Eli Rusk

The Fisherman's Son

Tue, 06 Oct 2026 10:44:33 -0700

A fairy story written for a friend.

It was the first day of autumn, on the fourth day of the eighth month of the year twelve, when a boy was born to a fisherman and his wife. Now it was known that although his father was an ordinary fisher, his mother's line had mixed with the fairies, who were wont to reveal prophecy on rare occassions. So it was that day the Nightkeeper came to visit the fishing hut beside the lake.

The Nightkeeper wore a night black cloak, a crown of dogfangs, a sceptre of bone, and round his neck were strung the twinkling stars entwined. He said, "Son and daughter of Earth, I have come from the clouds in either direction, bringing word from the gods that your son is destined to be a hero whom all who are dwelling around here shall be in debt to." Then he took of the father fourty gold Talerns and from the mother three strands of yellow hair, and he forged and wound in the hearth a beautiful golden key. He gave it to them, saying, "keep it from him until he comes of age, then you must give it to him before he is sent off to his destiny."

As the fisherman's son grew, he was taught his father's trade. The two went out into the lake, and his father would sing over the water to tame the serpents that lived there, and when the waters were still, they did thir work. One night the boy went out onto the water without his father's permission, and because he knew not the lake-song of his father, he was carried under at once by a fierce Grelug, a four-legged fork-tongued serpent. Barely did the boy escape, that he returned home. But he hadn't had his fun, for the next night he went out, got pulled under again, and faught with the serpent, only to narrowly escape with his life. But he was restless until he had his game, therefore on the third night he went out and was brought under; they went rolling and plunging into the very depths. At last, the fisherman's son defeated the Grelug, and in its lair at the bottom of the lake were three fair maidens. And they, despite his entreaties to stay, bade him to depart with a parting gift and a token of their thanks, for they gave him out of the beast's treasury a golden fishing line.

Meanwhile, the Raven, who dwelt by the lake, spied the son's mischief and reported it to the old fisherman, who then became furious, that when the boy returned to the hut, he was banished at once, and forbidden to return, without a word or hint about the Nightkeeper's prophecy or inheritance. The mother, once she knew what had happened, went to the place where the key was hid, and took it to the boy in secret, telling him all about the visit and his birth. He took the key and fled into the woods.

The fisherman's son lost himself therein. He hid at any sound of birdsong, for he feared they were spies of his father. Whensoever he came upon stream or creek, down went his golden line, and out he drew a fish at once. He learned that if he didn't eat a fish he caught, it would whisper to him, saying, "do not eat me, but go west following the sun. We will lead you toward Mother's House." The fisherman's son went west, and when he thought he was losing his path, he would find a stream, catch a fish, which would whisper to him whichever was the right direction.

At last, he came to a cabin with a wooded gate, a garden, and a smoking chimney. The fisherman's son entered the gate and walked up the path. The door opened wide, and before him stood a beautiful woman, smelling of ashes and lilacs. She welcomed him inside and they sat down together to a splendid table of shrimp stew and buttered bread. When each had their fill, Mother's face grew solemn, and she said, "if you are going to make it any further in this wood, Fisherman's Son, you must know it is ruled by an Enchanter who has every tree, bush and stone under his power. The only way to free the plants and animals is to break the enchanter's spell. Fret not, for I will teach you to play the fiddle, and once you have mastered it shall you play before all the lesser animals. When they are freed, they will show you the path up the mountain. When you go up it, you will find at the top a green falcon. Catch her and she will drop the Enchanter's crystal ball. This will reveal the way to the Enchanter's castle. Now quickly, your lessons must begin at once.

Mother taught the fisherman's son music, and when he finished his lessons, she took for him from the fireplace a fiddle made of a large fishbone. She bade him farewell, and he went, playing for the animals in every glen, meadow, field or grove, and gradually thereby, they awoke from their enchantment, the squirrel, the fox, the badger, the snake and crow, all listening to his swaying song. And when he stopped, they kindly revealed to him the path up the gray mountain. He bid the animals farewell and entered on the path, where he felt terribly alone. But knowing the way, he followed it close on, and when he reached the top, he saw the green falcon on her nest. As soon as he neared her she started to fly upward, but he struck a note on the fiddle and the falcon faltered; as quickly as a fox he grabbed her tail, and she gave a cry, dropping the ball at once.

