by Rachael Long
“But what of the stripe-stripped zebra?” Typhon asked.
The stork shook his head. “I can only guess he has gone into hiding. I’ve put it on my to-do list.” He pulled out a clipboard, “See; Find zebra with the missing stripes!”
“Let me sort these rhinos and hippos out for you, Filos,” said Typhon-the-Tiger and gripped one end of her rope and dropped the other end over the side of the branch. “Indian Rope trick, never fails,” she smiled. And with that she jumped and wrapped her legs around the rope and for a brief gravity-defying moment, the rope remained taut and the tiger looked as if she might majestically slide her way down. Then the brief moment was over and, gravity not wanting to be defied for anything longer than the briefest of brief moments, tiger and rope dropped, not quite majestically, to the waiting rhinos and hippos below.
The stork closed his eyes and winced, waiting for the inevitable THUD that must surely come. But there was nothing… Instead, on opening his eyes, he saw the tiger flying back up into the air and then down again, the rope still firmly gripped in her paw. No sooner did the tiger drop back down than she was up in the air once more.
“Filos, Filos!” Typhon shouted to the stork. “I need a whistle?”
The stork looked puzzled then tried to whistle but to no effect. “Storks are not natural whistlers,” he called out to the tiger. “We’re more what you might call, hummers.”
Typhon fell back down to the waiting rhinos and hippos before being tossed once more up into the air.
“No, no,” she shouted to the stork, “A blowing whistle?”
The stork nodded and pulled a silver referee’s whistle from a pocket and tossed it to the falling tiger who, in true circus style, caught it with her mouth.
The stork watched as Typhon fell onto the back of the rather plump, and luckily yielding, hippo team’s goalkeeper. Wasting no time, the tiger began riding the hippo and frantically blowing the whistle.
“I am the jinn of the zebra tribe,” Typhon-the-Tiger shouted. “I have been summoned by the zebra whose stripes you stole!”
The rhinos and hippos stopped and looked at the tiger. “Why are you orange and not the same colour as the zebra?” a rhino asked, quickly followed by a hippo calling out, “You’re a tiger, I saw a picture once.”
Typhon-the-Tiger jumped off the hippo’s back and blew the whistle again and cracked her rope like a whip. “I am not a picture of a tiger! I am the zebra tribe’s jinn. See the stripes we share. I am orange because I live in the fiery furnaces deep within the earth!” She cracked her rope once more and let out a loud roaring bellow; “To appease the fiery earth furnaces and calm my raging blood, one of you must volunteer to return with me. Only in this way will the offence you have caused the zebra tribe be undone!”
The rhinos and hippos, not being ones for volunteering unless it was for a penalty kick, looked at each other rather worryingly then scarpered! Typhon roared again and laughed as she watched them disappear off into the trees. “Filos, come down,” she called up to the stork. “All is safe. You are saved.”
~~~
The first tree monkey yawned and put the telescope to one side. He looked at the second tree monkey; “That orange stripy thing just jumped off the branch and it all looks to have gone a bit quiet over there now.” He yawned again. “ I suppose it will be time for tea soon?”
The second tree monkey nodded then said; “Hmm… Do you mean tea as in a cup of tea, a cuppa? Or teatime as in High Tea?”
“Oh…is there a difference? I mean if we have a cup of tea, is it only a cup of tea?” queried the first tree monkey.
“Ah-ha,” smiled the second. “I have consulted the best of the best about this.”
“That’ll be the Sloth of Gloom then.”
The second tree monkey nodded and added, “I did try those two lions that run the
Lions Tea Rooms but they were a bit offhand, ‘Are you buying anything or what,’ was all I could get out of them. At least the sloth gives an answer of sorts…eventually.”
“Well, do we get anything with this cup of tea or not then?”
