The Inklings.

As you have probably noticed, there's been some changes on this blog- namely, that the name has changed (pun intended). You're probably also wondering why this change came about.

Well, y'see, back in the good old days, there was this writing club called the Inklings, which had among its members two of our bestest writers:  C.S Lewis (The Chronicles of Narnia), and J.R.R. Tolkien (The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit).  In this club, they would read and discuss books, and comment on each other's works.  Which is exactly what we want to do.  So this blog is no longer just a story blog: it's now a WRITER'S CLUB, where we post not only our stories, but also book reports, essays on famous people, and book discussions.

Welcome to the Inklings.

Book Review (by Big Sister): The Lord of the Rings

 Author:  J.R.R. Tolkien 

Rating: 5/5  

Genres: Adventure Fantasy, Speculative fiction, Fiction, High fantasy, Chivalric romance, Adventure novel

One of the greatest works of fiction of all time, The Lord of the Rings is one of my favorite books.  It is usually called a  trilogy, because it is split into three parts:  The Fellowship of the  Ring, The Two Towers, and The Return of the King.  It also has  a prequel, The Hobbit.

This amazing, incredibly written story has endured for many  years and “...will go on and on.”*  C.S Lewis wrote: “...none so relevant to the actual human situation, yet free from allegory.”  The Lord of the Rings is no ordinary fantasy story.   It expresses such things as courage, faithfulness, joy, friendship, wisdom, beauty, and the true meaning of love.  

The story begins in the peaceful region of The Shire, where a hobbit named Bilbo Baggins is about to celebrate his eleventy-first birthday, and his adoptive heir Frodo (who shares Bilbo’s birthday) is about to turn 33- his “coming of age.”

After the party, Bilbo plans to leave his cozy hobbit hole and go on another adventure, leaving everything he owns to Frodo-- even the extraordinary Ring he found deep under the Misty Mountains. Not only could the Ring make you invisible, but it also bestowed long life upon its owner.

But when it came time for Bilbo to go on his journey, he found he could not bring himself to leave the Ring.  Something seemed to draw him to it.  Only with the firm but kind help of Gandalf the wizard was he able to give it up.
He may have struggled, but in giving up the Ring,  Bilbo had done something no-one had ever done before.

*

The life of a hobbit is wonderful. They have large families, good fellowship, and enjoy simple pleasures such as gardening, singing, enjoying the beautiful countryside and, of course, eating.  Their cozy, family-oriented life never fails to give me warm fuzzies.  

Many years past.  Frodo had lived happily in the Shire his whole life, yet now he felt a strange restlessness, and a desire to follow in the steps of Bilbo.

Meanwhile, Gandalf had been searching over all Middle-Earth for more information on Bilbo’s ring, and had discovered its true identity.  The ring was the Ruling Ring of Power, and if the Dark Lord, Sauron, got his hands on it, all would be lost.

Gandalf knew that the ring had to be destroyed, and he also knew that he was unable to take charge of it himself.  So he asked Frodo to take it to the dark land of Mordor, with the aim of throwing it in the Cracks of Doom, and thus destroying it --and the Dark Lord-- forever.

Soon later, Frodo, along with his faithful friends Samwise and the inseparable Meriadoc and Peregrin, set out for the town Rivendell.  The friends had hardly left when they met the terrifying Dark Riders, accomplices of the Dark Lord.  The riders were searching for the ring.

Yet even with the awful Dark Riders on their heels, the company reached Rivendell more or less alive.  There they met Gandalf, and with the help of the Elven king Elrond formed the Fellowship of the Ring:  Frodo (the ring bearer), Samwise (along with his beloved pony Bill),  Meriadoc and Peregrin, Gandalf, an elf named Legolas and his good friend Gimli the Dwarf, Boromir (a man from the town of Minas Tirith), and the mysterious Aragorn (also a man).

From Rivendell, the Fellowship continued their journey to destroy the One Ring, travelling deep under the Misty Mountains,  through mysterious forests, on the great, rushing river of Anduin, and across endless, green plains.  They battled orcs, wargs and other fearsome creatures, and met many new friends, such as the elven-folk of Lothlorien, or the extraordinary tree-men of the forest.

I would like to add something I noticed about two of my favorite characters, the hilarious and ever-cheerful pair, Meriadoc Brandybuck (‘Merry), and Peregrin Took (‘Pippin’).  They have a story that is important to most of us.  Pippin and Merry both felt as if they were rather useless members of the Fellowship, and more like luggage than anything.  Yet in the end they both played parts that were crucial to the success of the mission.

This I found encouraging.  Many Christians who live normal lives can wonder what use they are to God.  Merry and Pippin’s story shows that “normal” people are important!

