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Coming through the heavy wood, they made way through a break of osier trees. Frollo with his new acquaintances came by an opening and passing by a rocky outcropping they then felt a chill wind cross them. The small party looked up to see a tall, dark figure in rags surrounded by what they could only imagine to be a legendary forest Wolve. The thing, or what one would surmise to be a children’s tale of a fae, a bogey creature greeted them in a low and reedy voice. It said nothing frightful, but the air around its words felt of ice and dread… It asked what they were doing there. Frollo Bach hesitantly spoke, “We are searching for my brother…sir.”

-Excerpted from Other Tales and Forgotten Things

After the winter snows had died down and Old Father Wind had blown the clouds to a far-off country, Old Man Moon would rest out among the stars and longingly look down at places like the Iron Pot Valley and the Hiccuboro mountains contemplating such things as morning breakfast or what the folk of the Marsh were up to in their cozy, warm homes. This night though was a lovely one, and the old moon spied another who was sitting out among the tops of the osier trees watching him. They both sat in their places and contemplated one another as the cool of the night lingered. No words were needed, did Old Man ever speak before? Hmm. That is a good question…

And then as quick as you can say, “Your aunt Lumbretta’s pea soup has a fly in it, you better get it out.”, The ice broke with a sharp crack and both Cavendish and Mr. Pavel fell right through! As luck would have it Farmer Mackintosh was passing through on business delivering an order of milk to the Scoured Egg. He heard the cries from just over the ridge and quickly pulling a length of rope from the back of his cab he made haste down to the sopped and cold duo. Not knowing how to swim, Cavendish was much in distress and pulled on the rope for dear life as the old farmer carefully tugged on the rope in hopes of pulling them out without breaking the ice further.

- Excerpted from Tales of an Uffish Bear and Other Maladies

It was fair enough to say that the last incident at Peevish Swale what with the irate bee, (Mr. Juggins) and the forgotten trombone had greatly soured Frollo Bach on staying in town longer than necessary. But now, after crossing the river into the western edges of the Marsh forest and cutting through The Gloaming Valley, Frollo was wishing he was back at that town. The air was crisp with winter and the ground was covered in freshly fallen snow and an ominous air hung thick all-around Jasper and himself. Something was amiss and he felt as if they were being watched. Far off on a cliffside, a shadow stood and watched too…

- Excerpted from Other Tales: The Blotted Grig

…And so the next morning Bonney Billy William made his way back home and packed his rucksack. The fimbled state of Mr. Longbutton’s front porch and foyer entrance concerned his friend greatly. It wasn’t like Percival to leave such things in disarray. Furthermore a passerby (a one Mr. Titus Thrushpaper) had been flying by when he became aware of a mafficky sort of goings on in the northern entrance to the Thousand Weed Woods.

So it was that the toad made his way into the wood resolute to find his friend (a bit hesitantly, as rumors of strange goings on were quite common in those parts). He made his way through the bush and uneven ground for quite sometime, eyes peeled for any unsavory proceedings. Within the second hour of searching, Bonney Billy William froze as he heard a thin, tinny whisper somewhere behind him…. 'Whoooo... goes... there?' This disturbance was accompanied by the smell of wet dog and the sound of heavy footsteps. 'What to do, oh what to do?!' Were Billy's immediate thoughts as he stood frozen in fear…"

- taken from Tales of an Uffish Bear

When Tom Wobble woke again it was morning. He sadly realized that he had not dreamed he was lost but was still in the thick of these strange woods. From a limb of a great Osier tree a voice called out to him. A bat hung above him, “Hello and good morning cat, looking a bit on the muck snipe I see.” Tom Wobble soon found himself sharing tea with the creature. Despite the bat’s affable nature, Tom felt a queer wariness to his situation and with no other choice conversed the morning away with the strange thing, hoping to press his host for the way out of the forest and back on the path to Dustcough Passing where he would finish his journey.

Taken from the collection: A Wholly Imaginative Tale of the Iron Screw

Everything, and I mean, everything at that moment went all as they say, “higgledy-piggledy” when the small aero plane Leopold Frum piloted looped up and then smashed into a pond in the meadow. Well, Cavendish Bear had been busy gently purloining honey out of a sleeping hive when the fracas occurred and was drawn up into the chaos that erupted at the weekend market. They all raced out to see if help could be given and the loud noise and jostle awoke the bees who were none too happy…

- excerpted from The Tale of The Hanging Fig

Samuel Puddle was an exceptional milliner (in his own mind at least) and derided the tommyrot existence tied to a desk or a shop. He traveled through the territories of Peevish Swale and the Hiccuboro and Iron Pot Valleys plying his trade of worn headwear. Some would say these were actually “re-purposed” from rummage yards and employed his somewhat questionable trade in headwear refurbishment as well. His operation was a traveling venue, so wagons were a luxury not afforded and he would often store his wares atop his head. It would have worked fine if nature hadn’t graced his walk with a bobbing motion. This caused hats toppling every few steps and much frustration on his part…

They headed out onto the Great Salt Sea that day, as that was what they did to make ends meet. The weather looked as if it would soon turn sour and Jackdaw grew skittish at the thought of a sea storm. The unhurried bear paid no heed to the ever tizzying bird and they soon found themselves in roiling storm laden waters. Brolly had caught something on his line and slowly proceeded to bring it in. Jackdaw felt quite on the pother and gave serious thought to flying off and leaving his friend. What could have been worse? He thought of the old sailor tales of the ‘Beast of the Salt Sea’ who they said caused the sea to boil before his appearance and to swallow weary sailors whole. Unbeknownst to them, from the deep, inky depths a great behemoth, a great beast of a fish arose with its wide maw open, looking to swallow the hapless, unknowing pair.

…And as quick as a brolly full of beans on a Sunday morn in your aunt Petunias’s back hedges, Percival’s line went taut and then slack as he rode the slick back of the large “fish” he had been spying from the pond’s edge. Muck on a buck! What a day to being playing hooky from Uncle Pilotus’ stodgy and stuffy office. It was a fine day to wrestle a new catch. Not being much on seafood it was the thrill of the experience that peaked him as he rode the great thing. Just then though, it raised itself out of the water in an almost half smile, but bearing a rather troublesome looking maw. What now Percival?

-Excerpted from The Fable of The Mabbed Bindle-Stiff and other Woolgatherings

After a day of doing not much, Percival Longbutton settled in for a relaxing soak in his bath basin. Plans (even relaxing ones) never quite pan out as one would hope. The lad settled in with today’s copy of The Daily Sod and was deep into the opinion section of Vcr. Ramblaud’s flummadiddlings about the new jimberjawed council chuffs and bunces when a rather largish eye pressed against his bath window. He was rather unaware of this and the eye peered with a hint of malice…