“Ah yes, you can have a cup of tea, which is just a cup of tea. Or you could have a cuppa and a piece of cake. That might be Afternoon Tea or you could have High Tea, which is a cuppa, slice of cake, sandwich and whatever else. Although it can get a little confusing because some people call Afternoon Tea and High Tea, Tea, which is obviously slightly more than a cup of tea. So I suppose, Tea can be a cuppa and whatever you like really... I think what we really need is Brunchea; a cunning combination of breakfast, lunch and tea.”
The first tree monkey nodded slowly and thought for a moment, confused. “What have we got for tea then?”
The second tree monkey shrugged. “Nothing. We ate it all for brunch!”
~~~
Back in the small clearing, the stork was showing the one-eyed, one-armed-lion-taming-tiger a map of the Lost Forest. “This map shows the various open clearings that are scattered around the Lost Forest. We are here and, as you can see, there are another seven or so clearings, although I am sure there must be more - they’re just not shown on this map. This smaller clearing”, the stork tapped the map, “over that way, is the area the hippos and rhinos use as their soccer pitch.”
Typhon-the-Tiger nodded and pointed at a dark-shaded area in the middle of the map and asked the stork what was there?
The stork gave a wry smile. “Oh! That area is the oldest, darkest part of the Lost Forest. The heart of the forest and its secrets, if you like. But…” the stork looked at the tiger and thought for a moment. “But you, how do you come to be in the Lost Forest?”
Typhon stroked her whiskers and purred. “Quite by accident it seems, Filos. I had been trekking through the Himalayan foothills of Nepal in search of the Giant Rat of Sumatra. I understand the Giant Rat, a supreme and accomplished master wrestler, trains there. It was my intention to challenge him to a friendly bout. However, Filos, he had gone into retreat to hide from a rather wily Englishman who was also searching for him, but for different reasons than me.” The tiger sighed then continued...
“Filos, unable to find the Giant Rat, I decided to leave the Nepalese Himalayan foothills and pick up the trail of a creature I have long sought for many years. I obtained a ride with a brace of Giant Himalayan Griffon Vultures. However, although great and majestic birds, they also have a tendency for unreliability and, it seems, mid-air tea breaks! It was such a tea break that resulted in my fall from the sky... Luckily,” Typhon added, “I managed to survive the fall and landed in the top of the very tree where we two met.”
The stork looked at the tiger and then up at the tree. “I see, but how did you manage not to hurt yourself during the fall?”
Typhon grinned and explained. “While I was arguing with the vultures, and as they were making their tea, they dropped lower and lower. When I fell, it was but a short drop into the waiting arms of the tree. But even more fortunate I must say, Filos, my short fall was broken by a rather large nest.”
The stork looked back up at the tree and thought for a moment. “You must have fallen into the sloth’s nest.”
“Oh, I am afraid it is rather broken now, Filos. But do sloth’s really have nests?”
The stork nodded, “Yes. Well no, not as a rule. But this particular sloth had a bit of a balance problem. Kept falling out of the tree, usually when he was asleep. So he decided to build himself a nest…”
“Hmm…” Typhon-the-Tiger mused. “What of this tree-nest-dwelling sloth now?”
“It is a rather sorry tale. He somehow got himself addicted to pomegranates which he then cured himself of by getting addicted to figs…” The stork paused and shook his head in disbelief. “Needless-to-say,” he continued, “it all got a bit messy and he retreated to the deepest, darkest depths of the forest and is now known to all as the Sloth of Gloom. I should add that, in between, he fell in love with a widowed erm, spiny anteater. It didn’t work out. But he does do quite a good li
ne in agony advice…when he’s not sleeping that is.”
Typhon sighed, shook her head and was about to speak when she noticed a small reddish-brown creature fall onto the stork’s head then slide down his beak and drop to the ground.
The stork let out a loud shriek, flapped his wings wildly and began hopping from one foot to the other, frantically wiping at his beak. “Tell me it wasn’t a spider or worse, a nest of spider eggs! Tell me, tell me!”
