And so here is the tale that Hettie would share—if she could tell Kreelah—about how she'd come to live in the future, sometimes with Kreelah's mentor, Aldes—but less in the house and more 'in the wall' at Aldes Fatsfoot's healing plants garden. —Or, I suppose at least, this might be the tale if Hettie herself were able to tell it.

But while she's gone, my best recollection of  how this story began is deeply embedded and back in the bog...

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"Krikkaa—!!" Mumma-Daguha threw something at Ked and it walloped—a dull thud—against one earth wall of the underground cavern of holes.

The Untag children, or 'boggles', named Egil and Ergui—and whom Hettie had quickly re-named Spuds and Bluster in her personal view—behaved just as badly as both of their parents.

"Krikkaa—! No, choke Daga-when! Whack, Ergui. Hop off Egil." But Bluster-Ergui didn't much care whom he would hurt. And his sister, now Spuds-Egil, was just as eager to use Ergui as a jumping off point as he'd happily squashed her.

"No hop inside. Tulug swallow—fall down!" squawked Daguha, bowled over. But neither one cared. Bluster and Spuds hopped and scrambled harder, incited to boogle as much as they could—by the mere fact that Daguha'd reacted.

Mumma-Daguha shrieked, and Ked—with the boggles copying him—chased his mate round the hole of the tulug. Daguha was forced to hide in her den—to huddle in misery and wait for Ked's changes of mood, with hopefully less overreaction—just like Hettie must do from now on.

The boggles followed her in. "Ked! Naught!" squawked Daguha, in sullen outrage.

"Krak—Umpf!" Ergui cried as he leaped, hitting Daguha's large face-protrusion and clamping her mouth to the floor with one large webbed hind foot. Daguha wriggled out and got tumbled off balance by Egil. "Kra-kaank!" But both boogles quickly leaped out of range as Daguha's back legs swung in an instant towards them.

Spuds and Bluster then followed Ked, escaping outside. Daguha lowered herself into the back of the muffling hollow, and all Hettie could hear from the hole next to hers was what sounded like whimpering swallows and gulps.

But it's different with Daguha—she had her choice to be with her Ked. Or at least Hettie hoped that was true. All this depression seemed something the Bogh were more used to than she was, and therefore had to be comfortable with. It couldn't hurt them as much as it ached to be her—a 'taken' alien 'hun-an' living in such squalor of mud.

How could this swamp be what her path had led her to all of a sudden? So far, this week she'd endured all offences, but still detested the bog and the smell. Pray—I must gain my strength. What can I learn? I need to make sense of this place to get out?

These tall and strange frog-like 'weevils' (as best describes them) had for some clever reason dragged her through a circle of stones along one side of the monk's strolling pathway in Mearth—and then on through some sort of a 'flux' and into the swamp. Recalling the sticky-slime feeling of long slender fingers that grabbed at her arms made Hettie shiver all over.

But, how to return—? Oh, for the spot in her warren—her peaceful rest and meditation—then she would know! But Hettie felt a long way from insight or calm; and she'd just completely betrayed her own practice of 'insight' and caused this plight. Will the clarity come back to me ever again?

Hettie was fairly certain, at least as much as she could be, that the Untags' 'warrior crys' must resemble plain shrieking to the rest of their distant residents, too. They lived far away from the Bothe-queen and the rest of the Bog-wah. In fact, they lived quite a bit apart from any Clan-bogh.

Why these 'rebels' were outcast was quite plain to Hettie, at least to her ears. She tried blocking their racket for sanity's sake. It seems no amount of friendliness and not much communication passes between any of them.

'The Rebels' (a label that Hettie suspected might have been chosen by, ...well... them—selves, with the way that they thought) made it plain their plan would one day elevate Clan-Untag to a basking triumph of sorts—no longer black sheep. Although there were no sheep here in the bog, and 'black sheep' could sound more likely a compliment to the creatures of bogh. Ha! Perhaps the term should be white sheep or frogs or what have you, in here? What manner of life form do they consider themselves to be?

For now she saw, this rebellious family were aggravated by status—and known only as lowly wannabe 'grogs'—so they always clarified what they believed with a grinding "krakak" at every juncture. It was their way of reminding themselves of their kidnapping payoff that was soon to be won. They should leverage the queen to her rightful position—and do it with gusto.

Hettie could learn of no earthly proof that the unsettled Queen even knew of their plan, but according to Ked and Daguha too, Queen Bothe would be bound to quickly restore the Untag's status of honor, once it was learned what they'd done and their heroic manoeuvres been proven successful.

"Give richus to Queen, get better Ked bed!" Daguha had gloated.

"Ked favourite sun pond!" he'd corrected.

Hettie suspected reinstating the queen had been their idea—not known or discussed. And how they came up with the plan she could not imagine. 

Even more, she had to wonder if the rest of the tulug were as disturbed by the Untag's frantic behaviour and manners as she was. They are actually proud of their purpose, with their expressly fierce and utterly horrible crys. Are the marsh creatures all as outlandish—absurd, as the Untag family clan world?

Hettie Maggate lived through many more 'mouts' in the bog, questioning both the word 'mout' and the behaviour of others. And, it turned out that other bogh were—in reality—both things: almost as rude and just as put off.

"We took you is all," she'd heard one neighbor squawk, as many were gawking at her with her cries and protests when Ked dragged her in.

Hettie cringed. Again! Try. Remember! I'd gone for the walk. I was 'taken'. Then what? She recalled being hauled in through the mud between sticks and hovels—all rotting—jumbled, under logs and anywhere their holes could be secretly stowed, best under mounds. Only the vines and roots had seemed a little alive.

This is wrong! Hettie had not chosen to be here. I cannot possibly last here for long. She ached all over. On impulse, much of the time she picked at dead strings of rhizomes that dangled through muck—absentmindedly—just her distraction to pick at disorder; plus, keep her from stiffening up.

Maybe these roots are parts of the same trees that tried to warn me—? They would have had me know of the misery that lived in their feet—before I was—took.

"Arag!" Now I sound just like them! Their behaviour is bad. Curses! Watch yourself, Hettie. What would you tell Kreelah about your conduct through this—or folks with questions that I still must interpret?

Hettie! I'm Hettie! Hettie, you must hang onto your 'self', your focus—be true to you, —yourself. Listen. She thought about this, then again she lost hope for a moment and lamented out loud, "But, I didn't find time to listen, did I?"

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