Far from Rivendell, the company was split, leaving some of them chasing after an evil band of orcs, and Frodo and Samwise travelling on to Mordor alone- or so they think, until they notice a shadowy figure following them...

The friendship between Samwise and Frodo to me defines the true meaning of love.  Sam would gladly have given his right arm, or even his life, for his master. And Frodo, weighed down by the ring as he was, depended utterly on his support.  Neither could have completed the task alone.

And as the Ring Bearer and his faithful friend continue their difficult journey, the rest of the Fellowship are battling to defend the city of Minas Tirith against the dark hordes of Sauron.  And Aragorn is preparing himself.  For Minas Tirith has been without a king for many years, and Aragorn is the rightful heir to the throne.

Footnotes: *Naomi Mitchison

William Wilberforce, by Alice

 On February 24th, 1793, a letter was written by a tired eighty-eight year old man, addressed to William Wilberforce.

 “Dear Sir,” it read. “Unless God has raised you up... I see not how you can go through with your glorious enterprise in opposing that execrable villainy... You will be worn out by the opposition of men and devils; but if God be for you, who can be against you?  Are all of them together stronger than God?  O, be not weary in well-doing.  Go on, in the name of God and in the power of His might, till even American slavery, the vilest that ever saw the sun, shall banish away before it.”

It was the last letter that tired old man ever wrote.  Just a week later, John Wesley was dead.

***

William Wilberforce was born sickly and almost blind.  His father, a merchant, died when he was just 9 years old; his mother, poor and unable to care for her young son, consigned him to the care of his Aunt and Uncle in Wimbledon.  There he received an education and adopted his relatives’ strong Evangelical views.  He regularly attended church, where he was often inspired by the preaching of John Newton.

At the age of 17, Wilberforce found his way to Cambridge University where he met and became close friends with the future Prime Minister, William Pitt.  Together they considered political careers and frequently watched House of Commons debates from the gallery.  While at Cambridge, Wilberforce engaged himself in little other than the playing of cards, gambling and intemperate drinking.  He had, however, a bright and cheery disposition and was admired by all his colleagues and those who encountered him.
In 1780, Wilberforce was elected to Parliament at the young age of 21.  In 1784 he became the independent Member of Parliament for Yorkshire, his home town.

After being converted in 1785, he made a radical change in his lifestyle and habits.  He became a conservative Christian, dedicated to prayer and spent much time in the Word.
Wilberforce met the Abolitionist Thomas Clarkson and a group of anti-slave-trade activists not long after his conversion.  Thomas Clarkson had an enormous influence on William, convincing him to take on the cause of abolition.  As a result, Wilberforce became one of the leading English Abolitionists and headed the Parliamentary campaign against the British slave trade.

William Wilberforce devoted his life to the cause of abolition and the work God called him to do.  As well as campaigning against the slave trade, he advocated legislations to improve the working conditions for chimney sweeps and textile workers, and engaged in prison reform.  He recognized the importance of education in alleviating poverty, and provided financial support for the establishment of Sunday Schools for the poor.  Yearly he gave away thousands of pounds; he paid off others’ debts and gave portions of his wealth to clergymen to distribute in their parishes.  He believed that those with wealth had a duty to give a significant portion of their income to the needy.

In 1797 Wilberforce met Barbara Spooner, a young anti-slavery supporter who was 18 years his junior.  They married after just two weeks of courtship and had six children.

William battled fiercely for many years to end the trade of slaves.
Finally, in February 1807, the bill to abolish the trading of slaves in the British Empire was passed.  This, however, did not release the millions of Africans already enslaved.  It merely ended the transporting of ‘cargo’.

Wilberforce fought for the next 27 years to free slaves in the British Empire.  He retired from Parliament in 1825 due to his failing health, only to return a few years later to lead yet another campaign against the slave trade.

After many years of hard work and perseverance, the bill was finally passed in 1833 to free slaves in the British Empire.

William Wilberforce died just 3 days later and was buried near his friend William Pitt in Westminster Abbey.

“When people speak of great men, they thing of men like Napoleon - men of violence. Rarely do they think of peaceful men.  But contrast the reception they will receive when they return home from their battles. Napoleon will arrive in pomp and in power, a man who’s achieved the very summit of earthly ambition.  William Wilberforce, however, will return to his family, lay his head on his pillow and remember: the slave trade is no more.”

-Charles Fox, from the film ‘Amazing Grace’

“You may choose to look the other way but you can never again say that you did now know.”  - William Wilberforce

Portrait of William Wilberforce by Karl Anton Hickel, c.1794

Dragon by the Nile, by Big Sister: Part 2

Halima woke next morning with a feeling that something was wrong, and it wasn’t the fact that Kosey was sleeping on her neck. It didn’t take her long to remember what it was.  The dragon.  What had Mensah said?  As big as a pyramid, with eyes like pools of fire and teeth like obelisks.  She shuddered, wishing that it had been killed then and there.

