RAW KINGDOM ENTERTAINMENT

                       The Mysterious Aunt

 Thumbelina, being the heavier of the two, sank deep into the swampy water. Dizzy from the sudden strike, she lay for a few moments amid the mud and reeds, the coldness biting at her limbs and bringing her to her senses. The turtle, steadfast and patient, folded its broad legs beneath it like shovels and, with a slow heave, rose to the water’s surface.
 Yoshi, unaccustomed to swimming, struggled feebly, he had barely managed to show himself above the water. Frightened and muddy, he was drowning in the middle of the swamp.
 Thumbelina came swiftly to his aid. He pressed his foot upon her back, and she drew him to a mound of earth that rose like a lonely island amid the swamp’s expanse. There they paused, hearts thumping, gazing upon the still, green-tinged waters. The swamp stretched wide, dotted with reeds and towering, verdant weeds. The air was thick with the pungent scent of decay and strange grasses. Across the waters, willows bent low, their roots sunk deep into the muddy banks. At first glance, it seemed as though no living thing dared dwell in that murky realm.
 Yoshi and Thumbelina dared not pause or glance around. Above them, the eagles still clashed in the sky, their fierce cries echoing across the peaks. The two huddled closer to the shadow of the rocks, hearts pounding, fearful that the great birds might notice them and sweep them away once more. At last, with a great cry that carried far into the mountains, the eagles turned and soared away, wings glinting in the sun, toward the jagged ridges beyond.

“What are we to do now? How shall we escape this treacherous water?” — groaned the hedgehog, his little paws trembling as he peered into the dark, sucking mud of the swamp. He had never seen such a place, where the air hung thick and heavy with mist.
“Climb upon my back, and we shall make our way to firmer ground ” — replied Thumbelina, her voice calm, though the reeds whispered around them like restless spirits.
“But where are we going? Who shall guide us from this lonely fen? There is no sign of life here, only the whisper of the wind in dead reeds.”
“Look ”, — said the turtle, her eyes narrow beneath the rim of her shell, — “ there seems to be something swimming. See it flickering in the gloom, as if the water itself were alive?”
 The hedgehog shivered. The swamp stretched on before them, vast and shadowed, yet a faint glimmer of hope lay in the turtle’s words, and both of them clung to it as travelers clutching a faint star in a night without moon.
 Indeed, some creature was gliding through the water toward them. Its form was shadowy beneath the ripples, and at first it seemed no larger than a common mouse. Yet as it drew near, a sharp, pointed snout broke the surface, and its cunning, glittering eyes marked it as no ordinary rodent. Yoshi felt a shiver run through him, a sudden, involuntary fear of this strange denizen of the swamp. Whatever it was, it carried the quiet menace of things best left unseen, and it approached the lump with an intent that made the hairs on his neck rise.

“Ha!” — the little creature started, ears flicking, its dark eyes glinting at the sight of our companions. The hedgehog’s sharp spines made it retreat a step, uncertain of these strange visitors.
In turn, the unknown beast seemed surprised to encounter beings so unlike any it had known. It twitched its nose, blinked with keen, cunning eyes, and in a sudden burst of courage approached Thumbelina. Shaking the water from its fur with a brisk, and cheerful motion, it revealed a coat soft and gleaming, short and well-kept, like the fur of some gentle forest spirit.

“Are you not in some way kin to my friend Yellow-Shelly?” he asked.

The turtle regarded him in wide-eyed wonder, as though the words were strange to her ears.

“You too are known to me,” the strange creature said at last to the hedgehog.

“We came here quite by chance,” replied Yoshi.“How is it you know us? My name is Yoshi, and we have only just slipped away from the eagle’s cruel claws…”

“From the eagle, you say?” The animal’s whiskers twitched in something like a smile.“Hard it is to believe, yet let it stand. Permit me, then, to name myself — Sly, a water-rat of these parts.”

