The Adventure of Tim the Glimp [mark]

Along the soggy path stood a ruddy Glimp. His face long and haggard from the night he'd just been through. You could see his cheeks were hollow and round, dark bags were slung under his sullen eyes, well, you could if you could see beyond his thick fur. To you and me he would look like a squirrel with a short tail or a hamster with a long one. But don't tell him that; he is very proud to be a Glimp. I cannot tell every detail from the night previous-- it was very dark, but this is what I heard from the Tarmar who claims to have seen quite well.

The Glimp had been walking alone along the river path in the evening colors enjoying the distant sounds of his chaotic and hurried village--there was really no way to enjoy these sounds but distantly for to be near is to be within the flurry of Glimp, Tarmar and Schaelmeter about their daily scurry. The Glimp, who we will call "Tim" because to say his real name without large incisors protruding from your lips would be near impossible and to spell it would challenge even the greatest of linguists. Which I am not, I am merely a teller of a tale heard once long ago... but I digress. Where was I? Oh yes, Tim the Glimp! Tim, in effort to chase the bustling city sounds even farther away, thus making them even more pleasant pushed along the river path deeper into the wood. Terrible things had been said about the wood but they did not seem so terrible now, no one had mentioned that when you reach the clearing and the bridge across the river the sound of the tumultuous city cannot reach you. And you are alone. At last! The drone could not reach him and he was alone with his thoughts for the first time in his short life as a Glimp. Tim reached out for the weather worn rail along the bridge across the river and all went black.

"I say we bash his head and toss 'im in the river!" a cheerful voice rang out somewhere in the darkness of Tim's thoughts.
"Oi say we fling him down them hills to the east! He'd not stop tumbling 'til next week!"
Tim opened his eyes, blinked twice and saw nothing. Night had fallen and the darkness was much darker in the wood. His eyes began to acclimate to the lack of illumination enough so he could see three dark figures towering above him. This is the moment when the fellow we know as Tim began to show the glimmers of who we know him to be today, the great Timothy Fairweather McGlimp. I know that I have just given it away that he gets out of this turbulent pickle but why not? What sort of storyteller would I be if I told a story about a poor little Glimp who got tossed down the hills to the east and didn't stop tumb'ling for a week?

Tim sprang to his feet as only a Glimp could spring and darted as only a Glimp could dart for the sound of the river and prayed for the river path to still be there. He was immediately seized by the clammy paws of a Schaelmeter. No paws are clammier than the paws of a Schaelmeter and these were the clammiest. Tim tore one shoulder loose but was quite suddenly grabbed about the legs and promptly tossed down the hills to the east which were not as far east as he had hoped and quite steeper than he would prefer. Now Tim was not one prone to enjoy tumbling for weeks on end so he acted as only a Glimp in his predicament would know to act. He spread out his furry arms and spun his tail vigorously and fervently, the tumbling quickly stopped followed by the falling and plummeting. As Tim clung to the shallow grass upon the hills to the east he caught his breath and thought. The thoughts he thought were thoughts of scurrying and running away but also thoughts of valor and victory... and those were the thoughts worth thinking. He flexed his muscles and climbed the hills to the east with courage and bravery growing in his chest. Upon the crest of the hill he laid his paws upon the closest Schaelmeter and flung him over the hill to the east ...now I could continue telling the story from the words that Timothy Fairweather McGlimp tells but I think this story is much better (not to mention more accurate) from the words of the lowly Tarmar who was asleep in the tree on the hill to the east.

The lowly Tarmar slept in the tree on the hill to the east as was his nightly ritual. His name was Jill, and he was the fiercest fellow named Jill that you would ever meet--which is not saying much because I have never met another fellow named Jill in all my years. There was Jill sleeping away in his tree when he was rudely awakened by the girlish screams of a Glimp in flight. As soon as his eyes adjusted to the murky blues of the mid-night he was struck full-body by the flightless flying Glimp. Jill, who was quite strong enough to do so, picked up the flightless flying Glimp who was now tangled in tree branches and heaved him back to whomever had thoughtlessly absconded with it into his arboreal resting place. Such a return toss was surprisingly accurate, accurate enough to place the body of the still stunned Glimp headlong across the two heads of the Schaelmeter standing upon the crest of the hill basking in their efficient disposal of a worthless Glimp. Needless to say they could not bask long in their newly unconscious state. The Tarmar, now irreparably awake from all the commotion climbed the hill to take on the task of basking in an excellent toss. Not one to move quickly, Jill took his sweet time getting to the top.

Upon reaching the top of the hill, Jill clearly saw the clearing and in it stood Tim the Glimp wielding a small dagger removed from the sheath of the Schaelmeter which appeared as a short-sword in his paws. Tim was swishing it at a creature who Jill had not seen before in these parts nor the adjoining parts nearby. Jill, the mightiest of all Jills lost all nerve, might and continence and flew away.

Tim swished his blade at the lanky beast hoping to intimidate it away but his actions did more to strike amusement than fear. The beastly form, feeling no need to keep secrets from one so near its own demise and feeling quite proud of his thorough plans with maybe a little frustration from the realization that he now had to perform them all himself because his henchmen could no longer hench from their unconscious loafing, began to speak.

"I am a little perturbed at you small child, you have gotten in my way." He scoffed with a chuckle, "Let me introduce myself. I am Charlemagne, I live in that prestigious cave just across the river from this here clearing." His nose pointed into the air as he gestured toward the bridge. "That Tarmar has used your small ballast to clobber my henchmen so now I must perform all henching myself. You see, I am on my way to destroy the town which keeps me up at night with its clamoring and clattering. Honestly, why should I move my cave opening from one side of the hill to the other just so I won't hear their noise? I would prefer to destroy the town and be rid of its sonic torrents for good! So now you must excuse me while I extinguish you and be on my merry way to topple the great stone upon your paltry counterparts."

With that Tim summoned all of his strength, raised the dagger and ran at the beast yelling the word, "no."

"Noooooooooooo!" he yelled as he ran. KAH-THUNK! WUMP!
The tall, fearsome Charlemagne took one large step out of the Glimp's war-path. Tim was surprised by such a swift and silent movement that he went dagger-first, head-second into a old and moldy oak tree. The ground shuddered from such a force into the tree and the old oak let loose of one big soggy, rotten and moldy branch directly above the monstrous and unfriendly giant. The branch fell quickly and confidently pinning him to the cold dirt.

At the gates to the city the sun began to rise above the mountains to the east just beyond the hills to the east. When the sun rises in a manner such as this, the guards change their posts. This day as the guards were changing their posts they heard these things, a faint "nooooooo." and a "kah-thunk" off in the distance just down the river path closely followed by an abbreviated wumping sound. The guards, fearing it was Charlemagne, who had written several unkind letters addressed to city hall, ran to curtail his unpleasantness. There in the clearing stood Timothy the Glimp cowering under the tree that had yielded its branch to save his life and the lives of the city-folk. And there under the branch was Charlemagne.

Tim was given a plaque and a walking stick with his name carved in it for his service to the city, he was also given the cave of Charlemagne who was banished to a noisy cell in the middle of town. The cave of Charlemagne wasn't such a bad place to live once Tim had installed a door and plumbing. Jill and Tim became good friends and if you ever happen to walk down that river path and across the bridge you may come across a Tarmar and a Glimp sitting on the porch of the cave of Charlemagne. If you listen long enough you will hear the tale of the adventure of Tim the Glimp. He will tell you his name is Timothy Fairweather McGlimp... but you can call him Tim.

The end.