way out and remind you that we’re meeting all the farmers and growers first thing.”
“Ah yes, about that.” Shipshape glanced over at Tadpole. “As it happens, I need to be at Tadpole’s shadow play in the morning.”
“Play?” asked Butterfingers.
“I put on shadow-puppet shows for the fledglings at school,” Tadpole explained. “You can come, if you like.”
Butterfingers shook his huge head. “Sorry, Tadpole. I’m helping in the quarry. Dad says.”
“Doing his bit.” Rainstorm patted him on the shoulder fondly. “They grow up so fast. His beard will be full before we know it.”
“Isn’t that the truth!” said Shipshape.
Rainstorm turned to Tadpole. “And what about you? Did you clean up that terrible mess of your own making?”
“All gone,” said Tadpole.
Shipshape gave an embarrassed smile. “Now about the meeting…”
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