“Ah! So you are of the kindred of voles and field-mice!” cried Yoshi cheerily.“I know that folk well enough.”

“And you,” answered the rat with a thin smile,“must be the hedgehog that keeps to the open fields. I have heard no small number of unflattering tales about you.” His whiskers twitched with amusement.“I have many kin in those parts—voles, common mice, shrews, and even the squirrels of the deeper woods. They are all my people, some nearer to me, some more distant. All of them rodents, all with front teeth sharp as chisels. The mice in particular have shared rather unpleasant stories of your doings,” added Sly with a glint in his dark eyes.

“Well… yes,” Yoshi admitted at last, though reluctance clung to his voice like damp leaves.

“I heard you were eating their meat,” said the water-rat, his whiskers twitching thoughtfully.

“They… they are great mischief-makers,” Yoshi attempted, as if justification might shield him.

“There is no need to apologize,” Sly cut in, smooth and swift.“And so you have not heard that your Aunt Yellow-Shelly dwells here?” he added, turning his bright eyes upon the turtle.

“My aunt? As far as I know, I have no such aunt.”

“A pity—and a wonder—that you know so little of your own kin,” murmured the rat, with a hint of reproach softened by curiosity.

From the reeds ahead—standing like a tall, yellowing wall—there came a clamour of voices:
“Phew, phew, shish, shish, shish!”

Yoshi and Thumbelina exchanged a startled glance.

“Only wild ducks,” said Sly, as though calming fretful children.“They’ve been quarreling since dawn.”

“Do ducks live here?” the hedgehog asked in wonder.

“As many as you could wish, and of every sort,” answered the water-rat, his whiskers twitching with pride.“Some are great heavy birds, not unlike the farmyard kind; we call them March ducks, for they fly up from the southern lands when winter loosens its grip. And there are little ones too, no larger than pigeons—nimble fellows called stilts. But mark this: they are all sly folk and masters at hiding their eggs.”

“Only this morning I went searching for a nest on the far bank,” he continued, lowering his voice with a hint of guilt.“Found not a single egg. Still, I won’t pretend to be holier than the river itself. I dearly love eggs—fresh ones most of all.”
The rat gave a small, unabashed shrug, as though confessing a fault shared by the whole wide world.

 Suddenly there came a soft, far-carrying whistle, clear and strangely musical. A pale shadow glided over the still, dark water. At once the rat splashed down in fright, vanishing beneath the surface as though swallowed by the swamp itself. Then a great bird of grey-brown plumage wheeled above the marsh, circling with a mournful cry, as if lamenting some hidden sorrow. The moment its keen eyes caught sight of the two companions, it swept lower in a slow, deliberate arc, studying them from above.
 Having satisfied its curiosity, it drifted toward the shore and, with long awkward strides, began to hurry into the sheltering reeds, rustling among them like a traveler pushed on by some secret purpose.

“Nothing good awaits us,” said Yoshi, his voice heavy with sorrow. “Our suffering will not end soon.”

 The two stood motionless upon the lonely islet, uncertain what path—if any—remained open to them. The sinking sun cast long, wavering rays across the mire, and they knew that evening would find them still stranded amid the dark waters of the swamp. What new perils the coming night might bear, neither dared imagine.
 They listened anxiously to the many murmurs rising from the surrounding reeds. Wild ducks swept overhead, their wings whispering like fleeting shadows. A moment later came other birds, stranger still—long-legged creatures with narrow beaks—gliding through the dimming sky as though borne on some secret errand.

“Lets try swim to the shore,” said Thumbelina at last, for she had no fear of the deep water and its hidden things.
But Yoshi wavered, glancing uneasily across the quiet surface.“Wait a little longer,” he murmured.“Sly may yet return.”

