The Broken Strings of Wordishure by Mick McArt

Author:Mick McArt
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2013-02-27T16:00:00+00:00

The companions decided to forge ahead through the Cactickle field, but stopped only a few feet in because Argyle was being tickled so much that he was giggling uncontrollably.

“Do you want me to fly over to the cabin and see if we can get the feathers?” Harper asked.

“You’re much too little to carry the pillow case,” Argyle answered, while wiping his eyes and catching his breath, “especially if it’s full of feathers! But I think I just might have an idea...”

Argyle pulled the sock off his head and winked at Harper. He then pulled another sock from inside the one he was holding. “Tada!” he exclaimed.

Harper chirped happily, “I never knew you carried a spare!”

“Never despair, I always say,” Argyle replied.

It was Harper’s turn to laugh now, so he chuckled at the silly joke, while Argyle took the socks and placed them over his feet. “Right,” Argyle stated triumphantly, before finishing his march through the Cactickle field, “let’s try that again.”

The Sock Weasel was correct. The socks protected him from the plants’ tickling feathers. Harper flew ahead, chirping happily as they crossed the field and approached Old Bill Hilly’s cabin. It appeared to be abandoned, but Argyle knocked on the door anyway. “What do you want?” came a voice, but it wasn’t from inside the cabin. It came from the direction of the barn where the feathers were stored.

The two companions turned around to see the old farmer. “Don’t you have ears to hear?!” gruffed Old Bill Hilly, who was standing in the doorway of the barn, holding a handful of feathers. “I said, what do you want?!”

The aging feather farmer walked toward them, removed his battered straw hat, and wiped sweat from his brow. He was missing a tooth or two and had short unruly, gray hair. His faded blue overalls had a broken button on one side so only one shoulder strap actually held them up. Harper noticed that around three of his fingers were tied different colored strings. The Sock Weasel wasted no time and got right to the point. “My name is Argyle, and this is my friend Harper. We’re here because our other friend, Tunebeard, needs feathers for his pillow. Can you help us?”

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