Glenda the Wendle Chapter 10

Chapter 10.

 

Glenda The Wendle And The Hollow Tree.

Early one morning, Glenda stood outside her den, basking in the warmth of summer. Like most woodland creatures, she had a superb sense of smell and hearing. She listened as the night creatures settled into their resting places—the Hooter bird tucking itself into the top of a great oak, and the Night Squeakers flying back to their home in the ash tree, hanging upside down to sleep.

She could smell the grass growing and the leaves unfurling in the morning sunlight. Taking another deep breath, she turned to go inside—but then she stopped. Something was wrong. Feggy Wood did not smell quite the same as usual. She listened carefully.

Somewhere, deep in the middle of the Wood, someone was very unhappy.

“No one should be sad on such a lovely morning,” she thought. “I had better go and see what’s wrong.”

Following the scent and sound of distress, she wandered into a part of the Wood she had never visited before. She stopped abruptly and shuddered. No wonder Feggy Wood smelled and sounded different—a great tree had split in two, part of it lying on the ground.

Glenda stepped closer. It had once been a hollow tree, but now, its insides lay open to the air.

 

         The fallen hollow Tree.

 

“I wonder what happened,” she murmured.

A sad voice replied, “It just gave a loud crack and fell over.”

Glenda glanced around but saw no one.

“Er… hello?” she called hesitantly.

“Hello yourself,” the voice said.

“I’m sorry,” said Glenda, “but I cannot see you.”

“Sorry,” came the reply. “I forgot.”

A strange creature, about Glenda’s height, appeared beside her.

 

 

 

         A strange creature appeared.

“I am Glenda the Wendle,” she said. “I don’t think we’ve met before.”

“No,” said the creature. “I am the Spoofler.” It nodded toward the hollow tree. “That was my home. I started living there when it was just a tiny crack, and as it grew, I grew with it. Now I have nowhere to live.”

Glenda frowned. “What is a Spoofler?” she asked. “I thought I knew all the creatures of Feggy Wood, yet I’ve never seen a Spoofler before.”

“I think I am the only Spoofler in Feggy Wood,” it admitted. “And you wouldn’t have seen me. This is how I normally look.”

With that, it vanished.

“Oh, I see,” said Glenda—though she did not see at all.

The Spoofler reappeared. “No one is meant to see me. People are only supposed to hear me. If you hear a cow go ‘Moo’ when there are no cows about, that is a Spoofler. If you hear a sheep go ‘Baa’ when there are no sheep nearby, that is a Spoofler. If you wander through the Wood and hear strange rustlings but see nothing, that is a Spoofler. We can mimic the sounds of any animal, bird, or even the wind. That is what Spooflers do.”

“But I can see you now,” said Glenda, puzzled. She could just make out the Spoofler, but she could also see the trees and bushes through it.

The Spoofler sighed, making a noise like wind moaning through treetops. “When creatures like you are upset or sick, you begin to fade away. Well, with Spooflers, it’s the other way round. When we are sick or upset, we grow more solid. And when I become completely solid… that will be the end of me.”

It gave an even heavier sigh, and a tear trickled down its face, sounding like ice breaking underfoot.

“Please don’t cry,” said Glenda. “What you need is a nice, new hollow tree.”

The Spoofler nodded. “That would be nice—but where do I find one? And if I do, it might belong to someone else… perhaps even another Spoofler.”

“It might be nice to meet another Spoofler, though,” said Glenda.

The Spoofler shuddered, making a noise like a rusty gate hinge. “Oh, no. Spooflers don’t get on well with other Spooflers.” It walked over to the fallen tree and patted it. “I remember when this was just a baby. We lived together for so long. It will be hard to live anywhere else.”

“Well,” said Glenda, “the sooner we start looking, the better! There must be other hollow trees in the Wood. Would you like me to find one for you?”

“Yes, please,” said the Spoofler. “I can feel myself growing more solid all the time.”

“There are plenty of creatures in Feggy Wood who might know where to find one,” said Glenda. “We can go and ask them.”

