Inside the Glimmerdale Woods

In Glimmerdale, wizards are expected to abide by certain rules that were simply no fun, and so boringly dull. World domination, for example, was against the rules. Unfortunately, for Avis Dungworth, he had learnt that in the most difficult of ways. So, off to the Glimmerdale Woods, he was shunned to think about all the horrible, terrible things he had done in youth. But he did not mind these parts of the woods; the deepest, darkest and most scariest place in all the lands. But to Avis Dungworth, the Glimmerdale Woods could only ever be called home – even alone it would always be the place he returned to.

The wizard was thankful for his exile into the Glimmerdale Woods. He loved rising to the chirping of the honeyeaters and the digging of the woodpeckers. He loved the smell of fresh morning dew and basking in the light that would filter through the treetops onto the colourful wildflowers. He especially loved the sound of the nearby waterfall, roaring and splashing into a river so calm where the Battletoads would battle until a victor was chosen. But his most favourite thing of all, the one that made him giddy and feels rich rather than poor, was that it was all his and his alone.

Since his companion-in-exile departed, Avis Dungworth had every sight, every sound and every smell of the Glimmerdale Woods to himself – for the rest of his life. All alone, he relished playing in the winter snow, picking the spring daisies, carving the autumn pumpkins, and bathing in the spring waters calm summer waves. He was all alone in the deepest, darkest part of the Glimmerdale Woods – until the one day when he was not.

The honeyeaters were happily chirping in a nearby pine tree, alerting him of a new day and how wonderful it would be. Avis slipped out from under his favourite knitted blanket, stretched his hands high above his head until he heard that satisfying POP in his shoulder. His sun-spotted hands reached for his spectacles, which he gingerly placed on top of his nose. With his world in clear view, he would start his day by visiting the everlasting flower meadow, before visiting the local kappa in the nearby stream. That is how his day should have started.

At first, the wizard thought his spectacles were smudged. He took them off, wiped and wiped and put them back on. There was no chance that inside his quaint cabin, in the deepest, darkest part of the Glimmerdale Woods, a seemingly normal cat would be at the end of his bed – watching him. He blinked twice, and the cat echoed. They remained at a standoff until Avis frowned his wrinkly forehead at the cat. The wizard was not happy at his intruder.

He started shooing and waving for the seemingly normal cat to run away promptly. But it did not. It remained in a friendly stance, with only a flick of its tail every so often. Its eyes were a copper colour – a golden colour – and its fur adorned the night sky. It slowly blinked at the wizard, and with that, he shot angeringly from his bed despite his ailing years and loomed over the intruder. The black cat only blinked again.

"Out you fiend! Out!" shouted the wizard.

The cat jumped from its perch, landing softly on the timber floor before walking into his main area of living. The wizard harrumphed, satisfied that the black cat finally obeyed. He quickly changed into his black wizard robe, eager to prepare his breakfast of boobrie eggs with toast. But settled on top of his favourite chair in his favourite spot was the black cat. The wizard should have known the battle was not over and grumbled his displeasure.

He needed a way to pry the cat far from his home inside the Glimmerdale Woods where he should’ve been all alone. The furball was in his house, in his part of the woods – the cat had no right to intrude on his solitude. If waving and shooing wasn't going to do the trick then the wizard would have to be cleverer and far more cunning than the seemingly normal cat. He snapped both his fingers, and in a small puff of purple smoke, his hands were adorned with the thickest, most delicate leather gloves. Let the games begin, he smugly thought.

He bent down – only slightly nervous and picked the cat up with as much caution as he possibly could. He thanked the Wizards of Old that the cat was docile in his grasp. With his hands stretched out wide, he quickly leapt outside not wishing to waste a single moment before placing the cat down on the woodland floor. He took a few steps back with unflinching eyes, fearing that if he was to blink the cat would pounce and terrorise him in unthinkable ways.

 And so, when the wizard was far enough away, he shook his hands until his leather gloves disappeared, and began clicking. He clicked twice with his right fingers and then once in his left and the entire area outside his cabin was enshrouded by thick, indigo smoke. Avis coughed erratically; his weak lungs unable to withstand the puff of magic. He waved his hand, trying to clear the blue dust before everything settled around him.

