by Lou Keunzler
“The track leads to a ruined city standing in one of the most beautiful places on Earth,” added Claire’s mother.
“Boring!” moaned Lizzie.
The higher they climbed into the steep mountains, the slower Lizzie walked and the more she complained.
“No-one pays me any attention, even though I’m being really good,” thought Claire. “I bet no-one would notice if I disappeared altogether.”
The next day they were due to reach the ruined city called Machu Picchu. Claire felt very excited as she laced up her hiking boots. “I’m not going to wait for silly Lizzie dragging her feet,” she thought to herself.
She said to her mother, “I want to walk at the front of the group today, Mum. Is that alright?”
“I’d rather you stayed with us,” replied her mother. “That way we can all share the experience as a family.”
But just at that moment Lizzie let out a piercing scream. “There’s a spider in my boot,” she yelled. Her mother turned to look and Claire called, “See you later, Mum,” and raced ahead to the front of the tour group.
Claire liked being at the front. She kept pace with Bill, the tour guide, who told her the names of the mountains and pointed out rare flowers and animals. It wasn‘t long before Machu Picchu appeared before them.
“It looks like it’s floating in the sky,” thought Claire as she gazed at the city’s stone walls and platforms. It seemed to hang like a balcony on the side of a mountain peak, the ground dropping away steeply in every other direction.
“If only I could climb a little higher I could get an even better view,” Claire thought. “And if I went alone, I’d have it all to myself with no-one to spoil my enjoyment.”
Just then, Claire spied narrow stone steps leading away from the tour group and up a slope. “This will take me to where I need to go,” thought Claire, and she began climbing.
The path grew steeper and narrower, but Claire kept climbing until she reached the summit and could see the peaks of the Andes mountain range stretching below her.
“Wow!” gasped Claire.
All of a sudden she felt faint and unsteady on her feet. She became frightened of falling down the mountain slope. “It’s so steep,” Claire thought, “how will I get back down?”
And then Claire realized that no-one knew where she was. She’d set off without any warning, and neither her mother or stepfather, nor the tour guide, knew she had climbed the mountain path. She was so high up that no-one would hear her if she called out or see her if she waved.
“Why didn’t I tell anyone where I was going?” wailed Claire. “I wish I’d stayed with Mum and Dad – and even Lizzie.” And Claire began to cry.
At that point she became aware of a shadow overhead. She looked up and saw that it was a condor – an enormous bird that her mother had told her was sacred to the Incas. “They called it the god of the sky,” her mother had said and Claire could understand why. The condor circled above her, riding the air currents with its vast black wings fully spread.
“Please help … maybe you really are a sky god,” whispered Claire. “I’m dizzy and afraid and I don’t know what to do.”
The condor continued to fly slowly round and round above her and eventually Claire grew calmer. “It will be alright,” she told herself. “Everything will be okay.”
And soon she saw the tour guide coming up the track.
“Claire!” Bill called. “Thank goodness we’ve found you. What are you doing here? Your family are frantic with worry.”
“I’m sorry,” said Claire. “I got excited and climbed this path I found, but it was so steep I couldn’t get down again. But how did you know where to find me?”
“I didn’t know where you were,” said Bill. “But I spied the condor circling overhead and something made me follow it. It seems to have led me to you.”
That evening Claire’s family all sat close to her and didn’t let her out of their sight. But Claire wanted to stay with them, too. Going off on an adventure by herself had been exciting for a while, but she’d rather share her adventures with other people next time.
Inspiring Insights
• Sometimes you have to share your parents’ attention but that doesn’t mean they love you any less. There’s always plenty of love to go around.
• Going off by yourself can be dangerous, especially if you don’t tell anyone where you’re going. Often it’s more fun to share experiences with others.
• When you’re in strange places you may be tested in unusual ways. It’s best to stay with someone who knows the area and who can help you.
