It had been a difficult time with the bogh nightly uproar, now tainted by such a sudden turn of events. Although, their behaviour did not look a whole lot different than it had done before.

Spuds threw slimy moss onto Bluster. "Crackaakoh!"

Bluster hurled back dark, smelly mud. "Bruauwapp." His shot landed, splat on his sister's wide snout. "Egil whack!"

Then their arguing launched Daguha right out of the house.

Ked wasn't there for much of the night, but when he came home, he turned back around. The moment he saw the two boogles race for the worm gob that he'd flung into the room to give himself entry, he hopped right away. He knew even he could not face going inside before the boogles calmed down. So, he'd dissapear.

With this as her world, the twisting of threads kept Hettie calm.  And she found she'd already begun with the easiest knots to make a den curtain, long before she'd even dreamed or thought about what she could do. She'd already done it.

Hettie had loved weaving at home. What she had made she couldn't recall now, her memories fading, but some things had had red dyes from rockdust or browns from the mushrooms, then there had been blues from berries that had turned into mauve. Whatever that was it didn't much matter. Here, her twisting work gave Hettie something to do. 

Unfortunately, after more nights, this had an unintended result. It magnetized unwanted attention from outside the tulug. Surprisingly, Daguha seemed to be the one to start the cavalcade 'in'. And other creatures of the Bogh-tulug had never seen any such manner of thing as a 'moving wall'.

Daguha had grunted, first showing off to a single bog-wehn from the neighbouring hole, while Spuds and Bluster swung the curtain back and forth during her visit—to demonstrate how the Untag's surprising wall had many 'good uses'.

Hettie's ire stirred, but she swallowed it down and resumed her much deeper focus on the pile of twine bundles that were still building up. Are the trees making me work? I don't see an end to the roots coming through. And more bog-wehn came.

Daguha's comrades at first only stared inside Hettie's den. Then they grew brave and poked, inspecting closely the strange hanging knots, while Hettie inched toward the farthest cavity-wall. More grunting whispers sounded some like surprise and even some shock as neighbours chortled and 'krrucked' back and forth to one another. Then, as their interest increased, they clicked eagerly with the backs of their tongues.

After that there had been a pause in the action. Just for a bit. Then, in droves a few 'mouts' later (mouts caused, in this case, by clouds) greater numbers of bogh waddled in, one after the other. The bogh of all clans squeezed into Daguha's home burrow. They whispered and shuffled near to the strange moving 'wall'. The Untag hun-an had made this--and not out of vines. "See fou you-selves!"

Hettie tried to stay calm (truly, she did) and to tune out the overwhelming new interest. But with so many bedazzled bogh staring right through her, to look at her things, their geers became harder to bear. So, Hettie turned from the sounds and ogling eyeballs, with her arms wrapped over her head and tried to blend into the swamp underground. She leaned into the wall and stopped working—ignored them. I might now begin to understand Daguha!

At last they were gone. At her earliest chance, later alone by herself, she began stuffing her collections of moss, twigs and anything else she could grab, in between fibers of root-thread to fill up the curtain, until at last she had shut herself much more privately in. There, that will help!

But unfortunately, it really did not. The very next night, she again could hear them still oooing and awwwing in gossipy grunts—right outside her wall. Poke. Poke. Won't this stop? Please, go away! The curtain was constantly moving as endless bog-wehn jabbed it about. How many are out there? She could hear the bog-wah in the background croaking with Ked. 

All visits seemed to be taking much longer. And as much as she wished everything 'dun', this went on through the nights for 'a while' (which you know are their days) until the next mout—.

—Suddenly, without any warning, all bogh lost interest and went on a 'hun'.

What they had hunted, Hettie didn't quite know, but she rather presumed they were more likely embellishing stories the way they usually did, with their 'hun' being more entertainment than sport; and right at that time Hettie was entirely occupied with much worsening shenanigans that she still had to tune out.

Hettie could just not take a break! 

Shyer-at-first bog-youngsters had poured into the hovel in plip-plopping hordes as soon as the adults had exhausted their viewing. The boogles 'oohed' even more of their grunt-sounding awws—likely because of the 'swing's' undulations. There was something clever in that, if you boogled, as children are want.

Hettie clamped her jaw shut and she coped. She squeezed her eyes together and she prayed. Please let these monstrous children just need a nap! I can't take any more. But that didn't help.

So, as time continued to pass, Hettie thought she'd implode. But she gradually noticed there were also piles of discarded moss and bits of refuse accumulating beside the boogles rooty own lopsided dens. Odd! What are those piles? Deliberate? At last, she realized they had to be the Egil & Ergui's failed attempts to mimic her work. They're copying me!

She snickered. The boogles, she saw, could not figure out how Hettie's project was able to hang—not when it hadn't grown from a plant in the swamp like everything else, but they'd tried several times, and just couldn't make it stay up.

The next night Hettie paid closer attention, peering through dark, pretending to nap. After a great deal of screeching and frustrated grunts, Spuds and Bluster finally threw mud down and caved. They abandoned their debris right there in two piles and went out in the night to leave Hettie in silence.

