The Boy Who Hated his Name

This story is still a work in progress. The concept is there, but there are a number of “adventures” to come and the ending is not yet clear in my mind. I welcome ideas! Also,

THE STORY OF FINNEOUS DINKLEDORK
( The Boy who Hated his Name)


CHAPTER ONE: INTRODUCTIONS

There once was a boy name Finneous Dinkledork. Finneous hated his name with every atom in his body. When he heard his teacher call “ Dinkledork” at attendance, the hairs on his arms stood up as if trying to escape from someone with such a horrendous name.

His mother, Amelia , said she married his father, Rufus Dinkledork, because of his eyes. Finneous would only shake his head in disbelief. His school mates had many versions of his name which they used to torment him. “ Hey, Tinkledork,” they’d say, or “ Pinklepork, what’s up?”. The worst, Dinkydork, made him grind his teeth until the dentist made him wear a large rubber mouth guard that made him drool. This, of course, only made things worse.

“ Just ignore them,” said his father.

“ Names can’t hurt you,” said his mother.

But they did hurt, and often Finneous would lie awake late into the night thinking how very much better life would be if he had a different name. Damian Nightshade sounded dangerous and exciting. Buck Studly gave him a thrill, but he didn’t really know why. Once he read of an explorer named Lief Ericson, and spent the next few weeks trying the name out in various places. He made a name tag that said LIEF ERICSON in gold letters and wore it to library branches he had never visited before. But he forgot about it and tried to take a book out, remembering only at the last moment when the librarian looked at him very strangely after he handed over his library card.

( option 1 intro chapter – Finn as bullied. I am eager to get feedback on which option is better)

On the third of November, 2007, Finneous decided to do something about his name. He got up early, took scissors and cut labels that read “ Finneous Dinkledork” from two pairs of jeans, three sweaters, four pairs of socks and, yes, even his underwear. He dressed, and packed the rest of the clothes in his gym bag. Next he added a penknife with eight blades , a small pocket atlas of the world, and the last of his Halloween candy. All was quiet in the house as he tiptoed down the stairs to the kitchen. From the fridge he took a piece of ham, some cheese, a pack of brownies, and a jug of orange juice. From the closet he selected his winter coat, boots, a small flashlight, and some string. Last of all, Finneous took a pair of scissors and cut his school ID card into four equal pieces, going right through his name, and left them on the kitchen counter. He looked back only once as, pulling on his hat and gloves, he walked out of the kitchen door into a dark, starry night. Finneous was running away from his name.

(*option 2 as intro – Finn as bully)

Finneous’ life continued in this manner, with him feeling worse and worse about his name, until he was 12. On his twelfth birthday Finneous began to grow. By the time he was 13 he was taller than most of the boys in his school. He was also much bigger and saw quickly that the children who had teased him now shied away and were wary near him. His anger towards them began to find nasty ways of getting out. He’d chase the children who had teased him, and threaten them. He’d take their things and hide them high in trees that only he was big and strong enough to climb. On school trips he’d whisper to them in the back of the bus about how he’d hurt them and their pets if they ever told anyone, then hurt them a little to make sure they remembered.

Finneous became the school bully. He started calling himself Finn. He stole money from the grade ones and twos. He extorted it from the grade 3s and 4s by selling them protection, though the only thing they needed protection from was Finn himself. He took the best hideouts and fishing spots, destroyed their forts and snowmen and maintained an ominous presence over them all but always, always in a way that made parents think nothing was going on. By his 14th birthday a cloud of gloom hung over his school and, if the truth was told, over Finn too. Though no one called him Dinkledork anymore, he still heard it in his head every time he saw another child. The fear in their eyes when he walked towards them reminded him of his own fear, for, deep inside, Finn was afraid that no matter how tough and cruel he became, there would always be someone tougher and crueler waiting who would mock him again.


On the third of November, 2007, things changed. High in a tree Finn sat listening to a group of children below who, blithely unaware of his presence, were talking about him.

“I hate him,” one was saying. “He hurt my cat last week just because I told the teacher he took my lunch and I was really hungry.”

“I heard he killed a dog last year,” another said, “ or something.”

“It was two dogs’” said a third, “I think…or three…with a stick.”

The girl in the group snorted. “He never killed anything. He’s just a big coward inside. I remember when he was small everyone teased him about his stupid name. Dinkledork…can you imagine. I’d kill myself if that was my name.”

