WEEDTHISTLE
One of Harpo’s chronicles, much admired and often acted out by Bek and Kar, is The Great Green Va. In it, a young hutkeeper accompanies the Princess Ivah Skay on an adventure to the mountains of Skrabble and to the underground river, Sharumin, Coil of Gold, and to a final destination in the hills of Clover. The first meeting of the Princess and the young hutkeeper is posted below.
A sudden fluttering and flapping sounded from behind the hut at the crest of the hill. Around the hut came flying Aboth’s hutkeeper Bolt, yellow kneesocks and pantaloons, yellow vest and yellow wings, yellow eyes in a smiling lavender lilac face. Bolt the hutkeeper, the hutkeeper Bolt, flew down to greet his Prince and, more than that, in addition, imagine his pleasure, the youngling Princess herself. He glided to a low landing bow and bent five kneebends in formal salute.
“Your Honeynesses, imagine my pleasure,” said Bolt, and he folded his beautiful wings flat to the back of his yellow vest.
“Bolt, this is the Princess Ivah Skay. She is my own youngling sister, no doubt you have heard me say it,” explained Prince Aboth.
“Imagine my pleasure again,” said Bolt, easily flexing and bending his lavender lilac arms.
“The King has banished her here to think about following rules. Please clear a pot hut for her use,” commanded Aboth.
“Imagine my pleasure,” said Bolt, and he lifted from the path with a stretch and a sweep of his gorgeous yellow full feathered wings.
“Ivah Skay, you may follow Bolt,” said the Prince, hurrying up to his hut and rushing inside, slamming the yellow door behind him.
Ivah Skay smiled and mumbled, “Lackwit, this will be one bar easy.”
“What will be one bar easy?” said a small clear voice.
Ivah Skay spun around and saw a youngling of her very own measure peeking out from behind a rather bushy threadtree sprouting there in the smooth clover grass. The youngling stepped out to the path, revealing herself to be a miniature hutkeeper, yellow clad and lavender limbed.
“Who are you?” asked Ivah Skay.
“I am Wax. My father is who you just saw fly away to get the hut clear. Are you staying for real? What is it like to be a Princess? How old are you? Do you really have a cask of jewels? Do you like honey? I’ll tell you a secret. I don’t much at all except the kind I make in secret. Your clothes are roamer weave, aren’t they? Mine are threadtree. Where do you keep your crown? How many jewels do you have? Do you play with them? Would you like to see where I hide?”
Ivah Skay carefully studied the youngling hutkeeper and was jar clean satisfied to let her fill the air with words. More and more she liked what she heard. She decided to interrupt.
“I don’t like honey either. Yes, I would like to see where you hide,” said Ivah Skay.
Wax opened her yellow eyes wide and said, “Really?”
“Really, really, really, really,” replied Ivah Skay.
“We should be friends then,” decided Wax. “I hate my name. Wax, Wax, Wax. What a nub of a name! I have a secret name I call myself. Will you call me by my secret name?”
“I would if I knew it,” said Ivah Skay.
“Weedthistle,” whispered Wax, blushing purple on her cheeks and forehead.
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