The Extra - Slow Wombat
Relax, close your eyes and imagine you’re in a snug burrow on the side of a wooded hillside. You can hear the wind in the trees and the sound of water tinkling in a stream. This is a story about an Australian animal called a wombat, who came last at everything. Wombats are a bit like badgers, only bigger and slower. This particular wombat, Ronald, wasn’t the smartest animal that ever lived, but he was one of the nicest. And one day he had to do something really heroic. Let’s listen to his story.
Ronald paused at the entrance to his burrow and sniffed the air. It was cold at dusk in his home up in the valley, but he liked how fresh and clear it felt. His furry coat kept him warm and his burrow was cosy and dry – just the right sort of place to come home to after an evening foraging for food. He ventured out a little further and made his way down toward Tumbledown Creek for a drink of water before he began his night’s work.
“Oh for goodness sake, Ronald, hurry up.”
Henry the possum was right behind him on the trail to the stream and was getting impatient. Ronald knew he was very slow, but he couldn’t help it. He only had short legs and although he tried to keep himself trim, wombats aren’t naturally slim creatures. Possums can scamper along the ground and jump from tree branches. But Ronald just had to chug along at his own pace.
“I’m very sorry, Henry,” said Ronald. “I don’t mean to slow you down.”
But Henry just tut-tutted and raced ahead as soon as there was space on the path to overtake.
Suddenly Henry stopped short so quickly that Ronald bumped right into him. There was quite a gathering of animals in a clearing ahead. Three or four small kangaroos called wallabies were there, ears twitching. And then there were five or six more possums, as well as a kind of porcupine called an echidna, whose name was Errol. Kevin the kookaburra, a large bird, sat in a tree overhead and the koala bear couple, Margaret and Claude, sat on the ground. All the animals were talking nervously.
“What’s wrong?” asked Ronald as he drew near.
“Ronald, don’t you ever pay attention?” said Kevin. “We’ve been talking about this for days. That new road the humans have built right in front of the stream is really dangerous. Poor Errol was nearly hit by a car last night.”
“That’s right,” said Errol. “I was following my favourite supper of ants across the road when I was blinded by lights. Next thing I knew, the car was nearly on top of me. I curled up into a ball and somehow it missed me.”
“Claude and I don’t dare cross the road,” piped up Margaret. “The cars go so fast we just don’t have a chance. But our favourite gum tree is on the other side of the road. It has the most tender leaves; the best for eating. What are we to do?” Margaret started to cry.
“Please don’t cry,” said Ronald, and he gave Margaret a comforting nuzzle with his snout. “We’ll sort something out.”
“And what would that be, numbskull?” sneered Kevin. “We all need to drink from the stream. I’ve tried keeping a lookout from high up in my tree in order to signal when it’s safe to cross, but the cars go so fast that it’s no use.”
“Well, we mustn’t give up hope,” said Ronald.
“Oh, you make me so angry,” yelled Rico, the wallaby. “What suggestion would a stupid, slow wombat like you have? Even for us fast animals it’s not safe to cross that road … it’s just hopeless.”
&nbs
p; Ronald turned for home. He knew everyone was upset and worried and that’s why they had spoken so unkindly, but there had to be a solution. He returned to his burrow and made himself comfortable. He knitted his brow, rested his head in his front paws and thought as hard as he could. And finally, after thinking for several hours, Ronald had the solution. He would do what wombats do well – he would dig! He would dig a deep tunnel under the road so that all the animals could use it to cross to the stream. It would take him a long time but he would do it in the end.
And that’s just what Ronald did. Every night and every day he tunnelled with his front paws and brushed away the soil with his back paws. At first the other animals laughed at him. Kevin the kookaburra laughed the loudest.
“So you’re going to make a tunnel big enough even for the wallabies? I doubt it!” squawked Kevin.
But gradually the other animals saw that Ronald was making progress.
“I’m going to help,” said Errol the echidna. “I can dig, too. And many paws make light work.”
“We’ll help as well,” offered Margaret and Claude. “We can carry some of the soil away, and then when Ronald and Errol are tired we can take over to give them a rest.”
