this dreaduious, mudforsaken place."
"Here," declared Aelonnia, fixing her eyes on his. "Give you something magical to help, I will. But only if quiet you stay."
The ballymag instantly fell silent, though his body still shuddered with sobs. He lay like a baby in her arms, waiting for help.
With one of her delicate fingers, she rubbed the side of her head, scraping off a single flake of dirt. Whispering a soft, lilting chant, she pressed the dirt against the ballymag's round belly. At once, the dirt began to expand into a clump of dark, gooey mud. Sliding across his skin, the clump grew and grew until it covered all his belly, his back, and most of his tails. It continued to swell, covering him like a thick, luxurious blanket. Soon his entire body was coated in mud, right up to his eyes.
Seeing all this, the ballymag shivered with delight and hugged himself joyously. As he squeezed, sticky mud oozed everywhere, flowing across his body like thick molasses. A dreamy look came to his face—the look of someone who, after long suffering, had found paradise at last. Licking some of the mud that dripped from his whiskers, he sighed contentedly. And then he said the happiest word that Basil had ever heard.
"Mooshlovely. Ah, mooshlovely."
At that moment, the boulder where Basil sat began to vibrate. The shaking grew stronger by the second, until the entire stone seemed about to explode.
13: T HE M USIC OF L IGHT
Little troubles me now, after everything that's happened. Very little. Yet still, to this day, I wonder how he could have seen so clearly into the murky depths of my mind . . . and made me consider the weight of a single grain of sand. Or a single life.
The boulder quaked violently. Suddenly a jagged crack opened right under Basil! He leaped into the air and flapped over to the tall mudmaker's shoulder. Landing there, he perched among the folds of her soft brown skin.
Meanwhile, the crack expanded and deepened. Finally, with a resounding crraaaaack , it split the rock like a deep crevasse. Or, perhaps, like a gaping mouth.
"Warned you, I should have," whispered Aelonnia. "A living stone that is. Always hungry, they are, especially when food touches them."
Aghast, Basil watched from his perch as the living stone's bumpy gray tongue emerged. Slowly, dripping pebbles of hardened saliva, it probed, spending several seconds caressing the spot where Basil had sat so comfortably. At last, the tongue withdrew, the boulder shook again, and the crack closed completely.
Basil stared down at the creature who looked, once again, like a snow-frosted boulder. And heaved a sigh of relief.
"Basil, you ogre's eyeball! What are you doing here?"
Recognizing that gruff voice, the little lizard cringed. Slowly, he turned his head. Sure enough, he found himself face-to-face with Nuic. The grumpy sprite was seated high in the branches of a tree spirit—a willow, judging from the long, swaying tresses of hair. Nuic scowled at him, all the while shifting colors from outraged purple to angry red.
Drawing a deep breath, Basil said casually, "Just thought I'd, well, take a closer look."
"After all my pleadings? All my warnings? You crumple -brained cockleshell! The wedding is about to begin! Leave now before you get caught. Or are you as stupid as you are ugly?"
The mudmaker swiveled her head, turning her deep brown eyes on the pinnacle sprite. "Greetings, Nuic," she said in a resonant whisper that bore an unmistakable hint of sarcasm. "Your flattering tones would I recognize anywhere."
"Hmmmppf. Can I help it if I'm surrounded by idiots and vagabonds?" His colors darkened to a wrathful shade of crimson. "Did you know your little friend there just barged in, uninvited?"
Basil winced at the words. Furtively, he glanced around to see if anyone else had heard—especially anyone who resembled a gargantuan spider. Fortunately, with the constant din of the crowd, no one seemed to have noticed. And the mudmaker seemed unperturbed.
Then, as
"Here," declared Aelonnia, fixing her eyes on his. "Give you something magical to help, I will. But only if quiet you stay."
The ballymag instantly fell silent, though his body still shuddered with sobs. He lay like a baby in her arms, waiting for help.
With one of her delicate fingers, she rubbed the side of her head, scraping off a single flake of dirt. Whispering a soft, lilting chant, she pressed the dirt against the ballymag's round belly. At once, the dirt began to expand into a clump of dark, gooey mud. Sliding across his skin, the clump grew and grew until it covered all his belly, his back, and most of his tails. It continued to swell, covering him like a thick, luxurious blanket. Soon his entire body was coated in mud, right up to his eyes.
Seeing all this, the ballymag shivered with delight and hugged himself joyously. As he squeezed, sticky mud oozed everywhere, flowing across his body like thick molasses. A dreamy look came to his face—the look of someone who, after long suffering, had found paradise at last. Licking some of the mud that dripped from his whiskers, he sighed contentedly. And then he said the happiest word that Basil had ever heard.
"Mooshlovely. Ah, mooshlovely."
At that moment, the boulder where Basil sat began to vibrate. The shaking grew stronger by the second, until the entire stone seemed about to explode.
13: T HE M USIC OF L IGHT
Little troubles me now, after everything that's happened. Very little. Yet still, to this day, I wonder how he could have seen so clearly into the murky depths of my mind . . . and made me consider the weight of a single grain of sand. Or a single life.
The boulder quaked violently. Suddenly a jagged crack opened right under Basil! He leaped into the air and flapped over to the tall mudmaker's shoulder. Landing there, he perched among the folds of her soft brown skin.
Meanwhile, the crack expanded and deepened. Finally, with a resounding crraaaaack , it split the rock like a deep crevasse. Or, perhaps, like a gaping mouth.
"Warned you, I should have," whispered Aelonnia. "A living stone that is. Always hungry, they are, especially when food touches them."
Aghast, Basil watched from his perch as the living stone's bumpy gray tongue emerged. Slowly, dripping pebbles of hardened saliva, it probed, spending several seconds caressing the spot where Basil had sat so comfortably. At last, the tongue withdrew, the boulder shook again, and the crack closed completely.
Basil stared down at the creature who looked, once again, like a snow-frosted boulder. And heaved a sigh of relief.
"Basil, you ogre's eyeball! What are you doing here?"
Recognizing that gruff voice, the little lizard cringed. Slowly, he turned his head. Sure enough, he found himself face-to-face with Nuic. The grumpy sprite was seated high in the branches of a tree spirit—a willow, judging from the long, swaying tresses of hair. Nuic scowled at him, all the while shifting colors from outraged purple to angry red.
Drawing a deep breath, Basil said casually, "Just thought I'd, well, take a closer look."
"After all my pleadings? All my warnings? You crumple -brained cockleshell! The wedding is about to begin! Leave now before you get caught. Or are you as stupid as you are ugly?"
The mudmaker swiveled her head, turning her deep brown eyes on the pinnacle sprite. "Greetings, Nuic," she said in a resonant whisper that bore an unmistakable hint of sarcasm. "Your flattering tones would I recognize anywhere."
"Hmmmppf. Can I help it if I'm surrounded by idiots and vagabonds?" His colors darkened to a wrathful shade of crimson. "Did you know your little friend there just barged in, uninvited?"
Basil winced at the words. Furtively, he glanced around to see if anyone else had heard—especially anyone who resembled a gargantuan spider. Fortunately, with the constant din of the crowd, no one seemed to have noticed. And the mudmaker seemed unperturbed.
Then, as
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