The Legeend Of The Old And Wise Blue Tit. Part Three. The New Legend.

As we got to the hole that led into the big nest, it disappeared.
“Oh, no!” I gasped. “What are we going to do now?”
“There’s nothing for it, Cheep,” Green said. “We’ll have to turn back and go home.”
“No,” I said, firmly. “We’ve come this far.”
From behind us, we heard a Hoomin Bee-in imitation of a bird whistle. The Hoomin that had gone up the pa-fway a few minutes ago, was now coming back down it, carrying some sort of weird object. The dog followed behind.
“Green! She’ll make that hole appear again, you watch. And when she does, we’ll follow her.”
So that’s what the two of us did, Green nearly losing his tail feathers in the process.
The inside of the big nest where Hoomin Bee-ins live was a little different to the nests us little birds were used to. The walls were made from something which wasn’t twigs.
There were a group of Hoomins all stood round talking. One of the little ones was holding something in her hands.
“Claire, put George away. We don’t want him to accidentally fly to the floor and get eaten by Lucifer, do we?”
“It’s okay, Mummy. I’ve shut Lucifer in the other room. He won’t eat George.”
“Claire, how many times? Just do as I ask, please.”
The little Hoomin called Claire squealed as she dropped ‘George’. He dropped down next to where Green and I were watching the whole scene. I stared at him in surprise. George was a blue tit, the same size as my dad.
“You-You’re the Old and Wise Blue Tit,” I stammered at him.
“Hello,” George said. “How do you know me then?”
“I’m Cheep, and this is Green. You’re a legend amongst us in the garden. We came all this way to find out if you’re real.”
“Well, of course I’m real,” George said, sounding surprised. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
I explained to George about the story of when he got taken by Hoomins, and how no-one knew if it was true or not, and that I wanted to see if it was true for myself. George then told me that the story I was told had, indeed, happened, and wasn’t a fairy-tale, and he didn‘t realize he was famous. Also, that it felt nice to be talking to a fellow bird for once. I asked him how old he was, and he replied that he was five years old.
“Claire, don’t just stand there looking gormless!” The Hoomin mother was saying. “Pick George up and put him back in the other room, and let Lucifer out.”
A Hoomin hand swooped down, and lifted George up. George chirped angrily.
“Mummy! Mummy! There’s two other birds down here!” The little Hoomin squealed excitedly.
“Well, so there is,” her mother replied, looking down at me and my friend. “I wonder how they got there.”
“They’re only little chicks, as well,” said yet another Hoomin. The same one we had bitten earlier. “They’re probably orphans, poor things, looking for another home.”
“Can we keep them, Mummy? Can we?” Claire asked.
“No, absolutely not. It’s bad enough worrying that poor George will get eaten by Lucifer, let alone these two as well.”
In the end, after much whining from Claire, we were taken back to the top of the garden.
Even though we only saw him briefly, Green and I saw for ourselves that George, the Old And Wise Blue Tit, was indeed a true story, and not a fairy tale.
Green and I went home, to start our own legend. The legend of the two chicks who went looking for the Old And Wise Blue Tit.