Homespun Threads (A Patchwork of Fairytales)

Once upon a time in the windy coastal town of St Andrews, two girls came together through assorted romps in student drama including but not limited to psychedelic set design, drama queens and a papier-mâché cow.

After graduating from the university’s hallowed halls, they turned their attentions to developing as proper theatre types. An MA in directing, a creative apprenticeship in Technical theatre and a number of professional credits later, Director Hannah Drake and Technical Stage Manager Bee George have developed a distinctive style of working which they now bring together to create Homespun; a theatre company that delivers high quality magical storytelling in Scotland and beyond.

With a little help from their friends (Dresser Fiona Westall, Technician/Maker Ruth Boston and yours truly), their debut production ‘East of the Sun, West of the Moon’ launched to critical and audience acclaim at the 2012 Fringe Festival, prompting invitations to visit lands as far flung as America, Singapore and Suffolk. However, such travels cost money, and theatre is not a lucrative business. Homespun therefore called a meeting to work out how to take the show to as many people as possible.

Of course we’ve written lots of funding applications, but you have to wait months to hear back, and competition is fierce. We wanted to do something proactive in the meantime, like a bake sale or raffle or charity car wash... but none of those things felt very Homespun. And so we hit upon the notion of Homespun Tales – an eBook of fairy stories we could sell online to raise funds for redevelopment and touring the show.

When I typed up the advert for this project, I had no idea what a great response we would get. Stories came in from all over the world, a wonderful mixture of adaptations and brand new tales. We’ve got selkies, princesses and talking animals; quests, magic spells and moral lessons; dragons, witches and a surprising number of sheep. Reading them all has been an absolute joy and I can’t thank the contributors enough for lending us their words.

Homespun came together through a shared love of storytelling in all forms, from J R R Tolkien to Dick King Smith and from Jim Henson to Studio Ghibli. As a theatre company our MO is simple - we want to make something new from something old, blow dust off forgotten tales, and find the magic around the edges.

Hopefully this book will help us to do just that.

Ali George, Editor, December 2012

The Dragon and the Moon

Katy M. Hulme

The people of Windfall Valley were, for the most part, a quiet folk. They took pride in their peaceful community, and little of much import ever took place in the quaint village nestled at the bottom of the great gully. Dark forests and perilous swamplands lay beyond the majestic mountains that surrounded them, mountains infested with vicious trolls.

Few outsiders ever had cause enough to navigate such conditions in order to visit the secluded village. There was but one recorded incident of a lone young wanderer, whose curious mind had him searching the forests for a rare flower until he inevitably lost his way. After many weeks, some say even years, living off the land, he stumbled into Windfall Valley, hollow-cheeked and covered head to toe in filth. Never daring to face the mountains, forests and swamplands again, the wanderer stayed in Windfall Valley until he passed away happily at a very old age. He never did find his rare flower.

So it was that the village prospered, unassisted and undisturbed by the outside world. There was the occasional black sheep who would tire of the valley and set off in search of great cities, elvish colonies and oceans said to lead to the end of the Earth. They never returned, like all others before them, and after a time the village forgot them.

Needless to say, it came as quite a shock to the villagers when they awoke one unremarkable morning to find that the moon was sitting, uninvited, in the middle of the village square.

An iridescent glow radiated dimly from the cratered orb that rose taller than their highest trees and wider than their widest houses. The fountain, which the day before had trickled serenely in the cobbled square; the stone figure of stern old Edgar Windfall, first inhabitant of the valley standing stiffly amongst the water looking introspective; were now, one could only assume, squashed flat beneath the rotund intruder.

A few of the villagers rubbed furiously at their eyes, convinced they had been deceived, that perhaps they had looked just a moment too long at the sun that morning. Others whispered it was a sign of the devil; an ominous message from the dark gods. The children looked on wide-eyed, uncertain what to make of the unmistakable disquiet of their parents, but nevertheless curious by the object of their unease. Those more mischievous covered their mouths with their hands to keep the grown-ups from hearing as they dared each other to touch the moon. Those that caught wind of their children’s whispers, scolded them with a sharp slap across the head and told them to hush.

Some asked how it could be they had not heard the great thump and rumble that surely accompanied a plummet of the moon. Others searched the sky, convinced that this was not the moon at all, but a prank played by city folk begrudging of their idyllic piece of paradise in the valley.