The others laughed. As the sound of their laughter rose around him Finn turned white with rage. The years of teasing rushed back at him like crows on black wings and spat out their bile , whispering in his ears every torment and cruelty he’d ever heard. Finn leapt out of the tree.

When the woods were once again quiet one child was running home with a bloody nose, one limped along with two black eyes, and one was left sobbing on the forest floor cradling a broken arm.

Fortunately the three children would mend quickly, but the villagers were no longer blind to what Finn had become. Despite his parent’s pleas, the Village Council decided that he was a danger to the other children. Every nasty thing he’d done, and many that he had not, were revealed by the children and any excuses were brushed aside. The Council ordered him to be sent away for psychological testing at a distant hospital. The relief from everyone in the village was palpable even to Finn sitting in his bedroom where they locked him until the hospital officials could come.

Finn decided he would not wait. He got up early, took scissors and cut labels that read “ Finneous Dinkledork” from two pairs of jeans, three sweaters, four pairs of socks and, yes, even his underwear. He dressed, and packed the rest of the clothes in his gym bag. Next he added a penknife with eight blades , a small pocket atlas of the world, and the last of his Halloween candy. All was quiet in the house as he picked the lock on his room and tiptoed down the stairs to the kitchen. From the fridge he took a piece of ham, some cheese, a pack of brownies, and a jug of orange juice. From the closet he selected his winter coat, boots, a small flashlight, a metal camping cup, a box of matches and a ball of string. Last of all Finn took a pair of scissors and cut his school ID card into four equal pieces, going right through his name, and left them on the kitchen counter. He looked back only one as, pulling on his hat and gloves, he walked out of the kitchen door into a dark, starry night. Finn was running away from his name.


CHAPTER TWO - THE JOURNEY

Finneous, who thought of himself as Finn, lived in a small village near the coast of a large island. As he set off, the smell of the sea flavoured the air and he decided to head east towards it. He had taken his father’s bike from the porch and peddled steadily for some hours until the sun started to rise, turning the sky first pink then increasingly red. As the first sliver of gold appeared, he was already twenty kilometers from home, and seagulls wheeled overhead. Their calls urged him on.

At 8AM he reached the sea cliffs. They rose in great hexagonal towers of basalt several hundred feet high. He sat with his feet dangling over their edge. Before him the sun rose, slowly moving in and out of clouds, gilding them as they went. Finn was aware of the choices before him and the dangers they offered. He watched the gulls as they rode the updrafts, ate a little cheese and drank some orange juice. He looked left and right as he tried to decide where to go next. There was no destination in his mind, just the need to get as far from the village as he could.

To the right the cliffs slowly gave way to gentle green hills and white shores. Finn could see smoke rising from farms in the distance. To the left, the cliffs marched on into the mist, cut only occasionally by small gullies that allowed streams to take their final way to the sea in a rush of foam and spray before slipping over the shingle and under the waves.

Finn rose and stood a moment on the cliff top. He turned and began walking north, leaving his bike on the cliff edge. His back was to the uncomfortable past; his eyes followed the cliffs into the morning mist.

By noon Finn had crossed many of the gullies. He was sore and tired, his feet wet from wading streams. He stopped to eat, leaning against a large boulder warmed by sun that now stood high in a clear sky. He nibbled on the ham and though about what he would do. The ocean spread out before him untouched as far the horizon but for one island that jutted out of the water like the domed head of some submerged ancient sea god. He could see trees on its crest, but otherwise it appeared a barren place with no obvious beach or welcoming meadow. A narrow point reached out from the mainland towards the island then stopped leaving some 100 meters of choppy water before the white spray of waves marked the island shore.

“No-one would find me there,” Finn thought and his eyes closed as the sea air and sun conspired to make him sleep.

When he woke the sun was low in the sky. Finn stood and looked again at the inhospitable island opposite him. A few seabirds soared around it, but otherwise there was nothing to indicate the presence of any life. “It’s perfect,” he thought. Even better, as he had slept the tide had fallen and the point now reached out much further. Only a dozen meters were left to cross to reach the island, and these were dotted with rocks as if stepping stones had be placed for his use. Finn made up his mind and turned towards the nearest gully that provided a rough and tumble slide down to the beach.