The fisherman's son picked up the crystal ball and looked in it in the clear daylight. Before him was the stormy top of the enchanter's castle. The longer he looked, the greyer the sky became, and when he looked away from the ball, the sky was just as black as in the crystal. When he looked back, he saw the clear sky of the mountain before him, and when he finally looked away again, he was surely standing beneath the dark clouds of the enchanter's castle.

As he approached the castle, he saw there were three giants building fortifications on the outer wall. "Ho," said the fisherman's son, "that looks to be mighty work you are doing---you must be truly tired. Care to rest a while and hear a tune?" He showed them his fiddle. The giants didn't see the harm in it, but as soon as the fiddle began turning and twining, their limbs disobeyed them, and a jolly roundel they set to, as they danced and redoubled, they dashed the wall to pieces (of no fault of their own). The fisherman's son nodded and hopped through, all the while playing as quaintly and quickly as he could util he was out of earshot.

When he entered the enchanter's courtyard, he saw an old man fishing in a pond there.

"Hullo Old Father, what are you fishing for in that little pond?" asked the fisherman's son, peering in.

"Sisyphiophagia, although I've never caught one," he answered.

The fisherman's son said, "Suppose I catch one: will you show me where the enchanter is?"

The old man agreed. Then, out came the golden fishing line, down it went into the pond, and after only a moment he drew up the Sisyphiophagia. As soon as it touched the old man's hand, he transformed into the enchanter, and the rare fish into his staff.

"It is I that you seek!" He said, and the fisherman's son threw up the crystal ball into the air. The enchanter saw his own hideousness in that ball and let out a frightful shriek, that so shattered all the magic bonds in the land, that he shrank into a pitiful normal size. And when he heard the fisherman's music, he turned to stone at once.

Now all the trees and plants and living things were freed from their enchantment, and they were gleaning eagerly to hear the happy music, and when they knew it was the Fisherman's son who set them free, they all elected him to be their king. So it was the fisherman's son was King, the key unlocked his royal treasury, and he ruled for a million years and a day, or so I'm told.

Mountain Prayer

Tue, 06 Oct 2026 10:13:28 -0700

I do not doubt, but only falter
Climbing towards your mountain alter,
Where mistakes all nearer bring
Me to your stage of reckoning.
There I intend my hands to join
And say a prayer, then place a coin
Upon some roses in a ring,
Where solemn angel choirs sing.
Then going down, I will extend
A blessing to my dearest friend
And all the towns and districts round
Your praises sing, your glories found.

Fox and Crow

Tue, 06 Oct 2026 10:11:56 -0700

There once was a crow who sat perched in a tree.
A morsel of cheese in her beak had she.
Along came a fox as sly and can be,
That he cunningly plots how to get the cheese.
“My, how I admire your coal-black sheen!
The glint of your feathers in the sunlight’s gleam,
The curve of your beak, both sharp and long;
I’d hail you Queen of Birds if I could hear your song!”
The crow heard the fox say these words so fair,
She wished to be praised as queen of the air,
So she opened her beak and gave a caw quite loud–
But the morsel of cheese fell down to the ground!
The fox snatched it up, saying, “Thanks alot!
A voice you’ve got—but wits you’ve not!”

Lay of Wildrose

Tue, 06 Oct 2026 10:04:32 -0700

SCENE I: SPRING MORNING ON WOODREN HILL

CHORUS

COCK	Here ye here ye, everyone and all, Gather round and listen to my call. The sun shines forth, to pierce the misty gray: Thus I pronounce the coming of the day!
SQUIRL	I just saw the ferns are coming forth, And winds are blowing warmer in the North!
DEER	I saw this morning, rosebuds on their branches!
EAGLE	My cousins say he hears the avalanches, Roaring down upon the mountain pass.
DUCK	If it's true: may life be ever long!
WREN	May life be simple too, just like a song.
DEER	Such is life for us, both true and fair, As every blade of grass or breath of air.
SQUIRL	Our fortune changes with the sun's bright rays, For they design the tasks of coming days.
SHEEP	We're not like men, who live by plots and measure, Who, counting subdivisions of their treasure, Always come up short, despite their pains, And always have an eye toward others' gains.

The old man comes in to feed the livestock.