Most, however, simply stared, silent and pale as the moon itself.

The sun was high in the sky by the time the villagers lost interest in the fallen moon. Unused to such excitement, they knew not how to deal with something so unexpected and, after agreeing it was far too large to move and actually rather nice-looking, it was finally decided that they would leave the celestial fugitive in the village square as a memento of the day the moon fell in Windfall Valley.

Were this the end of the matter, the villagers would have remained as they always had, a peaceful and quiet folk. But as these things so often transpire, it was at precisely this moment of decisiveness that an ear-splitting shriek came from the moon. The bystanders covered their ears and took a step back from that which had sat so still and soundless for the better half of the morning.

When the screeching stopped it was followed by a faint creaking as dust from its eastern surface began to fall from one of the many shadowy craters. Those who had gathered around the other side of the moon were alerted by the gasps and shouts from those closest to the face that had started to crumble and quickly ran to secure a better view of this new development.

At first they thought the moon was rapidly decomposing from the Earth’s warm atmosphere, until it became evident the disturbance was localised to one particular eastern crater. Small crumbles quickly turned to large falling lumps of moon rock as the crowd soon discerned that something was clawing its way out of the moon.

When the surface finally cracked, a great billow of black smoke rose from the hollow before clearing to reveal a great golden dragon sitting atop the moon’s surface.

The villagers gasped and covered their ears once more as the dragon let out another deafening screech. When it ceased its primordial cry, they could do nothing but stare at the magnificent creature.

The people of Windfall Valley craned their necks in marvel at the dragon in all his glory, his polished scales of armour gleaming from the top of his neck, down his back to the end of his barbed tail. Whilst he was almost certainly a rich gold in colour, with each slight movement flashes of dark crimsons and deep saffron would bring each scale to life. His soft abdomen heaved in and out with slow heavy breaths, his clawed feet digging into the dusty grey surface of the moon.

The villagers had not heard of nor seen a dragon in these parts for the better part of a century. Some of the elderly recognised it immediately, whilst the smaller children at first thought it to be a giant lizard. Until, that is, it spread its great golden wings. Translucent under the light of day, they spanned across the width of the village square, shadowing the assembly with powerful fragility.

Bold little Buckley O’Brian, who was renowned for his impulsive escapades and whose father, Farmer O’Brian, could routinely be heard bellowing at him all the way from O’Brian Farm, moved eagerly to approach the dragon before the lovely Mrs. O’Brian held him back by the scruff of his neck. The dragon noticed the movement and looked towards them with effervescent emerald eyes. In that moment the crowd was stirred from its involuntary hypnosis. It was clear to all that poor Mrs. O’Brian feared for her and her son’s lives. Her face drained of all colour as she clutched tightly around Buckley’s shoulders, hesitating as she debated whether fleeing the square would be worth the risk of drawing more attention to themselves.

But then the dragon spoke.

Fear not little mortals. I will not harm you. I am Comet, he said with a bow of his head, and it appears I owe you my deep gratitude for rescuing me from the captivity of the moon.

The people of Windfall Valley looked on in amazement.

We did not rescue you, Mister Comet dragon, sir. The moon fell by its own accord, sounded Isaac the Innkeeper, before retreating quickly to silence, shocked by his daring at having spoken up to the enormous creature.

The dragon closed its emerald eyes at this, his head raised in the air as if seeking an ancient memory. Yes. I was but an adolescent when I was imprisoned. It appears I may have grown far too large and burdensome for the poor moon to withstand, a repercussion my captor most certainly did not anticipate. She will be most displeased. He snorted at this and with one great beat of his wings rose briefly in the air. He followed with a roar of fire aimed towards the sky, before settling back on the tip of the moon, wings tucked to his sides. Well, it appears everything is still in working order, if a little rusty. Might I trouble you for some food and shelter whilst I gain my strength, then I will be on my way?

The villagers could do nothing but nod in silence. They had had far too much excitement for one day.

In the weeks that followed, the people of Windfall Valley became quite fond of their resident dragon. He slept by the cool river that flowed through the valley and helped them fetch water for their bathtubs and wood from the forest for their fires. Assuring the villagers he would never be so rude as to eat his hosts, he lived off the mountain trolls, dramatically reducing their numbers around the valley and generating in the villagers a newly found interest in exploring the now much safer outskirts of the mountains, where a particularly mouthwatering variety of tweedleberry grew.