Soon the wallabies were joining in, using their strong back legs to push away the dirt. Before long the tunnel was ready and all the animals could reach the stream safely.
Rico the wallaby went to have a drink, but Margaret the koala stopped him.
“No, “she said. “The first drink belongs to Ronald. Thanks to his hard work and clever thinking we can all drink safely. Three cheers for Ronald, the most brilliant wombat that ever lived!”
And all the animals, even Kevin the kookaburra, let out three great cheers.
“Gosh,” blushed Ronald. “Thank you very much, it wasn’t anything really.”
But actually he was very pleased and proud.
Inspiring Insights
• Have faith in yourself. It isn’t necessary to believe everything other people may say about you.
• People sometimes say mean things when they’re worried. Try to understand how others are feeling and why they’re behaving in a certain way.
• Big problems can become small problems when you get help. Don’t give up when you don’t know what to do – like Ronald, you’ll find a way in the end!
The Smallest Pony
Relax, close your eyes, and imagine you’re as light as a feather. This is a story about a small pony with a secret, magical gift. Let’s listen to his story.
Emily and her brothers were staying on their uncle’s farm. William and Philip were older than Emily, and Uncle Jim let them ride beautiful horses over the moors.
“Goodbye,” Emily called as her brothers cantered away.
“See you, Squirt,” teased Philip.
William waved and stuck out his tongue.
“I hate being the youngest,” sighed Emily. “I never get to do anything fun.”
“Don’t look so glum!” said Uncle Jim. “I’ve got the perfect friend for you.”
He pointed to a pony so small he couldn’t even poke his nose over the stable door. He had big black and white spots as if someone had spilled a pot of paint over him. He was as shaggy as a bear.
“Oh dear,” thought Emily. How William and Philip would laugh if they could see this scruffy little thing. They’d say he was a baby’s pony.
“Meet Patch,” smiled Uncle Jim. “He doesn’t look like much, but he’s a lovely ride.”
“Really?” Emily frowned.
“Don’t judge a book by its cover!” chuckled Uncle Jim.
“What does that mean?” asked Emily.
“It means you shouldn’t make up your mind by looks alone,” Uncle Jim explained. “Take the time to get to know things first. Why not go to the paddock? Ride Patch and see how you get on.”
Emily rode Patch gently in a circle. His legs were short but there was a spring in his step.
“Good boy,” she smiled. She urged him gently forward with a squeeze of her legs.
Patch began to trot.
“You’re so much faster than I thought,” she said.
Patch shook his head happily as if he understood what Emily was saying.
Suddenly, there was a great whooshing sound and two magnificent white wings spread out on either side of the saddle.
“Whoa!” cried Emily as the tiny pony rose up in the air. “You can fly!”
Emily clung on tightly to Patch’s mane as the little pony flew over the paddock gate. They soared over the farmhouse and high above the moors.
“I feel like a bird!” cried Emily as they skimmed the top of the trees. The wind was blowing in her hair.
Far below, she saw William and Philip, galloping up the hill toward the farmhouse. They looked like tiny toys.
“What you need is wings!” called Emily. But the boys didn’t even see her so high in the clouds.
Patch looped the loop and landed back at the farm.
Emily patted her incredible pony and said with a grin, “Thank you, Patch. That was the best ride ever!”
Inspiring Insights
• Take time to get to know about something or someone before you decide what you really think – it’s easy to get the wrong idea if you rush.
• Things that seem disappointing at first can often turn out to be good fun.
• Often we’re influenced by other people’s opinions but they don’t always know best. Emily was worried about what her brothers might think about Patch but, in the end, their opinion didn’t matter.
The Cuckoo and the Worm
Relax, be very still and imagine a beautiful little cuckoo. He wasn’t a real cuckoo. He didn’t eat worms and fly in the sky like other birds. He was a wooden cuckoo and he lived in a large wooden cuckoo clock, which stood in the main square of a small town. Let’s listen to his story.