CHAPTER 3 – THE ISLAND


The stepping stones that appeared so conveniently placed from the cliff top looked very different from the tip of the point. The tide had continued to rise and barely a few centimeters of rock remained exposed. The waves would frequently break over them leaving their surfaces slippery and treacherous. Finn did not hesitate. He waited for a calm patch of water then began leaping from rock to rock, rapidly covering the distance to the island. Only once, on the penultimate rock, did he miss his footing and stumble to one knee. As he struggled to keep his balance his gym bag swiveled round dumping much of its contents in the water where it was rapidly swept away. Finn had no time to think about it; he took off once more landing with a thump on the island shingle. He scanned the ocean for his missing stuff, but it was long gone. Checking, he discovered that what remained of his food was missing. He would have to find what he needed on the shores of his new home.

Finn picked his way over the rocks to the high water mark and looked around. The island shore stretched off for 50 meters in each direction before it curved out of site. It was not a large island, perhaps the size of two soccer fields. The shore was scattered with boulders, some the size of a garden shed. Inland it seemed to be covered with trees, pines and some leafless deciduous. Finn knew that he had to find shelter, water and take stock of possible food supplies, preferably before night, so he began to walk around the shore, first leaving a cairn of stones to mark his starting point.

As he walked Finn made a mental note of what he saw. There were lots of rock pools that might provide food. The rocks were covered in periwinkles and as he went along Finn collected the larger ones in a pocket. There was plenty of dulce which he knew tasted gross but was edible, and further out, at low tide, he though he’d find mussels on the rocks. At the far end of the island, facing the open sea, he found a cliff face where lots of sea birds swirled in the sky. Their cries rose up from the cliff edge and he could see their nests in the golden late afternoon light . “Eggs,” he thought, making another mental note before hurrying on to find a suitable shelter for the night.


Three quarters of the way around the island he got lucky. A small stream emerged from the woods, fell over a low cliff in a natural shower, and snaked along between boulders before seeping into the sand. He stooped to taste it and found it brackish, but after following it a short distance into the trees he came upon its source. Water rose from a deep, cold spring to form a clear pool that lay in a grassy glade. Finn drank, then retraced his steps to the waterfall. He’d seen something earlier that he thought might make a shelter. Near the stream lay a jumbled pile of stones crowned with one large boulder that seemed to have nestled down amongst the others. Underneath were a few openings . Finn shone his flashlight inside and, squirming down a short passage, discovered what he had hoped for. The boulder was suspended a meter or more above the beach sand by the surrounding stones. It was well above the high tide mark and dry.

“I’ll need to fill the other openings with seaweed,” Finn said outload, “but otherwise I could live here. I might even be able to have a fire if I can get the smoke to rise. ” He squeezed out again and gathered several armfuls of dried weed and driftwood, then ran to the woods and filled his gym bag with pine needles from the forest floor. Back inside the cave, he scanned the roof, selected a small opening that might act as a chimney and set about making a small fire.

Making fire is a very useful skill to have. Doing it without matches or paper is particularly challenging, but fortunately Finn had both. First he made a ring of stone under the chimney. Next he took the pocket atlas, tore out Antarctica and most of the South Pacific Islands , crumpled them and placed them in the ring. He added pine needles and small branches and finally a tent of driftwood sticks. “ Perhaps a little big,” he said, and removed a few before opening the matchbox.

It is always a good idea to check the contents of a matchbox before you pack it and run away. Some matchboxes are used to store pins or even dead beetles. Some are full of matches, and others have just one. Finn’s had two - one of them used. He stared at it for a while, remembered his knife had a magnifying glass that could focus light and burn things, added the used match to his fire and lit the other. Moments later he was scrambling out of the cave as smoke poured from every opening. He stood coughing on the shore as the last rays of the sun shone and watched as, bit by bit the smoke eased and he saw orange light flickering on the walls of the entrance. He stuck in his head and found the fire crackling inside, flames eagerly rising to the opening as they fed on the dry wood. Finn grabbed his cup, filled it from the waterfall and carefully crawled back into the cave.


The scene inside could have been a million years old. Finn, crouched over the fire, its light flickering on the stone walls, his face smudged with smoke. He emptied his pocket of periwinkles and filled his cup half full. As he waited for the embers to form, Finn plugged as many holes in the cave wall as he could with sea weed and pine needles, careful not to cut off the fire’s ability to draw. Finally, warm and dry, he placed the cup in the fire, sat back and thought about his long day.