OWL	Here's such a case! the Master o' the Hill. In years, one-hundred-ten, with no writ will. So much contempt has he for every brother, He'll not give up his house to any other.
FOX	He thinks that since it came from his own hand, The house is somehow greater than the land On which it rests. But such a point of view Can't last for long, unless there's born anew, Some blissful breath of life to it, that might Thereby the world's compassion reignite.
COCK	Indeed, the man and woman that here dwell Have long been without child as fate befell. Their sunkenness does work upon the Earth And everywhere has tarnished nature's mirth And native beauty. If their fate were made, It'd at the doorstep of this house be laid.
GOOSE	A life without a child, tis ungodly. No wonder all the posts have settled oddly.
HEN	Most pitiful indeed are human ways. But here him speak, and listen what he says!

MASTER

'Tis folly, folly, folly! This land with all its stock and glory hath, unshewn, unreserved, put back; would there were some bright eyed gaze of youth to hold it. Lo, this pond, to keep within leviathans and minows from widest oceans, hidden in the deep, midst shipwrecks laid with treasure. With littlest fleets of triremes floating on, decked with wooden sailors, and little wooden sailboats with cloth-tied sails. Lo, the ancient elm, could hold a treehouse in his sturdy bows, and swings upon his branches, that every joy and laughter ushered forth, he'd echo back, with all the joys of elder folk, who'd join him. Lo, the very air and clime rejoicing with their laughter!

The mossy ground would firm with little feet, those prime for sword-fighting and dancing over it, and then relax, for sleeping kings or queens, sequestering in their joy-filled sleep upon it. And so for everything between!

Folly, take this worsted plot. No seed of fortune hath it blessed in fifty years I've had it. And the better of my youth I've given to it, with nothing for it in return. My wife and I hath tended spring and summer, through the hot and cold, we've bedded flowers, tended bees and fowl, yet never have we visits from elder folk. The Lord hath taken up our favor for a bargain and let us squalor it! Would that all those years, and every piece of gold that ere we've made, be quickly returned to Him; If I but had a child, for all of Woodren Hill's display and grandeur! A son or daughter sees the morning sky more brightly. when looking deeply in the pool's reflection, they see their spritely faces smiling, with youth-filled air! Yes, such would spring complete.

As yet, I look myself upon the morning sun, sighing as she climbs into the heights, and I reflect, tis true, my days are numbered, as they are for all. Daylight won't last forever, nor will the spring. Therefore, what way should longing take, to vanish in the sky or within its earthen core remain? For I fear, if Saturns course should back to Earth return, this longing wilt as well, and when it doth, if loving move my aching heart to change, I will.

The man completes his chores, then goes inside.

SCENE II: WOODREN PROPER

CHORUS

RAT 1	Here's a patch of poison, friend beware: Up ahead lay rat traps everywhere!
RAT 2	If our hosts find out, they'll be offended, That They've rats for guests, our quest is ended! They'd tear apart the walls with sledge and knives! We'd pay for that most dearly with our lives...
RAT 1	Peace, friend, for it's on this very night That none will fall upon us with their sight, Nor feign would hear us, if we make a sound, For dwellers both are old, although their hound Still breathes, indeed, he's long since lost his luster.
RAT 2	Poor Kaschpiel, a groan's all he can muster. Whether it's a flea or robber wight, With shameful bow he yields to every plight.
RAT 1	Then friend, since we have such an easy mark, Let's loiter here and mingle in the dark.
RAT 1	Then friend, since we have such an easy mark, Let's loiter here and mingle in the dark.
RAT 2	Oft we have to snatch our food and flee, What rare sights, I wonder, will we see?
RAT 1	Now here's a passage going up the wall. I reckon that we've passed under the hall. Look here! I see a crack that's filled with light! The kitchen or the hearth, if I guess right.
RAT 2	Your guess is good as mine, but speak, what's there?
RAT 1	I see the fire place, a bench, a chair. The old man sits with poodle by his leg.
RAT 2	Poor beast. What dost he? Wimper? Beg?
RAT 1	Much less it seems. He snores with sunken brow. The stew must hide our scent; we're safe for now.
RAT 2	Come, let me in, so I can see it clearly.
RAT 1	The wife comes--hear her pining antics early?

MISTRESS

Oh, poor husband, what isn’t there to do but chores in this old and dusty house? Is it not called Woodren “Proper”, for a reason? For if it were, in days of old, as God’s good people say, when stock was held for high-oft places such as ours, were there not here about the place, a tossle of servants, handmades, cooks, who all would eagerly lend a hand in this toil?

