[Synopsis so far for our new readers: Spammy, a seven-foot-tall, forest-dwelling woodwose in northern Dazzlerbaijanini, is visited by three warriors from a southern village, seeking for his help. Apparently their god has forgotten to put the moon in it's proper phase, so they cannot perform a vital sacrifice which will allow them to survive through the winter. Spammy and the three warriors go into the mountains to find the god, and that leaves us where we are now. You can read the other parts of the story under the label 'Dazzlerbaijanini.' Enjoy!]
Spammy and the three warriors peeked over the ridge, at the small, mountain town before them.
The snow drifted down on the silent village as the sun climbed behind the easternmost mountain. A few wagtails tweeted in the trees, typing with their talons on their cell phones faster than any man could ever hope to achieve.
The rays of the sun shot through the forest as the sun burst over the horizon like an indignant father who knows he told his child to come down for breakfast ten minutes ago, and yet no children have shown.
The wagtails scattered as the loud, confused cry of a child rang through the village.
Spammy heard loud whipping sounds and shouts of elderly people who sounded like they were having a little too much fun. A door burst open and a ten-year old child ran out of it, in nothing but his undergarments. An older woman ran out after him, swatting him on the back with a branch and shouting "Apaļš kā pūpols!" at him.
More shouts of "Apaļš kā pūpols!" rang throughout the village and more whipping sounds ensued.
"Hmmm." Spammy said, "So people celebrate Pussy Willow Sunday up here too?" (AUTHOR'S NOTE: No! It's not what you think it is! There's actually a Latvian holiday called Pussy Willow Sunday on which the parents awaken their children by whipping them with pussy willows) A little early for that, isn't it Or very, very late? It's a spring holiday."
The lead warrior scratched his chin. "They must be very confused people."
Spammy hoisted himself onto the ledge whereon the village sat. "We might as well ask them for directions, mightn't we?"
"I suppose."
The three warriors followed Spammy as he stepped into the snowy town.
"Erm, excuse me, sir?" Spammy said to a militant mother with a willow wand.
"Yes, would you like me to whip you with my willow?" the woman raised an eyebrow and her branch.
"Um, no, thank you. We were just wondering if you knew they way to heaven?" Spammy plucked at his beard. "I heard it's on top of one of these mountains. And...ummm, we can't exactly find it."
"No I don't know where it is. Would you like me to whip you with my willow?"
"Um, no, thank you very much. Err, I guess we'll just be on our way then--but, could you tell me why you're celebrating Pussy Willow Sunday--a spring holiday--at the beginning of winter?"
"Well, our God hasn't even told us it's summer yet. So we're just assuming it's still spring. Would you like me to whip you with my willow now?"
Spammy turned to give a confused glance to the lead warrior. "Methinks you aren't the only ones with god-problems."
"I'll take that as a yes, then." The woman said, and gave Spammy a swat across the back of the head.
"Ack! No! I don't want a whipping!" Spammy tried to shield his head with his arms as the woman delivered more blows with the willow wand. She wouldn't listen.
Ferocious blows swiped across his arms and loosed catkins created a cloud around the willow-berserker woman.
"Run!" Spammy turned from the woman and took off up the mountain side, with her chasing him and whipping his fleeing back.
"Apaļš kā pūpols!"
