Glimarie

Roz Liddle
Jul 21, 2017 · 3 min read

In a wood, a small house sat, it was unkempt and rather stinky. Amazingly, something quite neat and aromatic stepped out; it appeared rather tall for a Carabeni, although only just being a smidge over twelve hands and was beaming proudly.

Xxynder had come of aged and today would choose a mob of scēap. In case you are unknowing, scēap are littler versions of mortal sheep; fifteen hands high; very fluffy pale lilac wool; obtuse, but placid.

Before members of the Carabeni could select their seven, everyone had to reach two goals. Firstly, to choose: cara (female); beni (male) and rabe (androgynous); secondly, to achieve their six-hundredth birthday.

Today was Xxynder’s day of founding and rabe had been chosen several hundred years earlier. As not to confuse mortals, Xxynder will be referred to as ‘she’ except when called ‘he’.

By the forest people’s values, the Carabeni were exceptionally fruitful; they had the scēap; their wool and the glimarie. Ah, the cherished glimarie.

Ah, perhaps you are not understanding; explanation here. The Carabeni have the scēap, which eat the glimiberries; the tribe collect their leavings, which they secretly turn into glimarie. Their calling is considered honourable, even though they work rather like the scarab beetle, due to the exquisite rewards.

Xxynder collected a sturdy torch, as the sun was dwindling and strode towards the choosing place; then waited by the murmuring purple fount. No-one came; there was nary a sound, not even a caterpillar burping.

He strained to hear; then, shrieks, he nervously tightened his grip on the blade. Out through the glimiberry bushes rushed several sweaty Carabeni; this was bad. They passionately hated to run.

Counting them as they passed, Xxynder was suddenly overwhelmed, when an unwieldy hoard (only in numbers, not size) ran over her. Dishevelled and dirty, she stood and waved the knife after them, but too late, they had all disappeared. Quiet again.

Wondering whether to follow, Xxynder paused, calmness returned. Then, unpredictably, there was even more hubbub; it was frantic and deafening. Panic ensued.

“Oh no, scēap, numerous, numerous scēap,” Xxynder paled, it was hard to tell under the dirt, but it was there. She jumped into the fountain, as the scēap disliked water even more than her. Wet, soggy, wet.

The mop of animals rushed through, trampling around the font, but there were so many and their hooves so thunderous, Xxynder tumbled over into the purple water. Gasping for breath, she rose. What a wonderful sight to behold.

Sniggering and snorting, Xxynder looked wildly around.

There in the trees, stood the Carabeni looking highly amused, behind them, were the scēap.

“No, not both,” Xxynder cried, “all this is a tragedy, no wait; I think I mean travesty.”

Her father stepped forward, pulled Xxynder, dripping and slightly stained too, out of the font and kissed her damp brow.

“You are of aged,“ her father declared and as he did the Carabeni parted to reveal the seven finest scēap ever.

“Be all mine,” Xxynder declared contently.

)

Written by

Writer, mother, wife, helper, giver, gardener, handicrafter — in no particular order. The time for procrastinating has passed.

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