The PolGnomes and the Vile Grumble - a new children's story in development...

            

The exposed floodplain stretched out to the horizon. Wet and icy sand dunes were peppered by rocky pools full of scuttling, claw-snapping little beasts. They pot-marked the rolling plateau that unfurled endlessly into a misty grey forever. A cold wind blew in from that great distance, salty, bitter and aloof. It rattled the twigs of the trees that stood on the valley sides, and pushed the leaf litter too and fro, like an idle child bored with its toys.

Why Combomble held onto his hat for fear of it being snatched away, looking over his long snout at the empty vista. The steeply sloped Valley at his back, usually lush and green, was white and grey with snow and stilled life. 

“Something is coming.” He said to the wind, which seemed to agree, as it tugged at his scarf.

Winter held a frozen hand over the Nisse Valley. Usually lush and green and smeared with the colourful paints of summer, Why Combomble thought of those days as if a lifetime ago. He had a simple rod and line rested on his shoulder, and a cloth folded tightly with the corners tied, so as to securely contain his bait. He carefully made his way across the treacherous sands to the rock pools, where he broke the icy crust on one that looked particularly promising. Laying down the unfolded cloth of bait, he sat and dangled his line into the still water. The line was loaded with a precious scrap of bread crust, and Why Combomble stared at it, licking his lips at its rippling shape. His fingers were blue in the cold wind, and his long snout went red. His teeth began to chatter, and then he caught a crab. He smiled, and bundled it up in a corner of the cloth, reloaded the line and cast out again. After a long wait, whipped blue by the wind, he caught another two, small, measly crabs. 

“These will have to do.” he said, bundling them up, and stuffing the remaining scraps of bread into his mouth. 

Slinging the rod and line over his shoulder again, he made his way back towards the steep and deep Nisse Valley where he lived. Amongst the craggy heights a few small lights glimmered weakly. Orange and yellow, they were the lights of open fires shining through the windows of his friends and neighbours homes. Each side of the valley the Great craggy faces of Little and Great Ohm stared out at the endless stretches of time that only a mountain can see. They were the guardians of Nisse, and slept soundless and still. Between their enormous heads, with its steep slopes and uneven paths of slate and gravel lived Why Combomble, the PolGnomes and The Mallygosh, and many other peculiar folk, particular to this valley. Sometimes others visited, but only ever in summer. It was a cruel home in winter, and not a place to dwell for the faint of heart.

Why Combomble's booted feet made squelching footprints as he picked his way carefully up the floodplain dunes toward the path through the Valley. The wind whispered in his ear, and he turned quickly to look again at the distant grey, hazy horizon. 

“Yes,” He said, furrowing his brow and wrinkling his snout, “Something is coming.”