The moon remained in the village square, manifesting most beautifully at night when it shone brightly throughout the entire valley, prompting a breathtaking display of lights through swaying tree branches and across shadowed cliff faces.

Windfall Valley was more prosperous and blissful than it had ever been, and the people were happy to welcome their new additions to the village.

What they failed to realise, however, was that their happiness had a price. As long as the moon sat in their village square at the bottom of the deep valley, the rest of the world by night remained in total darkness.

Darkness breeds evil, and so it was that the outside world became a dangerous place when the sun fell each evening, abandoning the sky to an inky veil of absolute blackness in the absence of the moon. Demons terrorised the land and dark magics prevailed. The good people lived in such fear that after a time even the light of day would not calm their terror.

Goblins raided viciously for gold and night wraiths roamed endlessly, sucking the souls from any they passed in search of a way back to the living. Those fair of hair were sourced and herded like cattle, to be slaughtered by a particularly nasty breed of blood elves in mass ritual sacrifices to the gods of darkness. Witches cackled at dusk and snatched babes and children from their mothers’ arms, using the blood of innocents in their elixirs and the eyes of newborns in their teas.

People fled alone and in small groups so as not to draw attention to themselves as the larger groups had done at first, erroneously subscribing to safety in numbers. Many made for nearby mountains and the distant desert lands, where they would rather face mountain trolls and barren wilderness than the demons in the cities. Those that remained amongst the chaos by choice did so as vigilante demon hunters, who too often forfeited their lives for a people too scared to notice. Other unsavoury types stayed to join forces with evil and assist in their nocturnal rampages.

After some weeks, many began the pilgrimage to distant lands in search of the fallen moon, declaring its absence the cause of the current upheaval. Among them was an old witch who had been living modestly by the sea for the better half of the last century. Alone she began the troubled search for a fallen moon and the dragon she had imprisoned once upon a time inside it.

Reports varied as to where the moon had last been sighted, with some claiming to have actually seen it fall in the North, others in the West. With little to go by, the searches went in vain for a long time.

The swamps, forests and mountain trolls had protected Windfall Valley since the beginning of time. That is, until the arrival of one particular golden dragon, who had heaved the trees of the forest from their roots to deliver as firewood for the villagers, eaten all the trolls, and drank heartily from the muddy swamplands. The treacherous borders of the valley were no longer quite so treacherous, which became invitation enough for many fleeing the cities.

It began with one or two wanderers. They would not speak of that which was taking place beyond the valley, instead taking a silent interest and solace in the moon, which still sat in the village square. They would sleep by the moon at night, and could not be persuaded otherwise. The villagers assumed that, like the lone wanderer looking for his rare flower, these people too, had lost their way.

But the wanderers kept coming, and it soon became clear that many were not wanderers at all, but travellers searching explicitly for the fallen moon.

Reports began to come of the darkness encompassing the rest of the world, and the evil that rampaged. At first the people of Windfall Valley did not believe such tall tales. Then they used the stories as confirmation of their conjectures that there was nothing beyond the valley that would ever induce them to leave, that the cities were and had always been places of evil. It wasn’t until the village had become overrun by strangers that they began to consider their part in the foul affair.

Unfortunately for Comet the dragon, he was the first to be blamed for the invasion of their town. You destroyed our borders and brought this damn moon among us! they shouted. We were perfectly content before you came!

When he explained that a witch named Elvira had cursed him into the moon after his parents had taken revenge on her coven who had captured, tortured and slaughtered his brothers and sisters, they showed some compassion, but couldn’t help but continue to quietly grumble at the unjustness of it all.

Meanwhile, as if attuned to hearing her name spoken from afar, a certain witch set her path towards a far away valley, no longer sheltered by mountain trolls, thick forests and savage swamplands and playing host to a fallen moon and its former captive.

Comet offered to ‘relieve’ the villagers of the intruders and travellers that had sought sanctuary in the valley. While there were some villagers that momentarily considered his offer, disapproving highly of the city folk and their inevitable sinful influence on their untroubled valley, it was ultimately decided that they could not feed these refugees to the dragon when they had been so evidently terrorised, even if it did result in considerable discomfort to the residents.

