Chapter 33

Once upon a time, in a land far far away…

Incy Wincy wrote a story for school and didn’t use Turnitin. So Quackling engaged in a bit of plagiarism and this is how the first part of the story goes:

Quackling went up the sea, to the land of her ancestors. The days were short and winter solace had arrived. The migratory birds above headed in the opposite direction to warmer lands. Once in the distant past her parents flew south with these birds, but settled permanently in a warm piece of Far Far Away with a year-round food source. Tropical savanna, but not in Havana…  half of that land grew banana-na-nas.

Back to the present – the land up to the sea had a permanent lack of contrast and saturation because the very unhygienic air made the sun sick and sniffly. Whenever the wind blew, a damp chill tickled Quackling’s bones. Shaking or blowing her feathers didn’t dry them. Pressing against a hot iron did, however, roast her feathers dry a little.

On a windy day like this she would normally shelter at Ye Olde Woods – the magical boscage of her ancestral home. Here the trees dripped with golden sap that gave life to all surrounding flora and fauna. Rumour had it that deep in the woods there stood an enchanted tree with giant branches that could take you to distant lands.

On a wintery day like this the woods would be lined with straight rows of dark trunks that stood tall and proud. Outwardly unimpressive, the trees were dressed with only scant wine-coloured leaves or rows of common brown sparrows. However, each arched trunk-door opened up to a snug home that had a life of its own.

On a wet day like this every creature had a tree and Quackling would scurry off to hers. The trunk that protected them would stand sturdy, though somewhat weathered. The letters and scribbles carved into the branches where the little ones once climbed and played remained unchanged. Year in year out the wooden furnishings inside waited patiently, as did the old wooden cuckoo that dutifully poked its head out each hour.

Each time she came, the tree-home welcomed her with a glassful of hot green tea made with dried spring-leaves and a full jars of nuts harvested in autumn. At dusk Quackling would sink into a large cushion and peer out a small round window as the lights came on. There was always plenty of entertainment with pesky purple possums at the neighbouring trunk-house to the right and squeaking scrambling squirrels on the left.

But oh deer! The occasional wild darting dashing darling deer always managed to tear her eyes away from undrawn curtains. Ye Olde Woods felt like it existed before the beginning of time and was the kind of place that stayed the same forever and ever.


That’s all folks. The end.

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