MASTER

A bit o’ toil dear, adds charm and youth. It never hurt a soul, I think, it rejuvinates, despite the body’s age and cholor. Now put your fantasy to other ends, it lacks in logic. What would your ’tossle’ have for work, in serving two old folk? What’s more, the maintenance of estate is only proper unto those who have a predestined posterity. What is to be descended hand to hand by heir; through streaming heredity, they’re keeping things to fit and fortune’s order, for fate forever. That’s the essence of it, that’s the science.

The old man sits back pleased, but the old woman frowns, standing.

Be still, my dear, and sit with me beside the fire, this Linden log burns fair. Now, that's better, isn't it? As things now are, Indeed, winter in his three-score and ten months has nearly passed us, and already nature's shifting into spring, for every year she does. So soon we'll lift our hopes high for tomorrow, what ever she may bring, if she speaks true; The sun's bright radiance will shine out ever brighter, thus will days improve, each one after the other. What's more, all the poor weather confounds our age. Thus be glad, that on the morrow, each day will better continually become, without exception.

MISTRESS

My husband, this I know, and this you know I know, and have known for many years. This fair burning Linden warms me here, tonight, and may tomorrow too, so shall I feel the air and summer sun together, then she will come and go. But toil never changes. The apple trees will blossom, chicks will hatch, it's very pleasing to me aye, but our dearly weathered years are getting on, and soon, I fear, we'll be dust. Must our days keep turning on these weary cogs, as indeed they always have?

MASTER

My dear, I feel your sorrow moves me to discretion, so I'll confess; how long's it been, that our wish to be with child, we've kept in silence? Too many years to count, I think. And as so we've taken time without regard, made ourselves to ignore our lack or want, and so this pain surmounted. I have not given up hope at all, indeed it I've concealed in everyway. I've always looked with a din of wonder for a sign, by God or other divinity that I might be able to pursue this. And now, your face and dolor moves me. You speak the truth. Too many years in abject labor have we lost, and this very moment marks our change. Take my old travelling pack, from youth I've kept in good repair, fill it full of dried apples and bread, then ready the lamp and oil. I'll take my bullion from its case beneath our bed, and don my boots and coat. And will away this very night, searching every land near and far, so promise you that, when I return, you shall a child have.

The old man leaves. The wife is left in wonder and surprise.

MISTRESS

Why, what now? If this long secret has he held from me, and it informs his current course discretion, I must not complain, and do aught to help him, save but worry. The road is dangerous at times as these, and all the more harder going than most to one old in age, but this will prove no matter. All the more will he match his duty. For now I will be orderly to him, so we may both benefit.

The wife finds the pack and fills it with goods. The old man returns.

Here, your pack and necessities: here, your jacket and scarf, here, your lantern too, may all these never fail you. Be off, and see you home before tomorrow’s end, with child or not. And your stay near the towns, don’t wander out beyond them. Bring us one, soft, sweet and true."

MASTER

My dear, I'll do whatever's in my power, and would never leave you wanting. Adieu.

The old man kisses the wife and lights his lantern. Marching into the night, he descends the footpath from Woodren Hill into the valley.

SCENE III: IN THE WILDERNESS

CHORUS

OWL	The full moon descends behind a cloud. Somewhere below a loon is shrieking loud Across the lake, where every trembling toad Lays long a pining heart to pleasure's ode. And on the other side below the mountain, A waterfall is rushing like a fountain. It's there between the battered clefts and rock A cave is hid, with neither key nor lock Where all are welcome. Rarely there's a guest Who coming forth doth enter on a quest Or other blind depression brings them here. It is therefore at every time of year, Where all the tallest thickest trees abound, The forest most untame for miles round. For this no doubt I've claimed it for my home. Through tangled brush and thicket do I roam Without a single worry for men's ways To hunt for little pray within its maze Of tree and thorn. But hark, what noise I hear? A scurrying and crashing coming near? There is a mouse, whose fleeing cold with fright And therebehind a shadow cast by light!
MOUSE	Here comes a traveller, with a light in hand. His trampling shows he's of some mortal land!
OWL	What strange surprise! And tell me of him, pray! What title doth he? Whither is his way?
MOUSE	The Master of the Hill, or so they say, Of Woodren Prior, Keeper of the Day, He plods through marsh and fen a one-way track And marching on, he boasts he won't go back Until he has a child. Through the land, Through every forest bearing lamp in hand, Through byre, juncture, crossing town and home, Looking for a youth to call his own. With many a word, a handshake or a frown, Hath he been driven out of every town. And ever as a man thrust out of sight, Must he pursue his goal by his own light. So was he sent beneath the hemlock fells By whispering folk, to where the hermit dwells. But more of this, we animals can't know. Here he comes, into the brush I go!
OWL	Your tale was neither quaint nor entertaining, For none of it have I use for rettaining. I must some other way your tale complete, And you yourself I'd most delight to eat!