The dragon plagued Halima’s mind all day, and she dreamt about it that night.  The tale of the “Nile Monster” was on everyone’s lips. It even reached the ears of  Pharaoh, who, it was said, told his men to be on the alert for it.  But  as weeks passed and the dragon was not seen, people began to wonder if the infamous reed-cutter had merely made up the tale.  Eventually, talk turned to other things.  The dragon was all but forgotten.  Even Mensah, who had talked of nothing else for weeks, lost hope that the dragon would ever be found.

*

Halima wriggled her toes, revelling in the feel of the cool Nile mud on her hot and dusty feet. She brushed a fly away from her eyes, then bent down and hoisted a large clay jar of water onto her shoulder.  She turned to go, then froze in terror.  The jar fell to the ground with a wet thud and broke into two neat pieces.  The water trickled away, but Halima didn’t notice.  She was staring at a long-necked, four-legged beast with a pair of large yellow eyes. Eyes like pools of fire.

It was the dragon.

For a few awful seconds nothing happened.  Then the dragon, instead of rushing forward and devouring Halima, began to munch calmly on some reeds.  Halima let out a gasp of relief. The dragon was not going to eat her!  And as she looked more upon the creature, a smile played about her mouth, a smile which turned into a laugh. The pyramid-sized monster everyone had been talking about was closer to the size of an ox, and it was eating reeds with blunt, herbivorous teeth.

Halima took a tentative step towards the long-necked beast, wondering if it would let her touch it.  Imagine telling Mensah that she had touched a dragon! The dragon didn’t seem in the least concerned, so she slowly moved towards it until it was in touching distance.  Halima’s heart was in her mouth.  Slowly, carefully, she reached out her arm and touched the dragon’s cold, scaly hide.  It looked at her curiously.

“Hello,” whispered Halima.   The dragon reached out and touched her forehead with its nose.   Then suddenly it turned, and made a strange sound. And to Halima’s great surprize, a reply, hardly audible, came floating from the other side of the Nile.   There wasn’t just one dragon-- there was two!

Halima’s dragon didn’t hesitate before it plunged into the water and began swimming to the other side, stirring up a cloud of mud and soaking her with spray.  She watched it grow smaller and smaller, till finally it reached the other side to join its companion.

Halima knew somehow that she would never see the dragon again.  She wondered if her family would believe her tale.  Her younger brothers would, that was for sure.  And even if no one did believe her, thought Halima, she could go about her life with the knowledge that she was the only person in Egypt who had touched a dragon.

NOTE: The description of the dragon in this tale is based upon that of the Europasaurus holgeri,  a ox-sized sauropod.

Dragon by the Nile, by Big Sister: Part One

Mandisa!  Stop pulling Kosey’s tail!”  cried Halima.  Her baby sister just giggled, and grabbed a handful of the cat’s yellowish fur.  Kosey put his ears back flat against his head, then wriggled free and sprang out the door, where Halima’s mother had just a appeared. She looked at Halima’s hot, frustrated face.  “I’ll watch Mandisa now,  and you can go get some bread,” she said, handing Halima some coins.  “You may as well take Dakarai and Amil.”  Dakarai and Amil were the youngest of Halima’s four brothers. They had to stay at home, while the older two, Nakhti and Mensah, were old enough to work in the fields with their father.

Halima was soon trotting down the dusty road towards the marketplace, the warm damp hands of her brothers held tightly in hers.  By the time they got home it was dusk, and Halima’s brothers, along with her father, had returned from the fields. Mensah, who at ten years of age was two years younger than Halima, was bursting with news.  

“Have you heard about the dragon?”  he asked, his eyes shining with excitement.  Halima shook her head.

“Well, I’ll tell you then.  A man named Gudu -or was it Habu?- was cutting reeds when a huge dragon rose out of the depths of the Nile! They say it was the size of the great pyramid, had eyes like great pools of fire and gigantic teeth sharper than arrows.”  Mensah paused for effect.

 “What happened?”  Halima’s eyes were wide.  This was not like Mensah’s usual stories of robberies or new babies.

“Just as it was about to eat the man all up, he  threw his scythe in its mouth and ran away as fast as he could to warn everyone.  But when they went to search for it.... it had disappeared into thin air.  So the dragon is still alive-- and somewhere in Egypt!’’