He imagined the villagers discovering he was gone and sending out searchers. He imagined his father and mother looking for clues and, discovering the missing bike, following its tread marks to the sea. He imagined them finding the abandoned bike on the cliff edge, them falling to their knees and peering down to the rocks below, their grief at what had obviously happened. Perhaps the villagers would regret their teasing, perhaps not. Finn just knew that he would never return.

He wrapped his hands in socks and removed the tin from the fire. Finn looked inside, grimaced and pushed it into the sand. Using his pocketknife pliers he reached in and removed one very boiled periwinkle. Its meat hung out of the shell, small, rubbery and quite disgusting to look at. He closed his eyes , put it in his mouth and chewed tentatively. It tasted like a salty eraser. By the time he’d finished the cup he knew that periwinkles would not be on the next day’s menu.



CHAPTER 4 – AN UNLIKELY EVENT

Finn’s life on the island might have continued in much the same way, day after day, for years. He might have grown steadily older, become steadily hairier, lost the ability to speak aloud, and eventually, at the age of 63, he might have been discovered and become the marvel of the age – a wild hermit who lived on periwinkles and dulce most of his life. But this was not to be. Finn was saved from such a monotonous if extraordinary existence by a remarkable event that occurred on his first night on the island.

Curled up in his rocky den under a pile of dry seaweed, Finn lay asleep as the starry sky slowly processed above him. Far in the depths of that starry sky and millions of years earlier a star had exploded sending radiation and dust spewing out into the universe at incredible speeds. Fantastic though it was, one particular spec had journeyed through the millions of miles of space bearing a unique combination of organic molecules. By a strange coincidence it continued on its way, got trapped by the earth’s gravitational field, hooked a ride on the magnetic fields that swirl down to the north pole, shone briefly in a glorious green aurora that lit the sky over the island heralding, some said, ominous events, then wafted down and at long last, was drawn by a vortex shed from a gull’s wingtip into a complex dance through crannies and into Finn’s grotto. There it was suspended as one of a thousand dust motes for a moment before landing gently on the tip of Finn’s tongue which habitually stuck slightly from the corner of his mouth while he slept.

Finding themselves on such a warm, moist environment after such a long cold journey, the molecules immediately bonded onto Finn’s biochemistry where they began a series of wondrous mutations. In this they directly saved Finn from a disagreeable future as a hairy hermit.

Finn woke up, swallowed twice, and promptly threw up what was left of his last meal. He felt horrible. “ Bad winkles,” he muttered, and squirmed out of the cave to make his way to the spring. There, he splashed his face, rinsed his mouth and drank. Above him auroral sheets furled and unfurled across the sky, strong enough to lend the nearby rocks a greenish tint. Finn stumbled back towards the beach, his head spinning. He slipped in a tidal pool and fell to his kneels as his stomach cramped again. Night was nearly over, but it would be an uncomfortable last few hours of darkness.


CHAPTER 5 – LITTORINA (Periwinkle)

Finn woke up, looked around, and panicked. Under normal circumstances Finn panicking would have looked like this:

a. arms waving overhead,
b. head whipping back and forth,
c. eyes wide and starring,
d. running around in small circles,
e. screaming,
f. repeat until exhausted.

None of these were possible for Finn that morning. First, he had no arms. Also his head was not where it was supposed to be and his impulse to run around seemed to result in a slow ooze forward that was not at all satisfying. He swiveled his eyes around 180 degrees, which was odd in itself, and realized that behind him, where nothing should have been, lay a huge spiral shell, with rather attractive orange stripes, that he seemed to be wearing. It was not too heavy, and he did like the stripe, so he calmed down just a little.

“ I am a periwinkle,” he said to himself, and sat down. At least he did what he thought was sitting down. Instead his eyes suddenly sucked inside his head and his entire body drew itself inside the shell and slammed what looked like a little door. It was darker than Finn had ever experienced, but he did feel safe. “How strange,” he thought as he started to feel himself roll down the side of the rock where he had previously been resting.

He did not panic this time. Periwinkles find it difficult to panic being rather slow and phlegmatic by nature. Look at a herd of periwinkles grazing on a rock and I defy you to pick out the one that has just panicked because it realized that it left the stove on that morning – or some such thing. When Finn stopped moving he cracked the door slowly and sent one eye stalk out on reconnaissance. Seeing nothing untoward, he oozed out to get a better look.