The tiger looked at the stork. “That is a strange dance you do, Filos. Is it a tribal dance of some sort? Perhaps to ward off…evil?”
“Just tell me, was it a spider or spider related? I hate them, I hate them.”
Typhon-the-Tiger smiled and picked up the small reddish-brown creature and was about to say, “Fear not, Filos, it was not a spider or spider related. You are quite safe.” However, the stork had fainted and was now lying face up on the ground. Typhon shrugged and dangled the creature over the stork. “I believe it is called an African bush squirrel. This appears to be a baby one. Quite harmless.” Then she bent down and using a small bottle of smelling salts from her bag, gently revived the stork.
The stork slowly got to his feet and, thanking the tiger, eyed the baby bush squirrel curiously. It never surprised him that not a week went by when he didn’t come across some new inhabitant of the Lost Forest that he and possibly a fair number of others, had not seen before. “Is it dead?” he asked.
Typhon-the-Tiger examined the bush squirrel and shook her head, “Something worse I fear, Filos.”
“Worse than death?” The stork asked before adding; “do you mean…” he looked around then whispered, “the living dead? A zombie?” He gave a little shudder at the thought of what he had just suggested; zombified African bush squirrel babies roaming the Lost Forest. The stork looked around again, worried. Fainting at the thought of spiders was one thing but…this?
“Fear not. It is not a case of zombies just yet. Typhon opened the eyes of the bush squirrel and showed the stork. “See, the eyes they are fixed with what is called wild and strange hypnotise.”
The stork looked from the bush squirrel to the tiger and then back again. “What does this mean?” He asked.
Typhon-the-Tiger passed the bush squirrel to the stork and slowly stroked her whiskers. “Let me tell you a story, Filos.”
“Long ago in the El Ingenio Valley of Peru an image of a curious creature was found etched into the ground. Was the image conjured up from the imagination or did the creature really exist? Was the image there to be worshipped or feared? Perhaps it was meant as a warning? Yet this creature, Filos, is real and goes by a name that is spoken only in hushed whispers…” Typhon stroked her eye patch and looked thoughtful then continued.
“I myself saw first-hand evidence of this creature in the Valle del Ruiseñor in Peru. The valley’s mockingbird population fell from the trees one day, together as one. The eyes of the birds were the only clue as to what was wrong. It came to be known as wild and strange hypnotise...”
“But what was this creature and this hypnotise thing and how has it found its way to the Lost Forest?” Said the stork interrupting.
Typhon sighed and took the African bush squirrel back from the stork. She stroked the squirrel’s head then placed it carefully at the base of the tree she and the stork had been perched in. “How wild and strange hypnotise came to find its way to the Lost
Forest I know not, Filos. But there is only one creature capable of inflicting this hypnotise. I have seen it, but only once long ago…sometime, someplace within a long and distant forgotten carapace. It was a day I shall never forget. This hypnotise that is now in this forest is but a type that is practised solely by one who is called Char-An-Chulise. A creature whom I have sought for many a year.”
“Char-An-Chulise?” said the stork.
Typhon nodded, “Char-An-Chulise. Alas for you, Filos, this creature is a giant and dangerous member of the family theraphosidae…”
The stork looked puzzled. “Therap-sody? The rapho-so-day?” He thought for a moment. He had never studied Latin, never learned any Latin plant or animal names. Once, he had hoped to become the first stork judge but he just didn’t have the Latin. No, he didn’t have the Latin. (The closest he got was judging the annual Lost Forest mango-rolling competition). He looked at the tiger and said the first thing that came into his head, first two things actually.
“Is it a dragon and can you get rid of it?”
Typhon-the-Tiger took a step back. She scratched her head and wondered how the stork had got from theraphosidae to dragon? Maybe, she thought to herself, the stork could not bring himself to accept that a dangerous giant spider had moved into the Lost Forest. Perhaps the stork, for all his organising and caretaking of the Lost Forest, was a chronic arachnophobe?