 Even as he spoke, the water before them quivered as though stirred by an unseen breath. A narrow, gleaming head rose slowly from the depths—a serpent’s shape—and behind it slid forth the broad, yellow-spotted shell of a large turtle.
Thumbelina stared in dread, beholding in that strange creature a dim and twisted likeness of herself. Yoshi stepped back, wonder and alarm written plainly on his face.
 And in that same moment, from just beside the unexpected visitor, Sly’s own head broke the surface, blinking at them through the ripples.

“Your aunt,” he said cheerfully.

“Indeed, I have never laid eyes on you,” replied the aunt, her voice drawn out and honeyed,“yet I have heard tales enough, and often have I wished to see my sister’s daughter.”

Thumbelina felt a warm flush of embarrassment.

“My mother has spoken nothing of you,” she murmured.“It seems she forgot to tell me I had an aunt at all.”

“Ah, we turtles live long years,” said the aunt with a soft smile,“and with such years our memories grow mossy and short.”

 Slowly she came nearer, her shell whispering against the earth. The two turtles touched their snouts, as though sharing a gentle kiss beneath the quiet air.

“But who walks beside you?” asked Yellow-Shelly, casting a wary glance at the hedgehog.“What an unpleasant little creature!”

 Yoshi—never one to inspire much awe even on a good day—was now spattered with mud from snout to tail, and looked quite a sorry thing.
Thumbelina, introduced her companion to her aunt. There was a small pause, as though the forest itself held its breath, waiting to see what would come of such an unlikely meeting.

“I have no fixed abode in the swamp,” said the water turtle, her voice bubbling softly,“for the water is my home and the reeds my roof. Yet, you shall be my guests all the same.”
Yoshi scowled, shifting uneasily on the muddy bank.“It would serve us better if you showed the path that leads from this place,” he said, with a sharpness that did not hide his distrust of the aunt.

The turtle’s eyes glimmered like wet stones in the dim light of the marsh.“Patience, little walker,” he murmured,“for the way out is winding, and the water has many secrets.”

“It is far too late to journey onward,” said Sly.“In mere hours darkness will claim the sky. You must stay with us through the night, and tomorrow we shall guide your way.”

“Very well,” replied the aunt with calm resolve.“Come, then. Let us lose no more time.”

 Yoshi swung himself upon Thumbelina’s back once more. Sly and the aunt glided beside them in the river, their laughter ringing clear and bright, like bells tinkling through the twilight, teasing Yoshi as he struggled to keep himself in place.
The water turtle guided them gently to a stretch of land where the grass swayed in quiet waves beneath the fading light. There, she indicated a dry hollow, sheltered and soft, where they might rest until dawn.

“I have nothing to offer for supper,” she said, her voice calm and steady,“for my meals lie beneath the water. Sly will see to your hunger.”

 Nearby, the rat emerged from a hidden burrow, his little paws clutching supplies carefully hoarded against the coming winter. He scurried forward, carrying food with a diligence born of many seasons’ practice, and set it before the travelers as though performing a small and noble ceremony.
The guests settled, their murmurs fading into the evening hush, and prepared to spend the night in uneasy calm. Before this, Yoshi crept softly to the water’s edge, hoping to snatch a frog from the dark ripples.
The hour was ripe for hunting, and Sly and Yellow-Shelly slipped from the group, diving silently into the green-tinged waters. Darkness thickened over the swamp, and the stars began to scatter their pale light upon the trembling surface, as though the heavens themselves were peering down to watch.

 From the reeds came cries that cut the air—some shrill and pleading, others harsh and grating, and still others with a curiously tender note. Yoshi’s needles gleamed faintly in the starlight; he stood alert, ready for any mischief that might stir in the gloom.
Then a roar erupted from the reeds, so deep and terrible that it seemed to shake the very marsh. A shrill, laughing cry answered it, as though the swamp had taken on a voice of its own, mocking all who dared to listen.
The two comrades huddled close, hearts drumming in the night, listening to the strange chorus of voices that drifted across the water, haunting and unearthly, until the swamp itself seemed alive with whispering shadows.