Glenda the Wendle

Chapter 1

 

 Glenda the Wendle

Glenda the Wendle wended her way through Feggy Wood. Never seen a Wendle? Well, I’m not surprised—they are very, very shy. They think they are so ugly that they spend all their time hiding away. A Wendle will not even look at itself in a mirror.

Wendles are of medium height with tree bark-coloured, curly fur. They have fur everywhere, even on their eyelids. They possess long arms that almost reach the ground. As you might expect, their hands sit at the ends of these arms. Their long, thin fingers are tipped with black, claw-like nails. Wendles’ eyes are dark black, resembling knots in bark when open, and they disappear into their furry faces when closed.

Glenda the Wendle.

Glenda the Wendle often spent hours combing her fur until it shone and lay straight against her skin. But her fur had a mind of its own. As soon as she stopped combing, it would tie itself in knots and stop lying smoothly. It tangled itself up until, well, she looked just like a Wendle.

Worse still, whenever Glenda went outside, her fur would grab bits of twigs, leaves, lumps of moss, and even clumps of mud. The further Glenda walked through the Wood, the more her fur collected these bits. For such a shy creature, this turned out to be surprisingly useful. Glenda could stand next to a tree in Feggy Wood and blend in completely. That’s probably why you’ve never seen one. Next time you see a thick tree trunk covered in twigs, leaves, moss, and mud, look closer—it might just be a Wendle.

If a Wendle felt playful, it might blow gently on your neck while you stood next to it, and you wouldn’t even know it was there. Not that a Wendle would ever do something so impolite. Wendles are very well-mannered.

It was the first warm day of spring. Glenda woke up from her winter sleep. There was just enough food left from the stores she had gathered last autumn for a good meal. She stretched, yawned, and crawled out of her nest. She decided to search for someone to play with.

She wended her way through Feggy Wood until she came to an old gnarled tree. She leaned against the trunk to rest.

She stood next to a gnarly tree.

 A Squarrel clambered down the tree and perched on a stump, clutching a nut.

“Hello,” said Glenda politely.

 

The squarrel.

 

The Squarrel jumped and dropped its nut. “Now look what you’ve made me do!” it grumbled. “That was my lunch! It took me ages to remember where I buried it.”

“Sorry,” said Glenda. “You clambered down next to me, and I thought it only polite to say hello.”

The Squarrel snuffled. “Well, hello to you then.”

“I’m looking for someone to play with,” said Glenda. “Would you like to be my friend?”

The Squarrel looked at Glenda and shook its head. “You’re far too ugly to play with,” it said. “Now go away—you’re turning the nuts sour.” Then it scrambled back up the tree.

Sadly, Glenda wended her way further into Feggy Wood. She stopped for a rest next to another tree. A Glizzard slithered and slalomed onto a tree stump. It curled itself up and fizzled.

 

The glizzard.

“Hello,” said Glenda politely.

The Glizzard raised its head and looked at Glenda. “Hello yourself,” it fizzled—Glizzards always speak with a fizzle.

“I’m looking for someone to play with,” said Glenda. “Would you like to be my friend?”

The Glizzard uncoiled and slithered off the stump. “Oh no,” it fizzled. “You’re far too ugly to play with. I only play with creatures that are slithery like me. Now go away—you’re scaring the feathereds in the trees, and I want to catch one for lunch.”

Sadly, Glenda wended her way further into Feggy Wood. She leaned against another tree to rest. A Budger came snuffling along. Budgers are very short-sighted and expect everyone to move out of their way instead of going around obstacles.

This Budger snuffled right up to Glenda’s leg.

 

The budger.

“Hello,” said Glenda politely.

“Move,” grumbled the Budger rudely. “You’re in my way.”

“I’m looking for someone to play with,” said Glenda. “Would you like to be my friend?”

The Budger sniffed and peered at Glenda. “No,” it snuffled. “I only play with creatures that have smooth fur like mine. Yours is far too ugly. Now move—I’m searching for wurrums, and you’re standing where I want to dig.”

Glenda stepped aside, and the Budger snuffled off.

Sadly, Glenda wended her way through Feggy Wood. She leaned against another tree to rest. A tiny Squeaker scampered up and perched on her hand.

 

Glenda and the tiny squeaker.

“Hello,” said Glenda politely.

The Squeaker squawked. “Put me down!” it ordered.

“I’m looking for someone to play with,” said Glenda. “Would you like to be my friend?”

“I’m far too busy to play,” said the Squeaker. “I have to catch Callapitters before they turn into Spreadwings and flitter away. Besides, you’re far too big for me to play with. Now put me on that branch.”

Glenda gently set the Squeaker down on a branch above her head and watched it scamper away.

Sadly, Glenda wended her way further into Feggy Wood. She leaned against another tree to rest.

“Hello,” said the tree.

“Hello,” said Glenda politely.

“I’m looking for someone to play with,” said Glenda. “Would you like to be my friend?”

“Oh yes, please,” said the tree. “My name is Brenda the Wendle.”

 

Glenda and Brenda.

 

“And I’m Glenda the Wendle,” said Glenda. “What shall we play?”

“Hide and Seek,” said Brenda.

“My favourite game,” said Glenda.

So, they played, and as far as I know, they’re still playing. After all, Wendles are such excellent hiders that even another Wendle might never find them.