He was on a flat rock that was covered in green algae. All around him were other periwinkles grazing contentedly and leaving wiggly trails behind them as they slipped along. Finn’s mouth began to water and, without thinking he began to graze as well. “This is quite good,” he thought, “but why am I a periwinkle?” Making a great effort, especially for a periwinkle, he remembered back to the previous day’s periwinkle stew and shuddered with a touch of self loathing. “ Perhaps I died of periwinkle poisoning and have been reborn like this as punishment,” he thought. “Perhaps God looks on periwinkles with particular favour and is giving me eternity as a mollusk to contemplate being so selfish to shellfish. Perhaps…..”

Finn grazed on, thinking along these lines for a long while. It was not until some time had passed that he realized that he was actually underwater, breathing quite happily through gills tucked inside his shell. He began to pay more attention to his surroundings. Along with his herd were a myriad of rock pool creatures. Small shrimp darted back and forth racing amongst the weed groves. Urchins stood in packs threatening to fence with each other if one came any closer. On the side of the pool, green and pale blue anemones waved their gelatinous arms gently in the water, weaving mesmerizing patterns to lure small fish into their deadly embrace. Finn bumped into another winkle. “ S’cuse me,” he muttered between mouthfuls, but the other snail barely looked up from feeding. He wandered on. Under an overhang orange sea sponges stuck to the roof. He cowered beneath them as a large blue crab sidled by, its claws raising clouds of silt as they punched down from high above.

As he sat waiting for the crab to pass Finn felt something start to slip along his shell. Twisting an eye stalk around, he saw the long, thin, blue arm of a starfish inching its way towards him. Its tip had just starting to caress his shell with the first of hundreds of tiny sucker feet. “Um,” he thought, “ starfish eat snails…I think,” and he put forth a great burst of speed to escape. Nothing happened. As more and more suckers gripped his shell he felt himself being torn off the rock and rolled back towards the predator. As he watched the starfish began to push something gross out of its mouth. Now Finn did not know, as you now do, that starfish digest their food outside their body. What he was seeing was the starfish’s cardiac stomach being pushed out of its mouth to engulf him. This was not a good thing, but he was helpless to stop it.

The stomach got closer and closer as the long, thin, blue arm coiled back with Finn in its embrace. He slammed the door to his shell just as he was engulfed. Immediately the pressure on his door grew as the stomach tried to force its way in.

“Nooooo,” cried Finn and he resisted with all his strength, but he was only a small periwinkle and the door began to creep open. “ Being a periwinkle is the worst thing in the world,” he thought as the stomach started to ooze inside. “ I much rather be…”


CHAPTER 6 - The Harvest


Finn woke under a warm sky with one leg in a rock pool. He lay there a moment amazed at his incredible dream but when he eventually struggled up he found a large blue starfish embracing his foot hungrily. If he had been able to sense the starfish’s emotions at that point, he would have felt great confusion over the transformation of a small and succulent periwinkle into a large and rather dirty, fleshy appendage. The starfish was in the process of reabsorbing its stomach when Finn pulled it off his foot and flung it into the sea .
Amazingly, Finn felt pretty good after a rotten night and a very peculiar morning. In fact, he felt hungry. Though he’d eating algae most of the morning, all told it amounted to little for boy so he began to wander around trying to find something to eat. He glanced into the rock pool as he walked by, but somehow the though of seafood was just, well, unappealing after all that had happened. He wandered up the shoreline and in amongst the trees.

The trees were a mixed lot; pines here and there, scrubby and wind blown. Furthering in was a grove of alder, protected from the breeze, but they offered him nothing to eat. Further in still, near the center of the island, was a solitary oak tree, old and hoary, its limbs rising and falling like a rollercoaster track as they spread from the enormous central trunk. The leaves of the old oak had fallen some weeks ago, and the ground was littered with them. Amongst the leaves acorns rolled under foot. Finn stooped and picked up a handful, but they were all old and weevily. Above him, Finn heard a loud, angry chattering. He looked up and saw a small red squirrel sitting on a branch10 feet up the tree. They watched each other for a few moments then the squirrel ran down the limb, hopped on the trunk and scampered up a dozen more feet where it disappeared inside a small opening in the bark. Moments latter it reappeared and sat nibbling an acorn, staring at Finn with its small black eyes darting back and forth.“Ah ha,” thought Finn and reached for the lowest branches.