At his cabin, a tall wired fence the size of a teenage green-slinger ogre stood proudly. Avis laughed merrily, cackling at the cat from the other side of the fence. The cat did not move, nor did it blink as it watched him do his merry dance. When the wizard was satisfied and content, he turned towards his cabin, eagerly anticipating the gooey goodness of his boobrie eggs. But his success was not so very successful.  

After a few moments of devouring his breakfast, he heard a faint scratch at his front door. Impossible, he hoped. The scratching continued.  Preposterous, he thought. He went to his door, opening it as little as it possibly could. He peered out, but only saw the deepest part of the Glimmerdale Woods, and his fence. It was the coarse meow at his feet that directed his attention below.

The wizard was not happy with his intruder. Not one bit. The cat's nightly fur was covered in dirt, but still, it squeezed and pushed past him dirtying his wizard robes. The cat went to the wizard's favourite chair, in his favourite spot and proudly sat – watching him. Angry and upset at his failed attempt, he hastily went outside to judge his disapproving fence. He clapped three times, then stomped his left foot, and the fence disappeared to whence it came.

The wizard's blood was boiling at the seemingly normal cat. He paced in his wizard's robe, muttering his thoughts as they came. An idea, a brilliant idea. He clicked his fingers at his discovery but accidently made every candle be set ablaze. In a flurry, he quickly extinguished the candles, ready for his next plan.

He gathered every smelly herb and flower he could find within his garden. He had citronella, lavender, peppermint, rosemary, mandrake roots, serpentbuds, chainrose, and even winterwood. He scattered every last petal and leaf around his living room. Then he began twirling and twisting his index finger, making it go faster and faster in a circle oh so round. Soon, his tiny timber cabin was bursting with floral scents as pollen and petals exploded inside a red smoke.

He coughed unsteadily, waiting for his moment of triumph. The black cat, with its sharp nose, would never be able to withstand the various, forceful fragrances. Avis Dungworth waited patiently for the cat to flee into the woods. He paused, but the seemingly abnormal cat did not escape, nor run, nor cry. It remained alongside him as minutes became hours, and the smell soon consumed his every sense.

His eyes began tearing at the mixture of strange smells, but he tried to remain stoic in his endeavour to outlast the cat. And so he sat still and very proud, with his hands prodded firmly across his chest. But not a moment too soon, his head began to pound, and although he did not want to falter, the room starting spinning like a merry-go-round. His sniffles echoed louder and louder, but still, the cat did not escape nor run nor cry. Instead, it seemed so satisfied. Its golden eyes blinked slowly at the wizard, as though it grew bored of their standoff.

And then the cat sneezed, but the wizard grew tired of this attempt. And so he clapped multiple times in a quick circle in the air until every potent plant disappeared. He grunted, coughing heavily as he opened his weary front door, to let some of the residing smell out. The wizard needed to think smarter if he were to get rid off this ghastly beast that had taken to tormenting him.

The wizard tried many other tactics which all disappointingly flopped. He began rummaging through all his belongings, trying to find his wizards wand made of a Bubo owl feather. He found the wand at the bottom of a maroon chest at the end of his bed. He held all the power he could hope for with his wand, and with it, he created his own water spray. He ran around the house, shooting streams of spring water. He leapt over furniture, as though he was a boy once more in attempts to spray the cat with water. But the cat was better at leaping over the furniture than he was, and soon won because of it.

With his chest heaving and his limbs growing weak, Avis decided to sit instead on his favourite chair in his favourite spot to recover some strength. After a few moments of silence, the seemingly abnormal cat sat in front of his toes. The wizard sighed. He numbly raised his wand in the air. With a sharp flick, a burst of orange dust shot from the end and onto the cat. When the orange dust disappeared, he loomed over the black cat with golden eyes and began to chuckle to himself.

