RAW KINGDOM ENTERTAINMENT

                      More Acquaintances

 “I will leave you here,” said Sly, with voice soft yet firm, bidding farewell. — “Without the water and the reeds in which I can hide, I am lost. Travel well, and forget me not,” he added, with a glance that lingered longer than words.

 Thumbelina and Yoshi exchanged uneasy looks, a shadow of fear creeping over them. The thought of wandering alone through the unknown swamps weighed upon their hearts like a heavy cloak. How could they find their way without a guide? How would they reach their distant homeland, lying somewhere beyond the mountains, whose peaks shimmered blue and faint against the horizon?
 The swamp was a strange and silent place, the reeds whispering secrets in the wind, and the water reflecting a sky both near and impossibly far. Each step they took seemed to echo in the gloom, and each rustle of leaves set their hearts racing. Yet, as the faint glow of the distant peaks called them onward, a subtle courage stirred within, for the journey had begun, and they must walk it alone.
 That is why, when the news came that Yellow-Shelly would journey with them through the swamp, their hearts leapt with joy. The parting from the water-rat had weighed heavily upon them. Sly, cruel and hard-hearted though he was, had grown into a companion both steadfast and invaluable. He had guided them through the treacherous marshes, keeping death at bay with his cunning and strength. Without him, they would have surely been swallowed by the murky waters and the grasping reeds.
 When the rat had vanished among the swaying willows by the water’s edge, the three companions set forth toward the distant mountain. The swamp’s shallow waters yielded to their careful steps, and here and there, they found small fruits and roots to sustain them. Turtles, slow and deliberate, trailed along, observed by diminutive birds whose long, curved beaks tapped at the reeds. From time to time, the birds let loose bursts of cheerful, tinkling calls, as if laughter itself had taken flight. Their dark, gleaming eyes peered curiously from rounded heads, and their pale greenish legs carried their compact forms with a strange grace, like creatures of some quiet, hidden glen.

“These are snipe,” said the aunt, her voice tinged with warning. “They are jesters of the air. They mock Yoshi, for never have they set eyes upon a hedgehog such as him.”

 The snipe’s laughter rang through the glade, light and sharp as sun on dew. Some fanned their short tails, revealing a rich tapestry of red-brown feathers.

“What a fleet-footed companions!” they cried, and chuckled quietly.

The offended hedgehog could not help but run after them. Yet the snipe, ever nimble, danced through the air with a grace that might have shamed even the swallows. Yoshi’s tiny feet pattered in vain upon the soft earth below, while the mocking birds soared just beyond reach, weaving through the branches like whispers of wind through the trees.

“Kiz-kiz-kiz!” The laughter rose and danced across the swamp like dry leaves in a restless wind.

“There is no use chasing them. You’d only weary yourselves,” the aunt warned, her voice carrying the calm authority of one who knows the ways of the wild.

 The three companions pressed onward, feet sinking slightly into the soft muck, until other birds appeared. They resembled snipes, yet each bore a different hue upon its feathers, so that even in the dim light one could tell them apart. Only the smallest, gray-brown with black specks, seemed twins, standing quietly to the side, watching their larger kin struggle and tussle.

 The swamp held its breath as the comrades paused, eyes tracing the fluttering shapes, the subtle shifts of feathered bodies, the delicate balance between flight and fight in the muted greens and browns around them.

“These are warblers,” said Yellow-Shelly. “They quarrel from dawn till dusk. Those who linger at the edges and merely behold the fray are the females.”

Thumbelina and Yoshi paused to watch the little warriors. They battled in pairs, much like barnyard roosters, yet with a strange and spirited grace. Their long, narrow beaks were set like spears, darting and clattering as each sought the other’s weakness. Around their necks rose a kind of feathered shield, flaring with every blow, and on their backs shimmered two proud clusters of many-colored plumes that rustled like tiny banners shaken in the wind.

“Why are they fighting?” asked Yoshi, peering ahead.

“Because each fancies himself as a great hero,” — murmured the turtle.

The three passed by the battlements, who paid them no attention.
Thumbelina and Yoshi longed to linger and behold the struggle, yet the aunt would have none of it.

“We shall cross paths with many more of their kin before this journey’s end,” she told them. “Their folk are countless in these parts.”

 And so it proved. As they made their way through the sodden mire, they glimpsed all manner of small birds flitting through reed and rush, warbler-like in form. Each bore a slender beak and narrow, stilt-like legs with which they picked their cautious steps through the shallows.

“Here is the Black-tailed Snipe,” said Yellow-Shelly at last, lowering her voice a little. “A most notable fellow, in his own fashion.”

 Thumbelina and Yoshi noticed a rather large bird ahead of them — rusty-red of feather, with long spindly legs and an orange beak that curved ever so slightly upward. The moment it caught sight of the travelers, it let out a sharp, whistling cry that pierced the quiet of the marsh.

“Do not be startled, Black-tailed Godwit!” her aunt called gently, as one might speak to a shy woodland creature.

She turned to the little hedgehog beside her and added, in a low reassuring voice,
“Pay no attention to her. Her nest must be close, and she only keeps watch.”

At her words, the Black-tailed Godwit withdrew into the tall grass, vanishing as though the marsh itself had swallowed her.
After a few more minutes of trudging along the damp and winding path, our companions stepped free of the swamp. The sun was sinking behind the distant hills, and its slanting rays cast a golden sheen across the broad meadows that stretched to the very foot of the mountain. The grass gleamed as if freshly washed in light. Here and there, like scattered white flecks upon a green sea, storks stood quietly among the reeds.

“It is time for our paths to part,” said the aunt softly.

 She halted, her gaze lingering on Thumbelina with a sorrow that seemed to deepen the quiet around them.
“I may guide you only so far, child. Beyond that, you must walk alone. My heart grieves to let you go. And who can tell whether our roads shall cross again?” she murmured to her niece. “Yet know this—your companion has grown dear to me as well.”

Then Thumbelina and her aunt kissed, and the farewell between them was long and tender.

“Ask a stork to show you the way,” Yellow-Shelly told them, with voice quiet as wind over reeds.“So far as I know, their nests lie in the village beyond the mountain. Each day they pass over its stony crown and know its secret paths better than any creature of the fields. They could show you where the crossing is easiest.”

“If you want my advice, I would advise you to settle somewhere at the foot of the mountain, instead of returning to your native field. That way it will be better for me and for you, because we could see each other every autumn, when the waters of the swamp spill out wide.”

She turned her gaze upon Yoshi and spoke softly: “I know well that your homeland is dearest above all. Yet the road before you is hard and full of peril. In the mountains you shall meet beasts and birds of many kinds—creatures of which I have heard tales both strange and fearsome. But if you keep your wits about you and let courage be your companion, you shall come to no harm. I wish you a safe journey!”

 And then, moved deeply by their parting, the Yellow-Shelly bent her head down into her bright, painted trough, hiding her face so that her tears would not be seen.
 The two friends set off towards the mountain, alone and sad. Only the thought of their native land kept them from losing their courage. They had to return to where they had spent so many happy years.
 When the sun set and the mountain cast its huge shadow over the meadows, Yoshi and Thumbelina were halfway there. Overhead the storks rose on long wings, flying off one by one. Our travelers hastened as best they could, hoping to catch one before it departed, to beg guidance for the rest of their journey.
 At last they drew near to a lone and lingering stork, solemnly pacing through the tall grasses, searching for some unlucky grasshopper upon which to feast.