Boon for the Tongueless

Ever northward am I aloped within the Sha-una, and as we draw near to attaining that ville of Voonish wonder, I have found that the bulbous nub upon my lower left foot throbs with anticipation! Indeed, it wakes me often in the night to proclaim to me our ever narrowing proximity. Many times I have loosed my Thupping Cream upon it, and yet it throbs on with giddy, child-like, felicity. Its gathering restlessness can mean nothing more certain, I hope, than the imminent arrival of the Sha-Una at our destination.

I fear that for the past days, I have had little to do other than consider my giddy bulb and thup upon it smartly. But in the intervals between, I have gloaned greatly and come to a rather mermuntary concluding. You see, I have received, on occasion, conveyances from those of this Weem-scarce land that have within them only the merest command of the Weench tongue and its many glories. Thus did my long gloaning suggest that I provide these unfortunate tongueless with a glossary.


You will note, I am sure, that the near universal influence of all things Weem and Ti has resulted in an abundant similarity between Weench and English. Do not be fooled! Many words of great and noble history have become hideously mangled and twisted by the translation. For example, the wonderfully Weench word ‘Glossary’ has been, for reasons obscure to all intellect, contorted here to mean a sort of brief dictionary. Pshaw! Weench would never suffer such a word. The true meaning is thus:


Glossary-n. A smallish, and often beige, building in which dullards are made shiny.


Grand is it not? And yet so sedentary have the tongues of English wrought it.


Therefore, as I lay firmly empouched within that hairiest of allies, I am hard at work constructing a ‘glossary’ for the lesser-tongued. In fact, I endeavor to construct not only a tool of reading, but a tool that may be worn abroad so that all who see it may be instructed as well. Indeed, great things are at work. Soon shall my toilings bear fruit, and soon shall you taste their boon.

Enough piffle and blather! My nub calls me to thupping and then I must to work! And the Sha-Una must to Voonville soon!

Moist and Salty

During my long residence within the Sha-Una, I have had much time to look within me ere I looked without. My first mentionable observance was that I no longer thought so dearly of my sweet abode. Indeed, this northward road has now usurped that place once so highly held. One might even say that the northward road now was one and same my sweet abode. Although the road is not so much my abode as is the Sha-Una. Since I was so thoroughly stuffed into this cavernous, warm, and somewhat moist marsupial pouch I have come to be quite fond of it, though I must admit that the salty taste it leaves upon one's tongue is to be avoided at all cost. All taste aside however, I find that it is a most peaceful and womblike abode. The bouncing along and the rhythm of my benefactor's loping soothes my road-weary bones and speaks to me of otherwordly comfort that I had never suspected could exist. I daresay that were it not for that bitter taste that I find upon my tongue each time I wake that I should like to stay here for at least some portion of eternity.

At intervals, I have ventured to let my eyes creep out of the pouch and spy what they may of the world without. Often they have seen little more than the blur of fields and trees rushing past, but on at least one occasion they suffered a robiderant sight the likes of with I should not wish to hear of again. Great waves of Leapers Wee they saw on all sides of the Sha-Una. They leapt and wailed and assailed that hairest of allies, and yet were undone by the very determination of the loping that bore me onward. Though wee they leapt they were no match for the hairy loping wonder that they hoped to arrest. And so did mine eyes report that the Sha-Una once more proved triumphant over all evils Wee and Leaping.

I know not how long I shall be borne herein, nestled deep within this hair and warmth. But be it days or hours, or even but another minute, I shall cherish each moist moment and hold it dear to my brain, for who knows what horrors wait whence this loping ends.