“‘Light, Life, Love and Creation were forged of the brought-forth and with Thought they were the five, charged evermore with the forth-bringing, the Herald Council Kings of the One-versal Lore; the fore-bearers.
The fore-bearers bore in the forth-bringing the brought-forth, creating the fore-bearers, td. It is here that the cyclical spiral of the Amness may be seen to touch upon our own under-the-moonly perspective’ ~ Csmp. Bunkerboon.
~Seemingly this poses a logical paradox or two, the fore-bearers being created while one of them is Creation, as an example. There is however no such thing as a logical paradox. ~ ‘Where the case appears paradoxical, it is in fact the case that valid finite logic has reached an impasse in its attempt to catalogue an eternal truth. Even logic deemed perfectly valid by a thorough adherence to all requirements of an epistemological and critically reasonable nature is fallible when held to Eternity, as all finite constructions are fallible. You may well consider the question – which came first the wrenduck or the egg? A question which seems to end in a logical conundrum, a paradox in the answering. The truth is that it is a broken question.’ ~ Fsr E.Twiggers.”
Jem was awake now. Her dutiful eyes still followed the words but her mind had wandered free of its post to play among happier times. Wrendrake had fallen asleep in the apple-bin yesterday. With a half-buried head no bigger than the apples and the rest of him no bigger besides, dear little Wren lay upside-down with two small hind legs and a curly tail stuck straight up in the air. It was the cutest thing that Jem had ever seen. Until Mum-Aggy had come home.
Agloria Belle, Wise One of the Elder Council of the Divinaty of Seylat, a fragile old woman who badgered about like a bull on a string, had burst through the heavy front door as though it was made out of curtains, ‘All a’right there Jem?’
Agloria was known as Mum-Aggy by almost everyone in the village, for short if not always for affection, but what almost everyone in the village knew was not her primary concern. What Mum-Aggy cared about was being the best Mum-Aggy she could for her Jem.
‘Come here then, I’m home now,’ she met her girl with a hug and fuss which was well established as being inescapable. ‘A’right then Jem? You come’n tell me how your day’s been, a’right there,’ she squeezed.
‘Yes I’m good Mum-Aggy but shhhh,’ Jem tried unsuccessfully to wriggle free, ‘it’s just, I have to show you, look!’ She pointed to the apple-bin.
‘A’right okay I’ll look, I’ll look. Stop fretting so as I can let you down now, don’t want you hitting the ground ‘a gallop, do we?’ The old woman turned and spied the minute trotters. ‘You weaselly runting little muck-nugget!’
This had been aimed at the pig, though Jem felt it could go either way. Swearing was well in character for Mum-Aggy, who kept her own council, rules or no.
‘If you were but a butt-hole bigger’n worth the blasted effort I’d tan your rotten hide.’
A sudden giggle gained footing at the top of Jem’s throat. She tried to hold it in and it came out as a long loud snort.
‘Muckin my good apples, filthy rat y’are.’ Wren was fished from the apple-bin and held to inspection upon a single bony palm. ‘I’d make you into a coin purse if I had the use of one.’
Jem watched her pet pig, sleepily, gingerly rise on his hind legs and place a front trotter on each of Mum-Aggy’s cheeks. In the face of the unmoving scowl, tiny Wren slowly leaned forward, sniffed, then licked the tip of the old woman’s nose. Cracks in the scowl’s defense began to show. Gradually they gave way to a hesitant smile. ‘Hmph. No coins you see fella. Not needin a purse for no coins. Heh, cheeky swine y’are.’
This was certainly now the cutest thing that Jem had ever seen.