Finn was a good climber of trees. Back in the village he had often needed to climb trees to escape the children who chased him yelling taunts. He knew paths through the woods where you could turn and, being suddenly out of site, leap up into the branches of a maple or elm, scramble up and sit quietly, obscured by the leaves as the hoodlums below looked puzzled , grew bored and gave up the hunt. He had perfected the art of jaming one foot between branches to hold his weight while he reached for the next limb, and could shinny up a bare trunk gripping with his knees and hands alone if necessary. The oak tree offered few challenges and Finn was soon sitting comfortably next to the hole, the squirrel long since gone.

Finn peered into the opening. It was about the size of his head and pitch black inside. He didn’t really want to reach inside, not knowing what he’d feel. Acorns, he hoped, or nothing, but his mind had a good memory of all the possible things that could be inside; spiders, millipedes, bark beetles, maybe even a colony of bats. He shuddered at the thought of reaching in and feeling a bat hanging there. Looking around he selected a long sucker on a nearby branch and using his knife, cut if off at the base. Holding it by the thick end he stuffed it in the hold and wiggled it around half trying to find out how big the hole was, and half trying to frighten off any bugs or bats that lived inside.

Nothing stirred and Finn let out a long breath. He could feel the back of the hole about 15 centimeters inside, but no top. The bottom seemed to about 40 cm below the opening. He pulled the stick out and stuck in an only slightly trembling hand. Pressing tight against the trunk he reached down into the trunk probing carefully with his fingers until, with great relief, he felt what had to be acorns under them. He grabbed a handful and drew back his hand. “Jackpot,” he thought for he held a small pile of beautiful green acorns, untouched by weevils. He shoved them into a pocket and took three more handfuls before he remembered the squirrel that was still nearby shrieking at him. The long winter was not far off so he put one handful back.

Back on the ground , Finn took his penknife and carefully opened each acorn. He piled the nuts inside on a rock then gathered pine needles and branches from the forest litter and lit a small fire using his pocketknife magnifying lens and a map of eastern Canada from the atlas. Once the fire had burned down to embers he placed the rock inside and piled the coals up around it so the nuts would roast but not burn. While he waited for them to roast he carefully sharpened his knife blade on smooth black rock he’d found on the beach. He was hungry, but cautious about the nuts. He did not want a repeat of the periwinkle disaster!

One half hour later Finn licked his burnt fingers. Before eating them he had evaporated a little salt water on the rock so they had been covered with small salt crystals. They were so good he’d been careless removing them from the rock and his fingertips bore the marks of his haste. “But,” he thought,” they were delicious” and he made a mental note to watch the squirrel and find the rest of its hoards. Finn sat back and though some more about his odd dream. “Very strange, and that crazy blue starfish…that was just spooky,” he muttered under his breath. “Spooky


CHAPTER SEVEN - QUERCUS ROBUR (Oak Tree)

That night the odd adjustments to Finn’s DNA again went to work. This time them had Finn and the acorn’s DNA to meld, and when Finn awoke just past midnight with more severe nausea all he could manage to say was “ Nuts!, not again” before he hawked up his meal. Groaning he again made his way to the spring and drank, while inside his DNA prepared for the final transformation.


Finn woke before dawn, just as sun’s glimmer lit the eastern sky. A breeze was playing about his head and, oddly, he was standing upright. “Man I’m stiff”, he thought, and tried to stretch out his back. Nothing.” Hmmm,” he thought, and tried to reach up to scratch an ear. Still nothing. “Why can’t I move,” he started to say, but no noise came from the dark opening of his mouth. He realized that, though he could feel the wind about his head, he could not hear it, nor, as the sun’s light grew, could he see anything. Instead he just felt a tingling in his skin as if the light rays were being absorbed by it and powering up like some great engine. As the light grew stronger the tingling also grew, and Finn …


That is as far as it goes so far. I am hoping for feedback to see if this story has life and should progress....)
If it does, then the following chapters are planned:
CHAPTER 8 - fishing
CHAPTER 9 – as a worm
CHAPTER 10 – cliff egg hunt
CHAPTER 11 – as a bird
CHAPTER 12 - final ending - but what will it be? Ideas?