April 11, 2011

An inspiration to Bekka of Thorns was Bandy, a bramble dwarf, or bendo dreen, who a thousand years and more before Bekka’s time dared to leave the safety and security of the bramble bower hedge to seek adventure. Below the sketch of Bandy I’ve posted the first chronicler Harpo’s thumbnail description of the daring bendo dreen’s rise through the ranks of castle staff to become Tutor to the famous Triplet Princesses Three.

Bandy of Thorns, Bandy of Thorns, Bandy the bramble dwarf; Bandy of the prickly hedge marking the boundary westernmost there beyond the Villcom Wood of the Kinngish Queeendom of Fiddleeebod; Bandy who boldly left his brambles to adventure far and wide, highly odd, yes it was, strangely uncommon bramble behavior; Bandy who washed up singing a ditty one moonslit night at the castle walls; Bandy with his twinkling eyes and his ever ready smile; Bandy who worked as a lowly sculger in the castle’s clean but cluttered kitchen, scrape and fetch, scrub and wash; Bandy the sculger who rose through the ranks until he roamed on a quest of his own which took him for years to Longthin Lake; Bandy with light green almost yellow skin and carrot colored hair; Bandy who one day returned to the castle with stories to tell and songs to sing; Bandy the teller of stories and singer of songs so very good, so very fine that the Triplet Princesses quietly listened; Bandy of Thorns, bramble dwarf, worthy mentor, wise in his wisdom, appointed to be the Royal Tutor, Honor High, to The Triplet Princesses and Young Prince Forr of the Kinngish Queeendom of Fiddleeebod.

Bandy of Thorns held out his hand and the silent youthful little Prince whose name was Forr stepped out from behind his mother, the Queeeen Malvina, and put his hand in Bandy’s. Bandy smiled down at the youngling. The youngling, with startling violet eyes, returned the smile up at Bandy from under his shocking shiny mop of coal black curly hair.

“Wun. Tuu. Thrii. Shall we go?” Bandy’s voice sang out over the courtyard.

In a nince of a nonce before even a nunce, the racing, running, flying Princesses were perched on a cart fighting for position, pulling hair, screaming and punching.

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