The Life Of Neranda (Updated)

CHAPTER ONE: THE STORY STARTS HERE

When you read the first words of a long, long story, you never know where they're going to take you. It could be a journey of peace and happiness, through sunshine and fields of spring flowers, a journey of grief and sorrow, through endless, desolate sadness, or a story of love. True, unforgettable friendship, love and romance. There is also fear, thrill and suspense, like soaring, unconstrained, through the deep, vast sky. Or that could be freedom. This story may be all of these things, many journeys at the same time, peace, joy, grief, sorrow, fear, suspense, freedom, thrill and most importantly, true, everlasting love. This is the unforgettable true story of one little ball cub, whose courage took her to where she truly belonged. This is the life of Neranda Malara.

It was late winter in year of 2012, and the village of Ingledegon was alive with activity, preparing for the coming spring. The poverty stricken Australian village was hidden in the depths of the bush land wilderness, with the nearest city over 3,000 kilometers away from the general district. It housed many young families, who of most were attempting, and successfully, to feed their children and themselves, even if it meant theft. The village itself was closed in by a high, barbed wire fence, with four gates of entry. The gray haired, stout Graham Ingle, the reasonably middle aged mayor and his tall, plump, white haired wife Frieda were in charge of Ingledegon, and Graham's family had been for generations. Wealthy compared with the rest of the population, they took pleasure in controlling, taunting and patronizing the villagers to the point of despair. They did not seem to approve of many visitors entering the village, apart from their own well-to-do comrades. In addition to this, the couple seemed to have pleased possession over the authority to control the meek lives of every villager, as well as dwelling within the old Ingledegon House, the main focus point of the entire village. The villagers were given off cuts of food prepared in the Ingledegon House, and it seemed to be the majority of what their diets consisted of.

That particular winter, however, that very time, was the deepest time of need in the village that there had been for many years. Since the last year's crop and harvest had not been successful, come this time, many families were struggling with supplies, and in severe need of food. Young parents of many offspring had no choice but to use the old method of theft to provide for their families. This was taking the biggest risk, considering that there were no more than five families in the Ingledegon community. Theft could sometimes be traced back by Graham and Frieda's crafty friend, Mr Yolkamara, a 36 year old Asian man, who managed comfortably, in his very own house in Sandy Woods, not far from the village. In a nutshell, the little township seemed to have been lost in the swing of time, almost giving the essence of a place from the last century.

The villagers were shaped by the primitive and poverty stricken life they found in the village and they lived off all they could afford. They helped each other, they were there for each other ... and they were all under the watchful and antagonizing eye of Graham and Frieda Ingle. Graham and Frieda's dog, Taffy, was lavished upon and enjoyed the rich lifestyle, always well fed and smug. Mr Yolkamara, who lived in the Sandy Woods district that surrounded Ingledegon, was close with the Mayor and his wife. Mr Yolkamara would frequently visit Ingledegon, door knocking and trying to sell things to the villagers. He was a well-known bullockè and walker trainer in the area, but not well liked. He was sly and sneaky, and took advantage of Ingledegon and its poverty through his closeness with Graham and Frieda. He often walked and trained his walkers in the village grounds, much to the displeasure of most of the Ingledegon population, except for Mr and Mrs Ingle, of course.