Dragon by the Nile, by Big Sister: Prologue

The air shimmered beneath the hot Egyptian sun.  It was noon, the hottest time of the day, and few people moved about the marketplace of Menes.  The cloth-seller, a little man with a wide mouth, wiped his hand across his damp forehead.  He had just  settled down comfortably for a lunch break when a man, wild-eyed and covered in mud, came hurtling into the square and flung himself into the cloth-seller’s stall.

 The cloth-seller  gave a shout of dismay and dropped his lunch.  His lovely cloth was all covered in mud!  The cloth-seller, pale with rage, began to sputter dire threats. “Out! Out or- or I’ll feed you to the crocodiles!” People began to hurry over to see what all the fuss was about.

“Alright, alright, what’s going on here?”  The rather large figure of Sekani the baker shoved his way into the stall.

“This man has just muddied my cloth!” wailed the cloth-seller.

“What happened, eh?” Sekani asked the man.

“I saw... I saw... Ra save us!” was the man’s only reply.  Sekani turned to crowd of people.  “Anyone got some beer?” Beer was soon supplied,  which  revived the man enough to be able to sit up and stop shaking- almost.

“Now,” said Sekani, “what’s your name? And what caused you to be so frightened as to rush about like a madman-” Sekani waved his arm over the muddied cloth- “destroying things?”

The man gulped.  “M-my name is Manu.  And I was frightened because I saw a dragon!”

Sekani laughed.  “A dragon? Impossible.  No one has seen one of those for hundreds of years!”  He looked at Manu curiously.  “However, you obviously saw something, so do go on.”

Manu complied. “I was cutting reeds on the bank of the Nile when I heard a strange sound behind me, turned to look- and lo! Rising from the Nile’s water I saw a huge creature with enormous yellow eyes and skin like that of a crocodile.  It opened its mouth, and I saw rows and rows of huge, white teeth--”

“It must have been a dragon! What else could it be?” gasped the cloth-seller.

Sekani frowned.  “I have a Jewish servant who is always telling stories,” he said slowly.  “About so-called dragons.  Previously I ignored them as ridiculous, but if what you say is true...” he paused.

The cloth-seller’s eyes were starting from his head.  “Go on, go on!”

“He said they were big enough to hold an entire man in their mouth, and that they had a tail like a- what was it? Some sort of tree...not olive or palm... ah yes, I remember! a tail like a cedar tree!”

"A Tale Short, Yet Clever," by Lauren

Once there was a mouse

and he lived 

in

a 

house.

Got chased by a cat

hid under

the mat

and was trodden on, 

by a large and hairy man. 

The man said

"By george! There's something

under 

the mat!"

And he looked--

and there was the mouse

squished flat.

Said his wife:

"Disgusting! I won't allow it!"

and she threw

them both

out of the house.

--The End--

Letter from a Criminal

 The fifth day of April, 1888

 From: Jack Montville

Cell 66, Fleet prison

London

To: Miss Lacey Montville
450 Shade Tree Lane
Glasgow, Scotland
6783

My Dearest sister Lacey:

I cannot begin to tell you of the pain and remorse I feel.  You and mother must be so ashamed.  Because of me, people will whisper when you walk by, and stare as though you were the criminals - as though it were your fault!  Oh, the injustice of it!

The thing I cannot understand is this:  if what I did hadn’t turned out so badly, and I wasn’t sent to this awful place, then people would perhaps shake their heads a little, but they would find it easy to forgive - and to forget.

Yet, because the man happened to die later, I will be forever detested, and looked down upon as though I was something very unpleasant from the dustbin.  God can forgive, but people, it seems, cannot.  And even if someone was to forgive me, they will always remember.  It will always be a dark stain upon my record – both literally and in the minds of my fellow men.

I will not even tell you the things he said about father, it would only make you upset.  The things he said were terrible, and they were lies, all of them.  If I had a better hold on myself I could have calmly replied and left, but I have never been able to do that.

You asked me to tell you what it was like here, and I will not refuse you.  The nights are freezing cold, and my pitiful excuse for a blanket does not provide sufficient warmth.  And the food, if it could be called that, seems to have no more goodness than sawdust.  It certainly does not taste any better.

We are let out for “exercise” twice a day; and it is good to see other faces, but we cannot speak. 

I am lonely, dear sister. The jailer is about as talkative as a stone, and my only company is a large, fat mouse I call Albert, who comes each day for a crust, and a robin who sings outside my window every morning.

How is mother?  It makes me ill just thinking about how dreadful it must be for her.  Oh why, why must my terrible temper always get the better of me? I pushed that man with all my might.  I did not wish to hurt him – I didn’t even expect that he would fall.  But he did, and now there is no going back. 

