I ... ah ... okay, see, most of these are Eurasian species, but turkey-cocks are North American, and we don’t have apes over here either. These guys have wandered onto the island from The Swiss Family Robinson or something.
I do give them mad props for quite an exhaustive list of birds, though I have to say, they could have stopped after “goldfinches” with the point pretty much made. Everything after that is just wallowing. “And the flycatchers! We have to hang out with flycatchers! Do you know what they’re like at parties!?”
A rare thing you have done! And now we may return to our country to find nets laid and twigs limed for us! To heal the head of a pilgrim, you have broken the heads of seven brothers; nor is there any help for our misfortune, unless you find the Mother of Time, who will tell you the way to get us out of trouble.”
Finally at the end of a whole lot of completely undeserved abuse — you were the ass who couldn’t tell grass from rosemary! You lay off your sister, young man, until you crack open a good horticultural identification guide! — we come to the clue of what she’s actually supposed to do.
Cianna, looking like a plucked quail at the fault she had committed, begged pardon of her brothers, and offered to go round the world until she should find the dwelling of the old woman. Then praying them not to stir from the house until she returned, lest any ill should betide them, she set out, and journeyed on and on without ever tiring; and though she went on foot, her desire to aid her brothers served her as a sumpter-mule, with which she made three miles an hour.
This is an interesting image, if nothing else. I assume her guilt-mule carried her bags.
At last she came to the seashore, where with the blows of the waves the sea was banging the rocks. Here she saw a huge whale, who said to her, “My pretty maiden, what go you seeking?”
And she replied, “I am seeking the dwelling of the Mother of Time.”
“Hear then what you must do,” replied the whale. “Go straight along this shore, and on coming to the first river, follow it up to its source, and you will meet with someone who will show you the way. But do me one kindness. When you find the good old woman, beg of her the favor to tell me some means by which I may swim about safely, without so often knocking upon the rocks and being thrown on the sands.”
Sonar. You have sonar. Just avoid the things that sound like rocks.
“Trust to me,” said Cianna. Then thanking the whale for pointing out the way, she set off walking along the shore; and after a long journey she came to the river, which was disbursing itself into the sea. Then taking the way up to its source, she arrived at a beautiful open country, where the meadow vied with the heaven, displaying her green mantle starred over with flowers.
And there she met a mouse, who said to her, “Whither are you going thus alone, my pretty girl?” And Cianna replied, “I am seeking the Mother of Time.”
“You have a long way to go,” said the mouse; “but do not lose heart. Everything has an end. Walk on therefore toward yon mountains, and you will soon have more news of what you are seeking. But do me one favor. When you arrive at the house you wish to find, get the good old woman to tell you what we can do to get rid of the tyranny of the cats; then command me, and I am your slave.”
Have you tried eating their brains?
Cianna, after promising to do the mouse this kindness, set off toward the mountains, which, although they appeared to be close at hand, seemed never to be reached. But having come to them at length, she sat down tired out upon a stone; and there she saw an army of ants carrying a large store of grain, one of whom turning to Cianna said, “Who art thou, and whither art thou going?”
Note that the ants don’t address her with a somewhat condescending “my pretty” line. Ants are egalitarian like that. Your physical beauty is a measure of your carrying capacity to an ant.
And Cianna, who was courteous to everyone, said to her, “I am an unhappy girl, who for a matter that concerns me am seeking the dwelling of the Mother of Time.”
“Go on farther,” replied the ant, “and where these mountains open into a large plain you will obtain more news. But do me a great favor. Set the secret from the old woman what we ants can do to live a little longer; for it seems to me a folly in worldly affairs to be heaping up such a large store of food for so short a life.”
Because pretty much what the world needs is a race of IMMORTAL SUPER-ANTS.
Come to think of it, have you guys heard about the Argentinian ant super-colony? Now that is some freaky shit right there. Go read up on it. I’ll wait. RadioLab did an awesome short about it. It was kind of scary.
“Be at ease,” said Cianna. “I will return the kindness you have shown me.” Then she passed the mountains and arrived at a wide plain; and proceeding a little way over it, she came to a large oak tree, whose fruit tasted like sweetmeats to the maiden, who was satisfied with little.
There is no world where acorns taste like sweetmeats. I don’t care if you have apes and turkeys and chaffinches all partying together on whale-back, acorns will still be acorns. Feh. Whoever wrote this fairy tale was