Every hour the cuckoo flew out of the clock and sang “Cuckoo!” He was so good at his job that no-one in the town bothered to wear a watch. They just listened out for his song.
The cuckoo considered himself very lucky indeed. He had a good job and he lived in the grandest clock in the town. But the cuckoo also had dreams. He had overheard the birds that twittered on the roof above his head. They spoke about wonderful places called forests, which were full of trees. There, birds could live and fly and be free. How he would love to leave the clock and go there!
One day, just before three o’clock, he heard a noise.
MUNCH! MUNCH!
“I wonder what that is?” said the cuckoo.
He looked all around him but he couldn’t see where the noise was coming from. A few minutes later he heard the sound again.
MUNCH! MUNCH!
Suddenly, a little head popped out of the wooden floor between the cuckoo’s feet. It was a woodworm.
“What are you doing here?” asked the cuckoo in surprise.
“I’m just having a spot of lunch,” replied the worm.
“A spot of lunch?” cried the cuckoo. “Well, I certainly hope I’m not on the menu.”
“A worm eating a bird? That’s a funny joke,” said the worm.
“Yes, hysterical,” said the cuckoo. “Now, will you clear off? I have to do my next ‘Cuckoo’ at … at …”
The cuckoo stopped. He had lost all track of the time. Was it three o’clock yet? Usually he knew exactly what time it was, but the worm had distracted him. It was then that he heard the voices coming from the square beneath the clock.
“I missed my appointment at the hairdresser because of that cuckoo,” moaned old Mrs Washenperm.
“I missed my bus!” complained Mr Snares.
“And I stayed at school an extra five minutes,” groaned little Jimmy Trumpet, “and it was HORRIBLE!”
“Oh, no! Oh, no!” cried the cuckoo. “I’ve missed my three o’clock ‘Cuckoo’!”
“It’s time we got a new clock,” declared Mrs Washenperm.
“Yes,” agreed Mr Snares, “the cuckoo
is too old.”
“Why don’t we get a new electric clock?” suggested little Jimmy Trumpet. “They never go wrong.”
And everyone in the crowd shouted, “Yes, let’s!”
So they decided to replace the cuckoo clock with an electric clock the very next day.
“I’m sorry,” the cuckoo apologized to the people down in the square. “It’ll never happen again.”
But the people were so busy talking about the new electric clock that they didn’t hear him.
Next day the workmen arrived bright and early.
“Oh, no!” cried the cuckoo. “They’re going to take me away and chop me up!”
The men took out their tools and started working: HAMMER, HAMMER! SAW, SAW!
“It’s all the fault of that silly worm!” cried the cuckoo.
“You called?” said the worm, popping up through one of the floorboards.
“No, I didn’t call,” retorted the cuckoo, “you’re the very last creature I want to see right now.”
“Sorry I spoke,” said the worm. “I don’t suppose I could nibble on a little bit more of this floor?”
The cuckoo was about to say something very rude to the worm, when he had an idea.
“If you want something to eat,” he told the worm, “eat this piece of wood down here by my tail and set me free.”
As the worm chomped away, little wooden balls of sweat dropped from the cuckoo. The workmen were getting nearer now. HAMMER, HAMMER! SAW, SAW!
Finally, the worm took a last bite of wood and the cuckoo was free!
“That was very tasty,” said the worm, licking his tiny lips. “What’s for afters?”
“You can have whatever you like,” said the cuckoo. “I’m going to fly out of here.”
The cuckoo started to flap his wings. They were very stiff because he had never moved them before.
HAMMER, HAMMER! SAW, SAW!
His wooden wings creaked, but the cuckoo didn’t move.
HAMMER, HAMMER! SAW, SAW!
The cuckoo flapped his wings again, faster this time, but still he didn’t move.
HAMMER, HAMMER! SAW, SAW!
Just as the workmen broke into the cuckoo’s house, the cuckoo took off. And, as he soared into the sky, his wooden body turned into soft feathers and he became a real live bird the colour of fire.