I have some news for you.  I’ve been keeping it till now because I did not know how to tell you. I have decided that when I am released, I will not be coming home.  I have decided to go to Australia.  People there will not know me, and I can make a fresh start.  I know it will be hard for you, but I believe it is the best thing to do.  I think you should tell mother straight away, before she starts wanting to see me again.

I will miss you both. In fact, I miss you already.  Perhaps- perhaps, one day we shall meet again. I hope so.

With all my love,

Jack

Note:  I wrote this early in the year for schoolwork, and then proceeded to forget all about it.  Recently I found it amongst my papers, and thought I'd post it. :)
-B

Rose Buds in the Bush - God Will Provide, by Lauren: Part 3

Darcie and Charlotte laid their father to rest exactly one week after they arrived. The scenery around the town which at first seemed friendly, now was cold, lonely and empty.

The sister's walked back home silent, each absorbed in her own thoughts, when Darcie interrupted the quietness.

"Charlotte, what will we do? We have very little money and no provisions, you know we can't take over Papa's job, and we have no property to farm."

"God will provide," Charlotte replied more confidently then she felt.

The next day was the Sabbath so they couldn't work. Darcie cooked the last of the provisions, while Charlotte, trying to concentrate on the Holy Word, fretted. They had no peace of mind that night.

The next morning a handsome stranger appeared on the doorstep. He was in his early twenties, with the rough, weathered appreance of a hard worker with kind hazel eyes and dark curly hair. He introduced himself as Darrell Adams.

Darcie welcomed him in and listened to the reason of his visit. "Probably to give his condolences," she thought.

"Ma'am, I am sorry about your loss and I give my condolences to you and your sister," he started as he got quickly to the point, "As a God-fearing man, I believe it is the duty of a congration to support their pastor, and the duty of the men to take care of his daughters. I have come to offer my help and service."

"Thank you," was all Charlotte could manage as Darcie stood speechless.

"Charlotte was right," she mused, "God has provided."  

Charlotte went to bed that night with a thankful heart, Darrell had given them enough food to last weeks, and she was no longer afraid of winter.

Darcie, however, could only think of the young man's kindness and the tender look in the eye he gave her.

Rose Buds in The Bush - The Price of Peace, by Lauren: Part 2

"I declare, this sun will spoil my skin and produce freckles on my nose," remarked Darcie.

"Well, at least we'll hardly have to worry about frost-bite in winter," replied Charlotte.

"Still we have to make the best of it since father had to be the preacher of the district, and the worst possible thing would be for us to separate."

"Yes, we need father and he needs us especially since mother,... mother...,"

"Died," whispered Darcie.

"She would have wanted us to stay together," replied Charlotte.

After working on their little homestead, Mr Rose announced that he would take a look at the church building and see what repairs were needed. Darcie was to stay at the homestead to clean and do what-ever was necessary to turn the run-down building into a liveable home. Charlotte wanted to help her father with the church's building, so she walked along the road, hand-in-hand with the pastor and father she loved.

After deciding what needed to be done, and tidying up the place, an urgent messenger arrived.

"Sir," he said holding his hat, "we have no sheriff in this town, and two men have held up the banker, and that banker, sir, is as stubborn as a mule and as stupid as an goose, he won't give the men that they want."

"What can I do about it?"

"Can you kinda smooth things over?"

Mr Rose pondered, bowed his head, and nodded.

"Yes I'll come in a minute, Charlotte you must go back home to Darcie, this is an order, you mustn't be involved."

Charlotte obeyed and started off on the lonely walk home. An uncomfortable prickly feeling soon got the better of her, and before she knew it, her legs were running back towards the town.

"Imagine what Darcie would think of me running" she thought.

Charlotte had little time to think much more about the matter, for at that moment was a gun shot; a horrible cry; and nothing more.

Unable to think of anything more then her father's safety, Charlotte ran inside the bank.

Mr Rose was slumped against the wall, dead.

Rose Buds in the Bush - Coolanna's Grave, by Lauren: Part 1

On a hot summer's afternoon, a stranger stepped out of the Cob & Co stagecoach and into the tiny town of Coolanna in the Australian outback. After circling the area he was dropped off at, just to check his Grandmother was not there, he took a walk around the town.

For some strange reason or another, Craig felt an urge to walk through the church's cemetery. Out of the many memorial places, one stood out from the rest, and written on the stone were the words...

'Rose Buds in the Bush'

Darcie and Charlotte Rose

1804-1895   1805-1895

Died during service

R.I.P

"I thought you wouldn't have wanted to wait for me, and go wandering" Said the gruff voice of Mrs A. Jonson, Craig's grandmother.  "Though I never would have guessed you'd wander here."

"Sorry Grandmother,' Craig replied, "but who were they?" Guestering towards the gravestone. 

"The Rose sisters?" The old lady said with a hint of emotion in her voice.