Hmmm. Hettie smiled with her knowing—I might have the advantage. This gave her an odd kind of status that only she knew within the immediate marsh. She might have something to work from after all.

This made her feel better for the very first time.

Now, I couldn't say, but perhaps it had been at this point when Hettie's adventure really began. It's up to you or to Hettie to fully decide, but this is the moment where I like to think everything started to gel for Hettie—to spiral outwards, if you will—the moment that grew.

Just as soon as Hettie had had her encouraging feeling, her insight came back—and thus a much greater ambition took over—to play on Hettie's mind with interesting questions.

Oh, and I should have mentioned long before now that the Bog-wah referred to all manner of deaths, either as 'dun' or as 'croaked'; and that whenever they said 'croaked' they would laugh, which meant you'd most likely been eaten by frogs of a less-humanoid kind (or at least more-so likely than any other bad outcome).

I mention this now because, although, Hettie was never left completely unguarded—the Untags were sure she might never escape, and Hettie herself hadn't the slightest idea where she was in relation to the Mearthinian warren of her Handing Day hike. So should she venture forth and alone she'd be even more 'croaked' and 'dun' than she was at this moment, so Hettie just stayed —right where she was.

No ceremony, no fusses, just a fact—she was stuck in this swamp. None of the Bog-wah since her capture had revealed where that portal had been. Nor were they likely to slip. There was no talk about it. And a long time had passed now. Nothing would change.

Soooo, it was only by the greatest of chances (and due to Hettie's own ample resource of good-spirit and practice) that through Hettie's new 'listening' curtain one blessed fine night, its 'wall' allowed the Untags to completely forget she was there.

I guess having no experience with barriers might do that to you.

And Hettie did overhear the Untags then disclose more, loudly in fact.

Bluster, who blustered, had decided that Stick-wah should not have the will. "Unfair at Untags. Ergui get cloak back!"

"I go with Ergui!" cried Spuds, who had no idea of the power of a will or a hun-an, nor even Stick-wah.

"Not go near Stick-wah!" Daguha snapped back. "Ked! Say boggles do not go for Stick-wah!"

"I not... know—" answered Ked, halfway in thought. "Ked name scratch on paper—"

"Stick-wah have that," repeated Daguha. "No good."

"But Ked name? Hun-an still dun—," Ked puzzled.

"Kreelah get riches for Queen?"

"If Stick-wah steal and help get Kreelah."

What—?! Hettie kept herself as still as an actual stick then, realizing they were just musing out loud. What are they thinking?

Before the Stick-wah had taken the wills, at least they'd had the presence of Grampa-grump Untag to scratch and muddy their names into the parchment—copied somehow—made up for themselves. Perhaps they were thinking they could still get Ked his favourite pond! Their plan was not 'dun'. They might be in action.

It sounded as though Hettie was for now to be treated as both some kind of Bothe-Queen and a prisoner both, while they worked it all out. Do they think I'm asleep? Naturally, the Untags hoped they could keep such wealth—somehow all to themselves. They grukked later and later all through the night.

Prior to Ked's big mistake that had brought on the interference of Stick-wah, they had decided the bulk of the riches they assumed to be in Hettie's will would be going to them now. They'd congratulated themselves. Now the fake will was in Stick-wah's possession.

"What if Stick-wah might give paper-will back—?" brainstormed Daguha.

"He not! He want all Pow be Up by hisself."

Hettie surmised and assumed by their curious means of devining her text and her speech—that they'd thought much 'riches' was intended to go from all hun-ans just to Hettie. And Hettie found out they assumed Kreelah to be Hettie's own sister. This 'queen' of the hun-ans would give all the land's wealth to her 'sister', Kreelah, when she then got 'dun'. But if they took Kreelah's place when Hettie was dun? Well. Hadn't that happened?

"Hun-an 'dun' now!"

Hettie's sucked in her more raspy breath, as quiet as she could. They're right, as far as the hun-an lands know.  It couldn't work, could it? What have they written? They might still try to do something about this.

"We steal hun-an richus."

"Plan is not dun?"

"We just need a one thing make the much better."

Oh, no, that one thing now—that could be Kreelah! But the idea wasn't new to the Untags. The bogh were much further ahead than Hettie had figured.

"We only need to get friends to PowUp--and them to get Stick-wah PowUp for the Queen."

"Hak?"

"Stick-wah should help us to go to the Queen—"

"Why Stick-wah help?"

"We could give Stick-wah 'chaaar'—?" Ked tried to form the word 'chair' he'd never heard spoken before, outlined in the will, and say it aloud.

But Daguha worried. "What if that's lots richus and we give this to him? Not know what is 'chaaarrrr' till we get. Braaaak."

Ha! Hettie thought, with any luck my overstuffed chair will be all full of rats by the time you do that. But her mind was reeling with what she'd just heard.

Had dearest, young Kreelah just become the next goal in their plan? And that plan could be now?

A muffled gasp interrupted all talk. 

What had been only the tiniest flicker in Hettie's tired mind now flared—to full blown alarm. Kreelah! Oh, no!

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