Hettie Goes Missing!

FIFTEEN | Agreements

When Hettie woke up in the evening, she had slept a long time. The group kept their word. The bog-wan* were distracted but preparing to leave. She could hear muffled croaks. Excited, she arranged her 'maker' things in her den to leave on display—best as she could. She didn't plan to be back.

She took no belongings, just a form of dark paste that she'd made from starchy roots of a marsh plant. She reached for her cords of much finer strands and formed a long length that she wound round her waist to hold the clay flask with 'wet paint' by her side. She tucked a splinter of bone, like a needle, into the cordage along the clay vessel. I'm going to need many more sharp pieces of forest dug out of my feet before this journey is done. Hettie's soles had only partly thickened so far.

Low volume 'gruks' came from other parts of the burrow. Hettie waited as Gruley, Ked and Daguha moved to the door. She breathed in the stale air of the burrow and ushered her last firefly out. She hadn't fed them at all for the previous darks and their lighting had dwindled. She tucked the air-plant into her palm. She'd re-home it again, beside the main tree trunk.

Daguha remained civil to Gruley and offered him some quality mud in a last minute show of courtesy, lest her Queen lose their imagined re-taking of power, but Gruley did not try to cover his face. Daguha sulked back into the gloom.

Nearing the entrance, Hettie sucked in new, fresh boggy air but fretted. Will the boggles remember how to copy my things? 

Gruley tied his veil cape high to stop any snags on spikey bog plants that walled in their part of the marsh, then, signalled his ready.

She was almost out now! But when she noticed Bluster's new painting on the wall by the door, Hettie came close to having the smallest twinge of last minute loss. The drawing had been a stick figure. Hettie knew it had to be either of her, or of Bluster himself, because the figure held a brush of paint in one hand. Daguha would not have seen this un-likeness yet. I will miss out on the noisy unveiling of this piece of art—and all other occasions for that matter now. 

She thought of their antics. She imagined the fun they'd have beneath all their shrieking, outdoing each other and hopping around for supplies. But, no, she did feel relieved—more than ready to make her escape. It is time—yes—by more than a hundred!

Keeping her head down and steeling her heart, with her face out of sight—sadly not even a last glance at Daguha's in case the bog-wehn should chance to catch on—Hettie cheerily limped out into the dark with Gruley and Ked—forced to walk well in front of the pair, so the bog-wan could bog-wag but keep Hettie in sight.

Each in their own thoughts that leached into blackness, the bog-wah eased along slowly with a crawl-splat, crawl-splat and Gurley's cape lowered again, while Hettie tromped ahead more quietly in disbelief of amazing potential—so close to her now.

If we run across others who aren't used to the 'makings'—listen to me!? I talk like them too. Well— I'll have to be careful on so many fronts. But it's got to be curious to see a flask bob through the forest alone. Such things must appear as if they're all by themselves— My flask is dense, more 'seen' than is my faded body, thin-like-the-air, travelling with bogh in their camouflage capes. 

I doubt even Kreelah with her sensitive nature would notice a hint of my form. I've been too affected by all my time here. She'll think I'm long gone. She'd just see the flask. These objects are new in most places, this side. But the thought amused her and on she tromped. Bob, bob, bob...

As more night went by, Hettie grew punchy. Her muscles grew tired. Strange how life works. 

She staggered, still entertaining herself with images of the odd procession they made: a barely visible hun-un, a flask in the air, a bog-wan, a disembodied head, all walking apart—following each other in a line through the silence of night in the swamp, only wet, slopping sounds and a cricket or two.