So there was Graham, Frieda, Taffy, Mr Yolkamara... now who are we up to? Ok ... Ollie. Let's introduce you to Ollie! This ain't a good story if she doesn't get a look in. To put it short – the most pampered duck in the village, but with good reason. Ollie had been lame for a while, and was mollycoddled by Frieda. She was a Peaking Duck - you know, completely white with the long, orange beak and long, orange legs? Yeah, that look. She had her home in Grass Park, the village's central park beside the Ingledegon House where Graham and Frieda lived. Each day, Ollie was fed and spoiled by Mrs Ingle and graciously put to bed every night. Along with Taffy, she was the envy of the village and most hated for her livid, snooty, smug attitude. The villagers often wondered why Ollie was so bad tempered.Perhaps it's just because she was too lame to stand up properly. Ollie's dearest friends were ... guess who? The other ducks, of course. They loved Ollie!Charlotte, Daisy and Dukkitail would spend most of the day with Ollie, wherever Ollie was, they were too. Charlotte,who was white, yet covered with grayish brown mottles, Dukkitail, who white with black speckled, and Daisy, pure white. Most of the time they spent splashing around in the portable duck pond which Frieda would dotingly fill up with clean water each morning. All four of them slept in a little house together, near the communal vegetable garden. Now ... who next? I know, Robbie and Alphine Cuitney, the two young wonks who lived in a caravan. Yep, that's right. Robbie, a 27 year old wonk was large with a deep red coat of fur and black hoof-paws, ears, nose and tail. Robbie was always up for a challenge. He was brave and always ready to help out around the place. His young wife, Alphine, a 24 year old wonk, was a paler, reddish brown with slightly darker fur around her feet, tail, face and ears. Her eyes were deep green and she was slim and feisty, yet kind and soft.Alphine was beautiful, intelligent and adored by many of the villagers. She was a qualified ball trainer, and would often train the local balls to be bullockès, rounders and just for events in the district. Now let's not forget the humble couple, Rory Jack and Felicity Malara. They lived in a little tin house at the bottom of the village and boarded with five housemates, including Felicity's mother Penny, who was thought of as the 'housewife'. Penny did most of the cooking, cleaning and caring for everyone. While Rory, Felicity and most of the others worked, Penny would stay home and prepare meals and tidy the house. Rory, Felicity and their housemates had been through so much together in the time they had lived in Ingledegon, you could call them a family. Rory Jack was a wonk with a rusty red, shiny coat and black hoof-paws, ears,nose and tail. His eyes were a deep red and his strong, lean body was an attraction to many a hen. However, Felicity had stolen his heart. Rory's one and only was a beautiful, gentle dappled grey and white young hen. Loyal, affectionate and loving, yet stern at times, Felicity was maternal and had always longed to nurse her own chicks.

Besides Penny, there was old Beryl, a small Isa Brown hen who was like the 'grandma of the house'. Beryl was gentle, elderly and wise, and deeply respected and loved by the rest of the household. There was Buttercup and her pretty young daughter Amber, two Hy-Line Brown hens. They were both pale with blonde coloured feathers, but quite different in personality. Buttercup was ditzy and clumsy, with an entertaining character. Amber on the other hand, was shy, pretty and quiet. She was quite clever in her own way, even though she didn't talk much. Amber was a thinker, a serene and calm young hen who was phased by almost nothing.

Then there was Ginger. With her lustrous, shimmering copper feathers and loose personality, Ginger was feisty, sassy and never afraid to speak up and at times, start a fight. Ginger had always been seen as a free hen in the Sandy Woods and Ingledegon district. The whole town knew all about her! She didn't waste one moment without looking for a man.

Well is that all? I think we've covered everyone. Pretty small town isn't it? Well, it would be about to get a whole lot bigger ... if Felicity and Rory Jack could have babies. She had been brooding in her nest for almost two months now and got nothing. Depressed, the beautiful young hen hardly left the coop anymore. The house in which they lived was referred to as a 'slum run' in the local area. The indoor section itself had a capacity of no more than six square meters, and they had to make room for a stash of stolen food as well, by organizing the space within very carefully. As you may have now realized, living conditions in Ingledegon became exceedingly difficult, particularly in the winter months. The village seemed to be just kept for the poor.

Felicity and Rory Jack Malara's slum run was crowded enough anyway, when Felicity chose the worst time of that year to become broody. A baby with Rory was all that she longed for, but that seemed impossible considering she was a hen and he was, well ... a wonk. Days turned to weeks, and Felicity killed her time by sitting in a cage nesting box, delicately creating a perfect nest, hidden in the comforting darkness inside the narrow doorway. Since there was just one room inside their house, Felicity had chosen the finest spot to brood.

Rory became increasingly concerned as the days passed, and his young wife's blithe nature disintegrated as she found no luck in hatching chicks.Felicity was growing thinner and her eyes seemed dull and sad. She no longer had that pinkish tone to her crest. She didn't laugh as much, and seemed to often brush Rory off. The winter was getting colder and darker.