The Spoofler shook its head, making a noise like a rock dropping into a pond. “No, no, no! I’m sorry, but I can’t go out into Feggy Wood. I might be seen.”

The Spoofler sounded deeply distressed.

Glenda reached out to pat the poor creature, but it moved away quickly.

“Then you stay here, and I will go look for you,” she promised.

“Thank you,” said the Spoofler. “Please don’t tell anyone about me. If they knew there was a Spoofler in Feggy Wood, they might try to catch me.”

“I won’t,” promised Glenda.

“The hollow doesn’t need to be very big,” said the Spoofler. “And I only need a small crack to get in. See how thin I am.”

It turned sideways. From this angle, Glenda could barely see it at all.

“I will be as quick as I can,” she reassured.

“I feel better already,” said the Spoofler, making a sound like a thrush banging a snail on a rock.

It was true. Glenda noticed that the Spoofler was slightly less visible than before.

    Glenda wended her way through Feggy Wood. “I wonder who I can ask,” she said to herself.  Her path led her near to the Tree-chewers home. Father Tree-chewer was busy patting mud on to its walls.

 

The treechewer.

    “Hello,” said Glenda.

    “Hello yourself,” said Father Tree-chewer.

    “Do you know where there is a hollow tree?” asked Glenda.

    “Sorry,” said Father Tree-chewer. “We only know which trees are good to eat, not which ones are hollow.”

    Glenda wended her way through Feggy Wood. In the distance she heard a treebanger bird. “They must know a lot about trees,” thought Glenda. “They spend their lives banging their beaks on them. Perhaps they know where there is a hollow tree.”

    She followed the sound and soon came to a tree where a treebanger bird was busy hitting the trunk with its beak.

     “Hello,” said Glenda.

    “Hello yourself,” said the bird stopping banging for a moment.

 

The Treebanger.

    “Do you know where there is a hollow tree?” asked Glenda.

    “I know where there are lots of hollow trees,” said the treebanger bird, “But I am not going to tell you where they are.”

    “Why not?” asked Glenda, a little surprised at the bird's rudeness.

    “Because we like to build our nests in hollow trees and you might go and steal our eggs,” said the bird. Before Glenda could say anything more, the bird flew away.

    Glenda shouted after it. “Wendles do not steal eggs, or anything else for that matter!” But the bird was too far away to hear her.

    “At least I know that there are plenty of hollow trees in Feggy Wood,” thought Glenda. “Who else do I know who might know where to find one?”

    She thought for a few more minutes. “There is no point asking the digunders or the budger, they do not know about trees. The sprew and the snoke sometimes climb trees, but they do not live in them. The one to ask is the squarrel.”

    Glenda wended her way through Feggy Wood until she found a Squarrel.

 

                          The squarrel.

“Hello,” she said.  

“Hello yourself,” said the Squarrel.

    “I am looking for a hollow tree,” said Glenda. “The treebanger birds said that there were some, but it would not tell me where. Do you know where I might find one?”

    “I know every tree in Feggy Wood,” boasted the Squarrel. “And the bird was right. There are quite a few hollow ones. But most of them have nests in them.”

    “It has to be an empty one, I would not like to take someone’s home,” said Glenda.

    “There is one over the South side of the Wood, but I don't think you would fit. There is a way in but it would take a very thin person to get in,” said the Squarrel.

    “Show me where, please,” begged Glenda.

    “It is a long way and I was just about to eat,” said the Squarrel.

    “I was down that way yesterday,” said Glenda. “There were lots of really nice wild strawberries, just ready for eating.”

    The Squarrel clambered down the tree and on to Glenda's shoulder. “Come on then, let's go look for strawberries.”

    “And the hollow tree,” said Glenda.

    “That too,” sniffed the Squarrel.

Glenda wended her way through Feggy Wood until she reached the south side. She stopped beside a huge patch of wild strawberries.

The squarrel leapt down and began stuffing as many berries into its mouth as possible.

“The tree?” Glenda reminded.