The cat wore a pointed witch's hat, of dark forest green with a crescent moon embraided on it. The cat sneezed again, sending the hat to topple over his whiskers. The man sighed deeply but reached for the cat – without the sturdy, leather gloves. The cat quickly nestled into its comfort, and the wizard grew surprised at how its purring became very soothing. With hesitance, he started to pat the cat, feeling its silky fur under his hand. Henri Drewitt, his companion-in-exile, would have loved this cat he thought happily as he nodded off into a welcoming sleep.

When he awoke, he fluttered his lashes to clear away the murky darkness but realised that the murky darkness was actually the night. Despite having the best sleep in a very, very long time, the wizard realised that he never made it to the everlasting flower meadow. The cat sensed his disturbance and quickly bounced off his lap. Without a moment to lose, the wizard grabbed his wand, enchanting it to become a lantern from withing pink smoke and made his way into the darkest parts of the Glimmerdale Woods.

Of all the days to get caught up in a frivolous game with an unusual cat – today was the worst. Despite the wind howling warnings for the wizard to return to his tiny cabin, he wandered on, treading over the roots and wildflowers. Ever since Henri left him, he never failed to harvest the everlasting flowers on this particular day. Never – except quite possibly today. No, no, no, he berated himself for the thought. He would gather the flowers, even if Henri could no longer enjoy them in person.

His enchanted lantern struggled with the cold wind in the dead of night. But he made it to the meadow and hastily picked as many flowers as he could until he had his own of bouquet made from the yellows and pinks from the petals of the flowers. With his mission completed, he allowed himself a deep breath. His bones and joints began to ache once more, but he still had one more thing to do in the deepest, darkest part of the Glimmerdale Woods.

With the moon nearing its peak, the light casting from his lantern created shadows over the roots which he walked on. He heard a distant howl of an animal – or monster he did not wish to know. He pushed his spectacles higher onto his nose and quickened his pace. But he moved too impulsively and found himself quickly falling over a stubborn rock. His knees banged on the dry dirt, sending a bolt of pain echoing throughout his entire body. He whimpered, trying to sit up. He was too old to be running in the darkness of the woods. There was another howl, but this time it seemed closer to him. He had to keep going. He staggered onto his feet. His legs ached with each step he took, but he would not falter in the woods– especially while he was all alone.

He could not believe his sight when he limped to the stream near his house. The turtle kappa would be deep in sleep this late at night, but Avis Dungworth did not need the kappa's help for this part – he did not need anyone's help. He limped further downstream, his feet remembering the way. He wobbled and hobbled until the stream thinned and a hill empty of trees could be seen. He took a deep breathe, steadying himself for the incline. One step at a time. He pushed on until he was atop of the hill peering into the woods and all its mysteries.

With his lantern still fighting, he held it high as he reached the top. He heard a gentle meow from beneath his feet. The seemingly abnormal cat sat in its friendly stance awaiting him. The old wizard dropped to his knees, ignoring the pain. And very quietly, he allowed the breeze of the Glimmerdale Woods to blow his tears as they fell.

He sniffled and sobbed wiping snot onto his wizard's robes. He cried loudly and proudly, for there was no one to hear him in the woods. No one except a nightly shade cat with golden eyes. The cat moved towards him, rubbing its body against his sides and the wizard howled once more at the contact. He did not want to be alone in the deepest, darkest part of the Glimmerdale Woods. He was tired of his solitude. He missed his companion-in-exile with every day that dragged on. The realisations flooded into his mind as he cried into the wind once more.

With misty eyes, he watched the cat pick up his dirty, crushed bouquet of warm everlasting flowers with his mouth and walked over the memorial of Henri Drewitt. There was a pile of smooth grey rocks stacked on top of each other in the shape of a witch's hat. The cat gingerly placed the flowers down at the stones and meowed loudly enough to be heard in the wind. The wizard sobbed – or perhaps it was an awful chuckle. But he was thankful that for once, he did not have to be all by himself in the dangerous woods.

"Come on, Henrietta. Let's go home."

Avis Dungworth wiped his tears and snots with his sleeves once more and picked up the seemingly normal cat feeling thankful for its warmth and comfort on this frigid night. He walked down the hill, the wind chastising him for taking so long. The wizard was quite happy with his intruder, as he went to his tiny cabin inside the not so dark, and not so lonely Glimmerdale Woods.