Craig nodded. 

"Well then, it's a long drive to my place, so I'll tell you on the way. 

'It was a summer much like this one in 1820. Two English Sisters and their father arrived in Coolanner.

Darcie was a handsome, tall young lady of sixteen with a slim figure, dark eyes and long, brown hair. Her younger sister Charlotte, was shorter and rounder, but had pretty blue eyes, blond curly hair and fair skin. Personality wise they were also different. Charlotte loved laughing heartily, while Darcie was very ladylike and graceful. However no one denied their special sisterly bond. They loved each other and their father very much...'  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This story was co-authored by my friend Ebony, please visit her blog, she is a creative genius with many talents, one of which is photography. 

Ehem!

Dear readers of Just So Stories,

I just thought I'd tell you that the "Farewell" post was just a practical joke between Lauren and I, and it isn't serious!  xD  Just in case you were wondering what on earth was going on,  hehe! :)

Love from Big Sister <3

Farewell...

Dear friends, followers, and others...

I am going to leave Just So Stories, because Lauren and Alice are simply much better writers then I am...(Lauren is especialy amazing, oh yes, I'm quite ashamed of myself yes I am, I am not NEARLY as good as HER!! She is amazing, oho yes!)
I will try to use this post to express my sadness of leaving, and my gratitude of dear Lauren and Alice keeping me on this blog so long. They are sooo patient, and have put up with a lot.

But it would take too long to go into all the details, so now I will close off-

So long, farewell, adveisaint goodbye...

Love Makenzie

Interview @ Jilla

Hello everyone!

Lauren has recently done an interview with the authors of this blog (Big Sister, Elizabeth and myself) about reading and writing over at her blog, Jilla. Here's the link if you'd like to go and check it out!

::Interview::

Sorry about the lack of stories lately-- we have all been rather busy with various things! We're working on it...

Till then, adieus!

Alice x

A Morning Walk, written by Big Sister

For one reason or another, I woke earlier than usual that morning.  Looking out my window, I could see that the sun had not yet risen, but it was close enough to tint the sky with a faint, pinky gold glow. Birds were shaking the sleepiness from their wings, and giving a few drowsy bursts of song.

The still beauty seemed to beckon to me, calling without words.  I could not resist it.
Yawning, I slipped out of bed and dressed quickly, the chilly air numbing my hands.  I wished that I’d  left the heater on overnight- bother all those “save your energy” slips I got in the mail, from now on I would ignore them.  I headed into the kitchen and fumbled about trying to make myself a cup of tea. Before my morning dose of caffeine, walking is an effort and speech is utterly out of the question.  Then, with the warmth of the tea flooding through me, I headed for the door.  

Out on the verandah, my border collie, Bracken, yawned loudly, his mouth so wide it seemed as though it would split in two.  He stood, shook himself, then shambled over and pushed his head against my leg, demanding a pat.  I smiled to myself, and scratched behind his ears.  Then I trudged down the steps to the garden path, breathing out clouds of white mist.

The world sparkled.  Though I had seen it many a time before, the beauty of it amazed me all over again. Dew shone like perfect, tiny diamonds on spider’s webs, and white frost crunched beneath my feet.  A mouse scurried across the path, and the trees whispered in the breeze.  The world seemed to hold its breath.

Then suddenly, the birds burst out in full song, filling the air with music composed by God himself. Looking towards the east, I saw that the sun had risen fully over the horizon.
 
I stood, my eyes closed, the sun’s warmth soaking into my back, and listened.

Before long, however, my peace was shattered by the sound of Bracken barking.  I ran to him, and found him digging frantically at a rabbit hole.  I smiled, knowing that he didn’t have a hope; the rabbit would have escaped through another entrance long before Bracken reached him.  Poor Bracken, he so desperately wanted to catch a rabbit.  How jealous he had looked, when the cat had proudly dragged one through the front door!  (I might add that she then proceeded to eat it on my nice, clean floor. I was not pleased).

Bracken soon gave up on his rabbit.  Afflicted with grief, he trotted off to the dam to chase ducks.
I began to follow him, but was halted mid-step by a willy wagtail, who swooped in front of me to a nearby branch.  “Sweet pretty creature,” he sang cheekily, “Sweet pretty creature!”  He looked at me with his bright black eyes, his head on one side.  Then suddenly, he flew away in the direction of my house, as if to remind me I was supposed to be there.  I sighed, whistled to Bracken, and followed the bird back home.

- The End-

'A Wollypog Called Petoskey': Chapter Two

{Click here to read part one}

Chapter the second: A Terrible Shock

written by Big Sister

Petoskey sat down next to Hexagon. Night had fallen, and it was very dark. Shadows slipped between the trees, and strange sounds came floating towards them on the chill night air. Hexagon shivered, and it was not because of the cold.