What they instead began contemplating, was how they could get rid of the moon that was attracting the greater populace. Farmer O’Brian made noise about the suggestion, fearing that if the moon were to be elsewhere that they would then be the ones stuck in darkness and terrorised by evil. The baker, Chester Cloverfoot, suggested they instead simply shift the moon out of the village square, so the valley was still lit by night but the centre of the village was not continuously overrun by strangers. The blacksmith, Spencer Tonkins, shouted they should cut the moon into pieces and give each family a piece of light to go with them wherever they went, but the children cried and wailed that they could not harm the moon.

The villagers fought and argued and could come to no agreement on the matter. Their meeting in the village square soon turned sour as they took issue with each suggestion that was put forward. At last the dragon came forth. I propose that we put the moon back in the sky where it belongs, to service the world as it was intended, bringing light to all in darkness.

The people approved the idea of sending the moon back exactly where it came from, but they had no idea how to get it there.

You have been far too generous with your hospitality since my impromptu arrival, said the dragon. I have brought trouble to your village, your people and your lands and for that I am truly sorry. For what it is worth, I believe I am now strong enough to carry the moon myself back to its place in the sky. I ask only if you will help fashion for me a harness for me to tow it, for I fear my claws will not grip its surface nor alone be able to carry its weight so far.

The villagers were happy to oblige to the dragon’s request and immediately set to work constructing a harness that would secure around the dragon’s belly, with thick ropes hanging below him to cradle the moon. They enlisted the help of the city strangers, who as it turned out, had far better knowledge when it came to designing and assembling contraptions of such a size. Together they worked day and night, measuring the dragon’s dimensions with specially made ribbon long enough to encircle his huge frame, making leather for the harness and tying ropes together to securely encircle the moon.

They worked and they worked and in their work they found a common goal, which saw the villagers and the city folk become companionable. The outsiders grew more respectful of the valley they had invaded in their time of need, curious as to how the villagers lived off the land in such isolation and eager to learn how they survived without what the villagers could only interpret as magic currents that created light from energy. Meanwhile the villagers learned much from the outsiders and their city ways, probing their manufacturing techniques and absorbing their knowledge of the properties of stone and what could be made from the metals within it with the right tools.

Although they still loved Windfall Valley just as it always had been and looked forward to the day it returned to its former tranquility, its residents were of the opinion that once all this was over, the city might not be such a bad place to visit after all. Some even heard news of the sons and daughters long thought dead after leaving the valley in search of wider horizons.

All the while, Elvira the witch advanced through dried up swamplands, treeless forests and troll-less mountains.

After many long days and nights fashioning the harness big enough to secure around the dragon, and its extension around the moon, the village was finally ready to say farewell to Comet.

Will you come back? they asked. Where will you go?

My destiny lies in taking revenge on the witch that precipitated this whole affair. She was strong once, and I know not if she still lives, but I shall not rest until I am confident she is either dead or in no position to do such harm to any being again.

The villagers could think of no appropriate response to his words, sensing a trouble they wanted no part in. Instead they nodded and muttered in approval and set to securing the harness around the dragon. They were about to wish him well on his upwards journey when an eerie cackle sounded from the crowd of well wishers.

The assembly parted to give way to an old woman dressed in a ragged shawl covering charcoal-coloured garb. Her feet were bare and black with the grime of decades, her toenails blackened and curled over. The wrinkles on her hands and the drooping skin of her face broadcast her old age, whilst the strength in her stride made it known a deep-rooted power still existed within. A faint smell of the sea carried behind her as she approached.

The sinister smirk of her lips foretold her ominous intentions before she spoke them. I shall not make the same mistake again, you beast, she said to Comet. This time you shall suffer as your brothers and sisters before you, until I am bored with your cries of mercy. Then I will hack at your neck with the smallest and bluntest implement I can find until it hangs from the entrails and I feed your bones to the goblins.

The villagers stood back, sensing the evil that pulsed from her vile form, looking from the witch to the dragon in anticipation of what was about to unfold. Buckley O’Brian crept behind her with a large axe, ready to whack her on the head with it, until she turned and stared at him with such malice that he could do naught but cower away.

The dragon stood still in his harness, the moon looming behind him. I will take torture, pain, even death in the name of my brothers and sisters. But I do not fear you and I will never beg for your mercy. Do your worst, old crone.

And with no further persuasion needed, the witch began chanting under her breath, her arms high in the sky as if calling the stars themselves to do her bidding. "I invoke the heavens, heed my will. Beast,