Ben - Chapter Twenty Seven

As Ben drew nearer to the great mysterious metal, a cacophony of pain and evil rang out through the forest, as if twelve vile beasts were instructing hundreds of theirs to slam their fists upon a wooden table in an unfortunately timed unison. The clatter made ears universally cringe and curl, as if to shield from such inversities.

Ben, being gray-ferreted and resourceful, was able to find some mole-brown vine leaves and fashion them into an ear evil, a clever device that would shield from clattering, jittering and bearbelches. His hands were gentle. His hands were old. His hands were strong. His hands were kind.

As his ears plugged away the unpleasantness of life and real, Ben would sit and drift off into a world filled with fantasy and wonder. The greatest gift the forest offered was that of the flying miniseries, a small and bright creature. Sporting not three or four, but seven wings. They would disseminate the news through reel and dance, as they hugged the air and taunted it. Wind was noting to them and they would convey their results.

Ben could watch for hours and get the mood of the forest. These mini-barometers could warm of pressure or guide to the sweet release of waterducts. Ben, drunk on their light, could only hope that their story would be told. He would scratch their patterns on his mind. A merry jaunt and kickfoot would follow as a sign of appreciation.