“What should we do?” he asked.

“It’s no use us even trying to get back in the dark,” answered Petoskey, trying to keep his voice sounding cheerful. “We’ll only get even more lost. I’m sure well find home again in the morning. They’ll have a search party out by then, most likely.”

Hexagon groaned. “Mother will be cross. Whatever will she say to me? She’ll never let me out of her sight again!”

“Don’t worry. I got her necklace back. And I got my mother’s ring, too. They’ll forgive us when they see them” said Petoskey comfortingly. “And anyway, I’m sure they will be so glad to see us that they won’t bother to be angry."

“You’re probably right,” agreed Hexagon, yawning. “We may as well try to get some rest.” And with that he turned over and went to sleep.

Petoskey stayed awake. He lay listening to the trees creaking, and the wind howling. He hoped that he was right in saying that they would get home in the morning. Then, as the moon started to rise, his eyes finally closed in sleep.

*            *          *

The sun shone brightly through the trees, spilling golden light onto the forest floor. As it  moved slowly higher in the blue sky, its rays crept closer to the faces of two small figures, sound asleep at the foot of the largest tree in the forest. As the rays touched them, one simply turned over, but the other stirred.  It was Petoskey. He opened one eye, and then sat up, looking wildly about him. For a few seconds he had no idea where he was.  Then suddenly he remembered all the happenings of the day before.

Petoskey yawned, and rubbed his aching bones. Hexagon was still sound asleep, and snoring softly.  Petoskey woke him.

“Where are we?” demanded Hexagon, sitting up and looking around in the same manner as Petoskey had.

“In the forest” replied Petoskey. “Don’t you remember?”

“I do now. Say, I’m starving!”

“I’m hungry too, and parched.  We have to find home. It can’t be so far away.”

 “If only we could follow our tracks,” said Hexagon. “But they won’t show up – not with all the pine leaves.”

Petoskey thought hard for a moment. He then started to walk around, staring hard at the ground.

“What are you doing?” inquired Hexagon, who was wondering if thirst and hunger was sending Petoskey mad.

“I think we probably…ah, look Hexagon!”

“What is it? Said Hexagon, peering into the trees. “I don’t see anything”

Petoskey showed him a broken stick. “See?” he said. “We may not leave footprints, but we have left a track. It will be hard to follow, but I think we’ll manage.”

“My, you sure are smart, Petoskey!” said Hexagon. “I would never have noticed.  Thank goodness I got lost with you.”

Petoskey, being a very modest fellow, pretended not to hear him. He started to follow the track.  Hexagon soon got the idea, and they soon became completely absorbed in what they were doing, so absorbed that no one said anything for a very long time.

Ever since awakening, Hexagon had felt that something wasn't quite right, but he simply could not think what it was.  Then suddenly it came to him.  Instead of the usual noises of birds and other wildlife, there was silence.  Nothing stirred. Even the trees seemed quieter than usual. 

Hexagon felt a little alarmed. “The woods are quiet today, aren’t they, Petoskey?” he said.

Petoskey nodded.  “I've been thinking that too,” he said.  “It’s rather strange.”

 “You - you don’t suppose something could be wrong, do you?”

“I certainly hope not.”

And they both lapsed into silence once again.

Not long later, Petoskey gave a sudden shout of delight.

“Look Hexagon!” he cried. “There’s the tree we carved our initials on!”

“And I see smoke!” replied Hexagon jubilantly, and both Wollypogs broke into a run towards the village. Then they came to it – and stopped dead in horror.

The village was gone.

All that was left of it was the charred and burnt remains of what had once been houses and shops. All was silent, and nothing moved except a lone sheet, flapping in the wind.

'Stella's Destiny Part 3' By Lauren

This is the third edition of Stella's Destiny

Click on the following links to read Part 1 and Part 2

On May 23, 1836 President Jackson had signed a treaty declaring that the Cherokee Indians were to be removed from their homeland and into North Carolina. They were to have a grace period until May 1838 for the tribe to voluntarily remove themselves to Indian Territory. 


Once Stella heard about this new law, she immediately went back to her tribe, to comfort and to tell them of Walter's plan. 


Stella was greeted by Onacona (her husband) and told him her news. Onacona was at first doubtful of this plan, but seeing it was their only hope, he had no choice. He went to consult with the leaders of the tribe. 


There was many mixed feelings among the Cherokees. Some felt that they should take advantage of the two years they had to leave their home, and proceeded to do so at once. Stella tearfully said good bye to many of her beloved friends, knowing that she'd never see them again. Some Indian's felt that they should stay and fight for their homeland even if it meant death. But many embraced Walter's plan and Stella's solution.  