The squarrel waved a paw toward a pair of oak trees, mumbling through a mouthful of fruit, “Over there.”

“But which one?” asked Glenda.

“Tap them all,” said the squarrel. “The one you want will sound hollow.”

Glenda did as the squirrel ordered.. Sure enough, one of the trees sounded different. She examined it carefully and found a narrow crack—just as the squarrel had described.

“Thank you,” she said.

The squarrel merely waved a strawberry juice-stained paw and continued eating.

Glenda wended her way back through Feggy Wood until she reached the fallen tree.

The Spoofler was nowhere to be seen.

“Hello?” called Glenda. “Are you here?”

“Yes, here I am,” replied the Spoofler. It was sitting inside the broken tree. Glenda could just about make it out.

“I have found you a hollow tree!” she announced.

The Spoofler made a noise like a skylark’s song and completely disappeared.

“Oh, thank you, thank you!”

“It’s on the south side of the Wood,” said Glenda. “I’ll show you the way. Can you manage the walk?”

The Spoofler made a sound like a frightened mouse. It sighed.

“I suppose I will have to. Can we go now?”

“Follow me,” said Glenda.

They wended their way through Feggy Wood. They hadn’t gone far when Father Treechewer emerged from behind a tree.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello,” replied Glenda. However, before she could say anything more, the sound of rushing water filled the air.

“That sounds like water coming over my dam!” Father Treechewer exclaimed. “I had better go and check. Goodbye!”

He rushed off down the path.

“Was that you?” Glenda asked the Spoofler.

“Yes,” it admitted. “I don’t want anyone to know where we’re going.”

They continued along the path until a treebanger bird called out, “Hello.”

“Hello,” said Glenda. However, before she could say anything more, the sound of splintering wood echoed through the trees.

“That sounds like someone breaking open my nest!” cried the treebanger bird. “I had better go and check. Goodbye!”

It flew off.

“Was that you?” Glenda asked the Spoofler.

“Yes,” it said.

Further down the path, they encountered a budger.

“Hello,” it sniffed.

“Hello,” said Glenda. However, before she could speak further, the humming of bees filled the air.

“That sounds like a bee’s nest,” snuffled the budger. “I must dig it up for lunch. Goodbye!”

It hurried away into the trees.

“That was you again,” said Glenda.

The Spoofler nodded.

Before long, they met a tummy-crawler.

       They met a tummy-crawler.

“Hello,” it hissed.

“Hello,” said Glenda. However, before she could say anything else, the sound of rustling grass swept through the Wood.

“That sounds like someone breaking open my nest!” hissed the tummy-crawler. “I had better go and check. Goodbye!”

“You?” asked Glenda.

The Spoofler did not reply.

Soon, they arrived at the south end of Feggy Wood.

The squarrel was still feasting on strawberries.

“Hello,” it mumbled.

“Hello,” said Glenda. However, before she could say anything more, the sound of a bushy-tailed Rufus on the hunt rang through the Wood.

“Don’t like the sound of that,” said the squarrel. “I’m off. Goodbye!”

With that, it darted up a nearby tree and disappeared into Feggy Wood.

“You know a lot of creatures,” said the Spoofler. “I hope you didn’t tell them about me.”

“No,” said Glenda firmly. “I promised I wouldn’t, and I always keep my promises. The hollow tree is just here.”

She led the Spoofler to the oak tree and showed it the crack in the bark.

 

    The spoofler’s new home.

The Spoofler vanished into the tree.

A sound like a cat’s purring filled the air.

From inside the hollow, the Spoofler called out, “This is perfect! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“I’m glad I could help,” said Glenda. “Now I had better go home.”

As she turned to leave, Feggy Wood was suddenly filled with the joyful song of a skylark.

That night, Glenda stood outside her den, listening to the sounds of Feggy Wood as the night creatures awoke.

“I wonder how many of the noises are real,” she mused, “and how many are the Spoofler.”

So, the next time you walk through a woodland and hear a noise—one you cannot quite place—perhaps, just perhaps, you have heard a Spoofler playing tricks on you.