“Yes,” said Typhon-the-Tiger slowly, puzzled but playing along. “Yes to both, Filos.”
The stork smiled and scribbled some notes on his clipboard. “All sorted then. I’ll leave you to it. Leave you to deal with this ‘dragon’ of the Lost Forest. I do hope it is an English or Welsh dragon, I believe although fierce, they like to sleep. Unlike the Chinese dragon, which can be very active and frightening. Just tell me when it’s all done.” With that the stork walked hurriedly away but as he did so he looked back over his shoulder; “Do you know the Latin for dragon?”
“Draconem or draco, I think. The Greek is drakon.” Typhon-the-Tiger watched the stork disappear into the trees and thought to herself; perhaps it was easier to think of Char-An-Chulise as a dragon…and perhaps it was fate rather than accident that had brought her, the last of the great Greek tigers, to the Lost Forest.
~~~
Meanwhile the two tree monkeys, having realised they had eaten everything for brunch and had absolutely nothing left, except tree bark and leaves, for tea, afternoon tea, high tea, dinner or supper, had decided to eaves drop on the stork and the strange stripy orange-coloured creature. It had taken them but a few minutes to traverse the dozen or more trees between their tree house and their destination; the very same tree the stork and Typhon-the-Tiger had first met each other in.
The tree, who like all trees tended to be nameless and, it would like to point out, blameless was getting a little tired of all the sudden interest being paid to it. The tree was also getting concerned about premature, early onset bark wear. It was one thing to be casually leaned upon by certain animals, mentioning no particular species but slouching rhinos were a particular bugbear. (Indeed, the tree had grown its trunk bark especially thick for this very reason). But the constant walking on and over, as well as swinging, slipping and sliding on and off of branches, was a bit much!
Needless-to-say, the two tree monkeys were completely oblivious to the tree’s concerns and feelings. Or even its large branches. However, the tree was to suffer further indignation later that afternoon when The Quiverers, a team of self-propelling porcupine archery enthusiasts, painted a target on the tree’s trunk and proceeded to hurl themselves against it, leaving the bark and indeed the trunk itself, severely pockmarked!
However, that was yet to happen. But what was about to happen involved the first tree monkey who had shimmied out to the very end of a branch that overhung, albeit at some height, Typhon-the-Tiger and the stork. The ankles of the first tree monkey were being held by the second tree monkey who, in a strange yoga-like confusion, was also holding his own ankles…
“Can you hear what they are saying?” asked the second tree monkey.
“It’s a bit hard to make out but I think the stork just told the orange stripy thing there’s a dragon in the Lost Forest!” He paused and tried to crane his ear further out. “Yes,” he added, “definitely a dragon. Push me out a bit further. I’ll see if I can hear better.”
The second tree monkey obliged, perhaps a little to enthusiastically or it may have been as a result of the yoga-like confusion. Either way, the first tree monkey lost his grip and fell unexpectedly and with the second tree monkey still cl
utching his ankles, toward the ground. By now however, the stork had left.
THUD-DUD!
The tree monkeys, one and two, landed in a tangle of yoga-fused arms and legs on the ground. Typhon-the-Tiger, momentarily startled, jumped back and adopted a defensive ninja stance – something she had seen a picture of in a magazine once.
“Declare yourselves!” she demanded.
A little dazed, the two tree monkeys untangled themselves and got to their feet. That was some steep air they nodded to each other. The first tree monkey blinked and stared at the tiger; “You really aren’t Bob in an orange jump suit, are you?”
“Orange striped jumpsuit,” added the second tree monkey.
Sensing the two tree monkeys posed no real threat; Typhon relaxed and announced with a flourish, “My name is Typhon-the-Tiger. I am an adventurer and explorer and the last of the great Greek tigers. I was also a lion tamer. Who is this Bob you speak of?”
“Ah, Bob. Bob is an erm, eagle. A bald eagle. He isn’t very good at flying…”
