The Adventures of Mr. Schnoozle

(Continued from "The Adventures of Mr. Schnoozle: Foreword & Prologue")

“It wasn’t long ago — only an eon or two — that the world was divided. In a harmonious sort of way. There were only several masses of land in this great oceanic expanse, and a smattering of islands. On one of these lands, called Willowbrook, lived all manner of curious and wonderful creatures. Willowbrook was ruled by magical mares and steeds: the Equinians. They watched over and protected the land, the skies and the bodies of water that touched it’s shores.

The Schnoozles lived peacefully amongst the birds, sharing their tree branches with them. These big, floppy ears aren’t just for show, you know. They used them as a bird uses it’s wings. Flying was the great joy of the Schnoozles. They could often be seen leaping off branches into the sky, for they had a hard time taking flight from the ground. Their ears would flap at a hummingbird-speed, their bodies hanging with feet towards the ground. They were the messengers and couriers of Willowbrook, as they were able to carry many things with their strong arms while in flight.

In addition to strange and exquisite creatures, Willowbrook was abundant with flora in an unending variety of colors, shapes and magical qualities. Most of this was a mystery to the people of Shrubbland, the land across the sea from Willowbrook. The people of Shrubbland couldn’t have been more different than the Willowbrookians. They possessed no magic, and were almost entirely devoid of color and light. They, and their existence, were bland at best. Some of these folk longed for something more, for something beautiful, and they dreamt of what lay beyond the shores of Shrubbland. For many years, the magic of Willowbrook eluded them. However, like all wonderful secrets, their existence didn't remain hidden forever.

It was not a vessel full of greedy conquerors that eventually stepped foot on the pebble beaches of Willowbrook. Nor was it band of rebellious expatriates seeking to rule themselves, rather than be ruled. The Shrubbs that braved the sea between the two worlds were the least suspecting disturbers of the peace: A family of four. During this time, life was just peachy for all the creatures living in Willowbrook. Even when this small family of humans from Shrubbland arrived, they adapted to the land, and beheld it, and all it and to offer, with reverence... for a while.

It wasn’t until the eldest son of the family ventured back to Shrubbland that things took a turn. He returned to Willowbrook with more Shrubbs and all of these Shrubbs began to build homes using the trees, a concept foreign to the creatures of Willowbrook.

 As time went on, these Shrubbs made more Shrubbs. They were the first humans to be born on Willowbrook. In many ways, they were more Willowbrookians than they were Shrubbs, living in peace among the creatures of the land. They were not entirely raised with Willowbrook ways, however, and they too built their homes using the trees. At first, the birds and the Schnoozles were obliging. They gave up their trees, hoping that this was temporary; hoping that at some point, what the humans had already taken would be enough for them.

It was not to be. As more and more trees fell to build homes, the Schnoozles and the birds had to live in closer quarters, sharing less and less space. They became cramped, and they bickered. The birds have always outnumbered the Schnoozles, and they began to force them to leave to find new trees to live in. Eventually, the Schnoozles were left with no choice but to build their homes on the ground. They were creative, and learned how to live in hollow logs, and mushrooms and even carved out large stones.

The Schnoozles, being unwelcome in the trees, flew more and more infrequently. They were no longer able to deliver messages and parcels long distances, and they suffered. The Equinians did their best to restore peace between the two species, but to no avail. After all, there is great power in numbers, and the birds had their way.

Time passed, and Schnoozles began to be born that didn’t know how to fly at all, and the birds became the messengers of the land. As their joy and purpose were taken from them, the number of Schnoozles dwindled, and encountering a Schnoozle became a rare occurrence.

As with many conflicts, the passage of time leads to forgetfulness, and forgetfulness to peace. The Schnoozles and the birds were amiable once more, but by then it was too late. The Schnoozles had lost their ability to fly.

But the will to survive is strong, and over many years, Schnoozles found joy in other things, like gardening and cooking, not to mention naps. They have even been known to enjoy the occasional flight on the back of a bird they’ve befriended. Only now are Schnoozles again growing in number as they find new ways to enjoy life, and with these, a renewed sense of purpose.”

The Schnoozle ended his tale with a sigh. The children were silent, enraptured with the story. Lana wiped away a tear that had escaped.

“I want to hear more about the Schnoozles,” Lana said.

“Yes, please tell us more!” Timmy said.

“Well, perhaps we can meet here again, and I will tell you more. I have quite a few tales about a Schnoozle I once knew,” he said with a wink.

The children agreed to meet him at the same place next week, and skipped away, talking all the way home about all the adventures they would have if they were Schnoozles.