Stella went back to Aunt Rosa's farm once again, to help prepare. Walter figured out that they could fit one-hundred Indians at a time in the house and barn. And once a week his friend from Nashville agreed to take ten Cherokees at a time in his covered wagon to the outskirts of the city, where there was unsettled land that they could live off until the removal was over. The weakness of the plan was, there weren't many places to hide if the soldiers checked their house. But Walter saw that it was worth the risk. 


On the 21st of August The Cole family opened up their home for Cherokees. Walter would arrange the journeys to and from Nashville, and the order of who would go in what wagon. And Louise was in charge of cooking and cleaning. Stella helped wherever she could. 


On the 3rd of October the first wagon appeared. Walter arranged that families should travel together, and pregnant mothers or mothers with young babies should go first. However Stella claimed that she would be that last Indian to leave, even with a three-year-old daughter, Adsila. 


Stella had other concerns of her own, she was three month's pregnant. How would she be able to cope with a pregnancy, as well as all the other pressure she was facing. And how would she take care of a newborn?


Everything went along smoothly. Walter's biggest concern however, was the official removal day, when the Indians would be forced to leave. Would the soldiers check their house? The day kept drawing nearer, it hung around the air as if it were an execution day. Walter decided that it was too risky hoping that no-one would check the house, so he dug five large cellars with the help of several other men. Walter figured out that twenty people could fit in one cellar, so the cellars should fit everyone. 


KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK! came the dreadful sound on a cold and gloomy day in May 1838. Every Indian woman, man and child hid in Walter five cellars. But even though they hid in cellars, that unwelcome sound of army personnel at the door, made even the bravest men hold their breath. 


Walter walked up to the door. Louise ran around the house to make sure there was no evidence of one-hundred people living in it. 


"We have permission from the Government to investigate your house Sir. Just to check that no Indians have decided to hide out here. You live very close to their tribe." Said the closest man to Walter at the door. 


As the soldiers investigated the rooms and the barn, little Adsila sensed that something was wrong and got nervous. 


"Mamma, please can we get out?" 
"Not now, we're playing a game, like hide-and-seek, but you have to be very, very quiet"
"Where's Dadda?"
"I'm here, but you be quiet." replied Onacona 


The three-year-old must have heard the tension in his usually calm voice, and started to cry.


"shh" whispered Stella in desperation, "Be quiet do you hear!"


"I WANT OUT" Wailed Adsila.


Stella heard muffled voices from above her, and none of them were Walter's or Louise's. The cellar door opened up and came the most horrible sight they could imagine. Six armed soldiers were suddenly in the cellar forcing everyone out. 


One of the men roughly grabbed Stella's arm, and pushed her out of the cellar door. 


"What are you doing here, go back to your own home, and stay out of this business" Shouted the solider, "Wait a minute, is that Ingin' girl your kin?"


"Yes, she's my daughter, and this is my husband (pointing to Onacona), I am an Indian." Stella bravely replied.   


Twenty of the Cherokees hiding in that cellar were forced out and into the wagons waiting outside. None of the other cellars were found. 


"Stella!" moaned Louise
"How can you! Can't you see she is with child?" Cried Walter his voice chocked with emotion.


Stella ran free from the soldiers, and hugged her brother and sister for the last time. 


"Thank you so much, you have saved many of my family, please take care of them." She whispered.


"Oy, git back in line miss!" yelled a solider.

"I love you!" Stella cried out as she was hustled into a wagon.


Although one of the cellars was found, the Cole family saved many of the Cherokees. Over two-hundred men, women and children were saved from this fate. Walter took good care of the remaining Indians and a few years later they returned to their home, hiding, so they were never found. 


As Stella said, she travelled the Trail Of Tears and comforted and helped her 'family' where she could. On that terrible day 16,542 Cherokees and 201 inter-married whites travelled that horrific journey. They were all loaded like cattle into six hundred and forty-five wagons.
     
Helpless Cherokees were arrested and dragged from their homes. Children were often separated from their parents, and in the chill of drizzling rain. They encountered a terrific sleet and snow storm with freezing temperatures. The sufferings were awful, they slept on the ground without a fire. And several of the Cherokees were murdered by the locals passing through towns. When the journey ended in March 1839, there were four-thousand silent graves.


All of this was to satisfy white man's greed, and a prejudism towards a different colour skin and a different cuture.   


Stella indeed had an unusual and inspiring destiny. If she had have been an ordinary girl for those times, she would have married a white man, and raised a family, and probably had a relatively easy life. But Stella was destined to help the unloved and unwanted of America, even to the extent of proudly becoming a Indian. Her mission was as noble as they come.