Wembley the Wombat - 29 Jul 2016

Forest .... Darkness. Night falls. Still, cold air. A sound. Cracking twigs. Movement. I pause - listen. Heart beating. It comes. It is upon me. From the darkness it emerges.

"Hello! Do not be afraid. You are but a youngling. You have much to learn, but also much to teach. Join us!"

 

Wembley the Wombat leads me to a clearing. There, a conclave of wombats gathers. I am led to the most senior - a wizened, wise old wombat, white tufts of fur visible in the still moonlight. "Youngling - sit here. My name is Uncle Bulgaria. With me are Orinoco, Tomsk, Tobermory, Bungo, and Wellington. The Wombats of Warburton Common are we. Underground, overground, wombling free. That is what we do, child."

 

A flash, a bolt of light. The air is electric - a pulse raced through my body. All the wombats gaze at me.

"Could it be?" mutters Orinoco.

"It must be!" acclaims Bulgaria. "The prophecy is true! Get the sacred pelt!"

There is a scrambling as this artefact is found.

Chanting starts. Bulgaria places a heavy coat over me. "Youngling!" he acclaims, "This coat is made from the hides of our ancestors. It is the sacred bond that connects us to our forewombats. We are happy it is with you. You are now The Chosen One!"

After the ceremony, Wembley approaches me with congratulations. "Phew!" he whispers. "You came at just the right time! We've been looking for a new holder of the Sacred Pelt since the further naughtiness of Cardinal Pellt!"