The owl swoops down and snatches up the mouse, flashing before the light of the old man.

MASTER

On and on and on, through misty wood and bramble have I come, from every town for miles around turned out. I've been places once more honorable put to shame, where all the folk could offer me was scorn. First descending from the hill I tried my luck in Rivermark. They looked at me as if I were a ghost! Thence I crossed the river into Vale, then Waterdale. All those folk suspected me. Thence I was recieved in stranger lands, far beyond the Dells, whose folk were wont to whisper in strange tongues. They recommmended that I seek some cave beyond the East mountain, hid beside a waterfall. Delivered by their gossip, I've gone this way. By night and day, exhausting all my food, and drink, and travelling coin. I must here find some help or else, I fear, this lake may be my grave, its stony beach my headstone.

But look! Here is the cave! The strangers spoke aright, as far as this. So dark within, and yet I must descend, know not I what I will find.

The old man enters the cave, where he is met with a thrashing wind, and the sound of two voices.

SPIRIT 1

Be still, and trouble me not! Let all my questions solve themselves, and do not be disturbed with any answers.

SPIRIT 2

How! Unanswerable! Thus kingdoms rise and fall, yet here you stand, unanswerable!

SPIRIT 1

Keep low, the monotony of your noise is tiresome. The wind is growing tireless at the doorstep cause of thee.

SPIRIT 2

Yeild, and I will. As yet, your greif is far the more indelable.

The old man enters with his lamp, and reveals two spirits standing apart, a cloud of smoke mingling between them. One wore a bull's mask, the other, a man's.

SPIRIT 1

Stand off I say, yield your troublesome noise or ever face the consequence.

SPIRIT 2

Would that you were able to see yourself right now, such high presumption is just like you.

Flames are licking at the walls

OLD MAN

Spirits, be not driven on! The cave is burning up with your intentions. Stay your tongues, and think before you speak!

The spirits, unaffected, rail on.

SPIRIT 1

Cease this storm and temper! By all the truth that matters do I command thee!

SPIRIT 2

What, only? And of it that doesn't? Your cleverness is waning by the minute.

SPIRIT 1

You're testing me with tongues and double-sided words. Do not pretend to know the truth, for if you did, you'd more resemble me!

SPIRIT 2

Could this be? Would you swear by it? Shout it? Die upon it?

SPIRIT 1

By all the truth both known and unknown... Damn you!

The cave bursts into flames, and the daemons go rushing at each other. The man reaches to intervene and in a moment there is a flash, the lamp flies from his hand, and he falls upon the ground.

The old man awakes beside a river. There is no sound save its rushing.

MASTER

What terrible, foreboding vision have I witnessed? It can only bode destruction of some kind. But now, what sort of place is this I'm in? A river flowing here, filled with water black as death, no algea or fish. Indeed I'm very hungry, and frightened too, but not so much afraid of this as of returning homeward empty-handed.

A light flickers off the cave wall.

What! A light! Let it not be a spirit with smouldering rage. What’s this? A man, aged beyond recking, and a book. His visage defies the light, his skin as worn and discoloured as the rock behind him, his flesh tawny and taught upon the bone. Is this poor creature alive or dead? While his body smells of rot and decay, he’s sitting upright still. Now, He’s turned a page! And here his belly rises with a gasp. Perhaps the whispering folk have led me true? Holy man, holy man, holy man, I’ve come to hear thee. Holy man, wilt thou answer me? Well, it may be, he’s dead. Holy-"

EREMITE

Huh? What is this? Who are you? Come closer, closer, closer! So indeed, your face I see... Now, none have entered this cave for inumerable years. What is it you want?

MASTER

Hear me holy man, for I am poor and old, holding of estate and land upon the valley's edge, just several day's journey west. The land I care for I've tended all these years with my beloved wife, though all the while without a child. As my years of strength have come and gone, and since I do not wish to give my land unto the hands of strangers, I would I had a child to enjoy the fullness of it, and to inherit it for another lifetime, and this way, al the land be renewed with life at such a gift as this, if my faith and longing proved well-founded. This I've travelled far and wide for a youth to find, and without success, I've travelled further still to the distant reaches of this country in hopes to find one who might grant my wish...

EREMITE

Come, take this apple. Eat but one half, and give your wife the other, and wander no more, for you will be with child.

The eremite gives the old man an apple and returns to his reading.

MASTER

What blessed magic! This would sustain me, and my rule upon the hill. I shall weigh these words upon my heart and speed upon my return will. I cannot wait to share this news!

SCENE IV: RETURN THROUGH THE EASTERN WOOD

CHORUS

The old man, traveling through the woods, is spotted by a group of squirrels.

SQUIRL 1	Here he comes! I wonder where he's been? Urgency like this I've never seen.
SQUIRL 2	He's gone to see the eremite of course. Of wise solutions I can think none worse.
SQUIRL 3	But surely won’t the hermit grant his wish?
SQUIRL 1	At some other cost, that is his fish. He’ll give with one, then taketh with the other. A healthy son, a sickness for the mother.
SQUIRL 2	Or something else along those lines he’ll do. I’ve seen it many times. Much more than you.
SQUIRL 1	It's no great secret, such is how he's known: One who gives by powers not his own.

MASTER

Wearily.

How long I wonder, was the journey hence? Has my return been longer, or no less? A cloud of trouble becomes me, to think that I've been wandering unknown paths. Nay, the sky is clear, and so am I. Here, the air's the same, so is the ground beneath my feet, the horizon is as blue as ever 'twas. Nay, I'm not lost, I'm simply on my way- [his belly grumbles]. Lo, this hunger will surely do me in, there's no doubt. Just let me find a spring, or watering hole, to set my traps about, and lay a fishing line, and have myself a drink! But, high above the sun is looming on, and marching toward midday, while all I have is... Why, this red apple, here in my pocket. Wherever did DI find it? Oh yes, the eremite. He gave it as a gift. To take and return home with, and whatever else. What could it mean? Does it matter now? How long ago was this? A day, a week? Oh, but let me not have to think!

He eats the apple whole and immediately realizes his mistake.

If ever I’ve done a fouler act, than now indeed I have outdone it. For no sooner do I err, then I recall what to me the eremite hath said; eat but one half, then give your wife the other. But now, too late, I’ve eaten all together! I will not home to Woodren Prior crawl, for though the years were hard and filled with discontent and rarey mild, if she should know the truth, I’d rather spend my days among the wilds, then to home again.

Not far away, the old man finds a river where he has a drink. There on the opposite bank, he sees an infant in swaddling clothes. The man brazenly crosses the river and takes the child in his arms.

Beloved child, my joy, my purity! Thank the lord I’ve found thee here. Now, beside this river is a willow. I’ll make for thee a basket, and thy a name, Wildrose: for none could ere exceed your native beauty. Now off we go, return to Woodren hill, as swift as ere I came, or ever shall go again.

SCENE V: RETURN TO WOODREN HILL

CHORUS

The jay calls.

JAY	Here comes the very Lord of Woodren Hill! For seeing him I call out loud and shrill!
HOUND	The master now returns unto his land, And going quickly, bears the prize in hand!
OWL	From regions far and distant, brings a child With scarlett hair and blue eyes meek and mild, A gentle smile, her skin a milk-white hue, A heart of fire; 'tis fairie through and through.
FOWL	Her voice is pure and lilt's just like a wren, 'Twil be the ruin of many the hearts of men.
DOVE	Wildrose, as fair as winds of May, That now are blowing where so ere they may, As will her fate. For though her beauty's sure, I know not men of stock as once there were, Or if they're strong or weak within the world. We will ensure she leaves on wings unfurled!
FOX	He's brought her to the door and left her there. Now disappears inside. I wonder where?
FOWL	He's gone to fetch his wife and bring her here, To show her in this splendid time of year.
SQUIRREL	It adds to the effect, but takes too long. Does he not worry something will go wrong?
RABBIT	The day is moving. there! I see a shadow Far out in the corner of the meadow.
HEN	How it circles, growing ever nearer.
FOX	The time, old man, has come to choose what's dearer. And choose it quickly, else ou'll lose the chance.
RABBIT	There up high! The hawk begins his dance. He's swooping low, and deftly gloding close, Out come the claws to snatch fair Wildrose. Down he descends, his pray now zeroed in. There is no chance. For her, the hawk will win.
HEN	And now she's gone! Born up on silent wings. It goes to show, you can't make up these things.

END OF PART 1. PART 2 will be released shortly.